More Good Words

Once in a great while you happen across a collection of words that are so damn perfect that you don't even care that you didn't write them, you're just glad that someone did. The words below, from the end of Annie Proulx's short story Brokeback Mountain, are those kinds of words.

The shirt seemed heavy until he saw there was another shirt inside it, the sleeves carefully worked down inside Jack's sleeves. It was his own plaid shirt, lost, he'd thought, long ago in some damn laundry, his dirty shirt, the pocket ripped, buttons missing, stolen by Jack and hidden here inside Jack's own shirt, the pair like two skins, one inside the other, two in one.

I'm Still Here

I pulled Clooney out of my JanSport and plopped down on the couch to send an email and pay some bills a few minutes ago and almost immediately my nephew Harrison hoisted himself up next to me, so I launched Photo Booth and hit 'return' and the picture below is what resulted.

Even though I've been largely and purposefully unavailable to the World Wide Web while staying at my parents' place in Michigan during the last four and a half days, I've still been snapping pics and taking notes with every intention of publishing, to this web log, entries about how those days were spent. So, at the risk of confusing a few folks down the road, I'm just gonna go ahead and apologize now for the out of order posts that will likely appear in this cyber space next week.