Mother's Day in the Rain

What a pleasure it is to be able to sit and watch the storm roll in, watch the rain hit, smell the wet on the wind, hear the hiss of the downpour, and not have to run inside. Front porches - a past necessity, and a present gift, at least here at the Tumbleweed Hotel.

It was a two-gig weekend, and long gigs at that, a total of ten hours on stage this Friday and Saturday nights at a restaurant in the Ozarks. Cinco de Mayo, Mexican New Year. I saw exactly two Mexican-Americans at that party, but considering the place featured worse than average food at high-class prices, I'm not surpised. Who except those determined to drink until they were thoroughly obnoxious would go to a place like that. Well, I did, but I was paid pretty well to be there, and I had exactly one beer. As a band member, I not only had to work my butt off and put up with drunks, I was given the privilage of paying full price for anything I consumed. A dollar-sixty for a small cup of coffee? Okay, I see how this goes.

But I got to see some old friends and pretty much enjoyed the music both nights. I have no real reason to complain and every reason to be grateful.

Today I slept late and tidied my room while listenening to Ira Glass's This American Life on NPR. The challenge for the day: cut the long long grass before the storm hit. I did it, but just barely. Tomorrow I rake.

It's Mother's Day. Best to you, mom. Love, your kid.