Oh Happy Day!

Thursday was bipolar day at the weather department. First it was cloudy, then the sun shone, then it was cloudy, then sunny, then the wind blew hard, then a few snowflakes fell, then it rained, then sun, then there was a blizzard that lasted ten minutes, then the sun shone, then the clouds returned.

Dizzying, really. You could never wear just the right thing if you went outdoors, because fifteen minutes later it would be inadequate. Personally, I don’t believe that this is any way to run an earth. As lifelong residents of the planet I think that we deserve more consistency than this. Believe me when I tell you that I’ve got a letter written and ready to go as soon as I can find an address to send it to.

Under A Stormy Sky, by Daniel Lanois


Not only do I have to deal with fractious weather, but now I have to be paranoid about my e-bike sitting out in the garage and waiting along with me for Spring. This news item about a fire in the Bronx blames the blaze on an exploding lithium-ion battery on such a bicycle. The spokesperson claims that more than 400 such fires have occurred in New York City due to these things.

Unfortunately she doesn’t say which brands of bikes are at fault. On my particular electric bicycle the battery is located between my knees on the frame downtube.

I would seriously rather that it never exploded any time at all, but especially not when I was riding it. I can already feel an anticipatory twinge in my nether regions. Perhaps a pair of kevlar boxers … ?

Born To Be Wild, by Steppenwolf


But not all of the news is bad news. For instance, former president cluck has been indicted for something that had to do with a prostitute named Stormy Daniels. Just as my mother always said, little good can come from hanging out with ladies of the evening. (She didn’t really say that, but she might’ve if she were alive today). My own hope it that he is convicted and sentenced to permanent exile on a tiny island off the coast of Maine. Something rockbound and chilly, containing a single bent and twisted tree and where he can see the lights of a forever unattainable town far off in the distance.

His wife Melania could have conjugal visits as often as she desired or if she wished she could send Ms. Daniels as her representative.

The other piece of extraordinary news was something I discovered yesterday at the grocery store. It is the sort of thing that restores one faith in a beneficent universe. We now have a box of it in our pantry, just waiting for the right day to cook it up. It rests upon a velvet cushion, and the pantry doors are now left open so that I can see it whenever I am in the kitchen.

This is no small thing. The day that you discover that two of your food passions are brought together in the same container is a day to run up the flag to full mast, just in case it was drooping a bit. A day for humming happy tunes. A day to be remembered each year with solemn rites.

I will let you know what it tastes like in a future installment.


Grandson Dakota sent us this gorgeous photo of a sunset off the coast of Oregon that he took this week.

My, my …


I had the great pleasure of seeing Garrison Keillor on Friday evening, at the Avalon Theater in Grand Junction. It was a one-man performance, just the man, a stool, and a microphone. For two solid hours he meandered through a verbal landscape part real, part imaginary, and by the end of the evening I didn’t truly know which had been which nor did I care.

Two hours on stage without a break. Two hours, eighty years old, and it was all a glorious mishmash. Lots of hidden quotations from classic Lake Woebegon tales first heard on his former radio show, a few limericks (some quite bawdy), and one new L.W. episode. He sung three sonnets that he had composed, including an erotic one that he had given his wife on the occasion of her 65th birthday which dealt with the subject of oral sex in the morning.

There was a handful of jokes, including this cringer:

A man walks into a bar holding out his hand which is full of dog turds and exclaims “Look what I almost stepped in!”

The evening was a comedic tour de force, and my thanks to Sarah C. for the ticket and Rod B. for the company.


Garrison recited a haunting poem of Mary Oliver’s from memory entitled Wild Geese.

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –
over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.


Enjoy your Sunday morning. Spring is cracking through and will soon be fully upon us. Winter may still throw a curveball or two but here in Paradise we are surrounded by robins and red-shafted flickers and red-winged blackbirds and all of them are singing Oh Happy Day down at the park along the Uncompahgre River.

The new major league baseball rules are taking hold as batters can no longer dawdle as long as they want to before getting into the box and pitchers need to actually throw the ball instead of prancing and pawing about the mound for hours on end. I have no idea if speeding up the game will restore it to its former place in the hearts of our countrymen or not, but I doubt it will. There are just too many of us who enjoy watching giant men trying as hard as they can to cause dementia in members of the opposite team.

Becoming civilized could be a wonderful thing, I believe, and we can only hope that one bright day in the future our species will achieve it somewhere in the world.

Oh Happy Day, by the Edwin Hawkins Singers


7 thoughts on “Oh Happy Day!

  • I saw him walking out of the npr building in downtown St. Paul once. He was carrying a big potted plant on his shoulders.


  • Soooo glad you got to see the great Garrison!! Also we can quite empathize with your bipolar weather as we had 8 inches of snow followed by 50 degrees of melting warmth today


  • My Grandpa Muxfelt also referred to them as “Ladies of the Evening”…this brought back a memory of his stories.

    Eagerly awaiting your review of the mac & cheese.


    • and I mean “them” in the most respectful way! Bless them! I wish I’d chosen better words there.


      • I much prefer the poetic “ladies of the evening” to the practical “sex worker,” although I confess I have never asked anyone so employed which title they preferred.


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