Monday, November 26, 2018


Mistah and I had the great good fortune to go to Boston for the night last weekend. Or the other weekend. Or some weekend recently. Who really even knows what day it is, lately?

Anyway, to Boston we did go . . .

. . . clearly.

. . . on the Amtrak like the civilized peoples we are.

This is the alleged reason we went . . .

. . . and this is where I spent my time instead, after lasting about 15 minutes in there.

Except for Ken Sanders. Ken Sanders was the highlight of the Book Fair. Because look at him. Bill runs into him every year but this was my first time seeing him in the flesh since I was in his book shop in Salt Lake City during our Westy years. We discussed our dear departed Chuck Bowden, and the fact that he was going to see My Morning Jacket's lead guy playing solo that night because of course they're friends. Ken Sanders is gracious and charming and lovely. Plus look at him.

The wind, she was a-blowin' . . .

. . . but not on the T.

Mistah has gone to the Boston Antiquarian Book Fair for years and years, usually alone. He typically takes the train up, goes to the show for a few hours, takes himself out to a lovely meal, then takes a late train home. This year he said, "Why don't you come with me? We can go out to dinner in the North End, get a hotel room; we'll make a Time of it."


"No but . . . wait. What? Really?"

"Sure. Sounds fun."

So this was the second reason we went to Boston:

Carpaccio . . .

Mussels . . .

Meats and cheeses . . .

Broccoli rabe, of course . . .

Salad . . .

Pasta . . .

. . . and wine.

. . . And lots of it.

It was brilliant.

And in the morning? Well, there we were. In Boston . . .

. . . clearly.

We walked and walked and spied a table behind giant windows in the sun and we went in and said, "Can we sit there?"

"Right there?"

We stayed for hours and watched the Newbury Street parade, as our next-door-table-mate called it.

Finally, after a long lovely day of wandering about, our livers and our wallets begged us to get back on the train home. And so we did. But man, what a Time.

Until next time, fair city . . . 

. . . until next time.

Monday, November 19, 2018

The Fifth Floor

Look who has joined all her older, wiser, worldlier and older siblings on the Fifth Floor today . . .

. . . this kid!

Happy Birthday, Jacquie!

It's Nomemmer Nineteen . . . 

Let's celebrate!

I don't know about you people, but my five fellow Fifth Floorians and I cannot get enough of these old photos of ourselves . . .

Because we were off-the-charts-cute . . .

. . . had some serious fashion sense . . .

. . . and exuded nothing but joy and light and love. Especially that baby sister in the front right. Although Jane, in the smashing yellow shirt, is pretty light-full too. Julie? Not so much.

Ah the goober -- er, teenage -- years. The decade of teenagers. But look how happy Dad is with his girls.

Speaking of Dad . . . 

. . . how happy would *he* be to celebrate you today, Schnookums . . .

. . . just as happy and proud as 50 years ago . . . (but maybe not smoking a butt).

We've lived a lot together, my baby sister and me. Driving around the country for three months ("it's from the triiiiip"), singing and singing and singing, talking and reading and drinking and playing ("Uncle Bill put down your booze and get in the pool!"), all the accumulated months of invading -- er, visiting -- San Diego with Mistah and Westy ("Schleckah, do da flo'!"). So much love and life and living. So much love for this spectacular girl of ours.

 She gave us these goobers . . .

. . . and for that we are eternally grateful . . .

 . . . because I mean . . .

Jacquie is the captain and the mascot of our family . . .

. . . which just illustrates her strength and flexibility.

She is sharp as a tack . . . 

. . . and cute as a button . . .

. . . and still has that killer fashion sense.

She is our Bright and Shining Star of a baby sister, and we adore her to the very depths of our soul.

Hey Jacquie, how do you feel about turning 50?

 Welcome to the Fifth Floor, dude.

Monday, November 12, 2018

Jacqueline Festival

My Mom posted a photo yesterday and said, "Me and half my girls."

Jacquie, in her inimitable way, commented, "You can say A-list mom, the other 3 know where they stand."

"They stand in the deep, dark, murky mire," I concurred. 

"Oh hush," replied Mom, "I’m so lucky to have six A listers."

And that is all you need to know about Mom.

She's nice.

The rest of us? 

Not so much.

But man, was it fun to be with some fellow A-Listers this past weekend.

It was early; give us a break.

Wait a minute . . . that's not this weekend! Oh, that's from Asheville in June. There we are again. Coincidence? I don't THINK so.

Okay okay. Kidding. Mom's right. We're all A-Listers. I mean, see for yourself:

Jacquie is self-described "95% diaper"

ANYway. Other people besides us were around this weekend, too.

My girl Nancy? Delightfully in da house.

Okay, yeah, it was mostly us.

And why not? It was, after all, Jacqueline-Festival.

But wait. Look who else we got to see, earlier that selfsame day  . . .


Oh our glorious cousins.

And oh, this glorious girl. My past self fashionista. She was a big part of the weekend. Don't even try to choose your favorite part because the tiekneesocksbangscurlstoofusshoesbeethoven are all going to win.

But anyway. Back to the celebrations.

 These friends added to the fun too.

Shot Bars make everything more fun.

And Amy sent these, entitled "Debate". 
I prefer "Never-ending Book Discussion".

But mostly, Jacquie-Fest was a lot of this:

We don't get to see this kid very often and she was here and we celebrated.

Are you sure I don't have something in my teeth?

And there was one whole hell of a lot of this:

Miss you already, dude.

See you in June.

And welcome to the Fifth Floor.