[though not in the imagination]

except when it didn’t

for days.

On one of which we crossed the waters to our old haunts, the Haight, and right around

the corner from where I once lived enjoyed a most pleasant visit with friends who’d managed to sneak in just before the neighborhood became Safe, Clean and [not shown] Unaffordable.  Speaking of shown, however, Sunday morning the sun sure did for enough time to walk

around the block and back…later, after an immersion in Lars’ memoirs, we had another vestige

of the past when old friend Foster, here for a Mandolin Symposium [who knew?  Well actually I, remembering his contributions to certain Ingram Marshall compositions, suspected], came by after the final concert for a quick hello, reminding us of Many Things Guerrero, things past…

The first week of March began less drily than predicted with Wednesday bringing two trips to

the Vallejo Ferry with dinner out following a meeting L had in SF.  The next evening we emerged

[on our way to another meal, most likely our last, at La Bella Vista which is increasingly revealing itself to be a deeply ordinary production-line operation for its price-point] to discover that some idiot had broken the rear window of the Tacoma during the time my truck’s absence left room

to swing a stone for no discernible reason except to be an Asshole in the Alley.  Friday the sun made a brief appearance, for appearances sake, reminding me what shadows look like

as well as what uncovering the little truck for a minute could feel like, which was all good.

So what we’re again left with this week is the question of why, if a Czechoslovakian throws a

rock at a Soviet tank he becomes a ‘Freedom Fighter’ whereas a Palestinian kid who throws a rock at an armored vehicle of the Occupying Power is an “anti-Semitic Terrorist”.  Can AIPAC please explain why what the IDF have been laying on their neighbors [and fellow Semites] for the past near-century doesn’t qualify as both?…I doubt it, but I applaud Ilhan Omar, so much in their crosshairs of late, who much more gently hinted at this [not even], as a reasonable and well-spoken person, meeting racist hysteria head on with seemingly infinite patience.  Not me; I drank their Kool-Aid ages ago, but long since puked it out. Twice burnt, thrice shy.

 

But I digress…

let’s just say it didn’t look much like rain at three o’clock Friday.