They’re all characters here
Here I am in the city where my Boston friend said you could marry a donut and no one would notice and I’m typing at the dining table while looking out at the bayou. This morning we woke early, early enough that the sun was only just peeking behind the houses on the other side of the bayou, and early enough to see across a little blonde toddler running and realizing it was our friend’s daughter but before I could grab my car keys and run, we saw the mother running down her stairs and after the little girl who was now holding the hand of a man on his way home with groceries who had spotted her too.
Later, I watched a parade of Vespas go by and then local writers, Joseph and Amanda Boyden, walking their miniature dog around the bayou followed by a local musician who cruised by in his fancy pants old winged car. The Boydens later stopped to inquire about my columns (the money pit columns that are quite beautiful).
We filled up the baby pool in back with warm water and I brought my New York Times, which has grown into a collection of three weeks worth of New York Times and T brought her papers to correct and Tin frolicked in the pool, peed in the water, put sand from his sandbox in the water, and when he had gotten it as hedonistically murky as he could, he laid down in and enjoyed it.
Meanwhile, I read about Zumthor, a Swiss architect who is out of step with the new world economy, the fast pace of building, and who doesn’t seem to give a rat’s ass. Interesting guy, and his buildings speak for themselves.
I thought I saw Richard Ford twice yesterday in the Quarter, perhaps I did. I felt like I knew everyone at the Tennessee Williams Fest and yet, and in particular without wearing my glasses, I wasn’t sure where I had met them.