You tell me if it is surreal
On this most beautiful day, fantabulous day, I got on my bike and headed to the Lakefront – ran into Beth on her new bike and took her inside for a tour of the LaLa. Again, she said, it will be awesome. Thanks Beth! From there I road toward the lake feeling on top of the world. I rode the entire lakefront, except for two minor hills, hands free. And then I didn’t want to come home. It was so beautiful out there – and so I came back and took a bunch of photographs of the house. My neighbor across the bayou marched up and down his side of the bayou playing his bagpipes. He usually plays from his second story gallery. I then went inside and laid down on the floor of my living room. Then I laid on the floor of my dining room. Then my bedroom. Then the den. Then the guest bedroom. I went out and the bagpipes were still playing and I still didn’t want to come back to the Can so I rode to CC’s and saw M&R having coffee outside and reading the paper. I got an iced coffee and a bran muffin and read some paper. There was an excellent review from the NYT in the Picayune about Thomas Pynchon’s new book – I threw Mason Dixon across the room in my hotel in Cuba after barely halfway into it – it was such pretentious nonsense. Apparently this one is too. I then got back on my bike and rode around the bayou a few times, stopping on the other side from my house where I sat in the concrete niche and watched the pelican nose dive for fish – it starts with an elegant flight and then plunges like a bomb slapping the water. I took photographs of the LaLa.
My friend, J, who I adore to her core, in Boston, writes me all the time – is it just surreal there? she always asks.
Yes.