Summer

The bakery, having changed hands, has reopened, a slowly blossoming flower, into the form of a bistro of sorts. I find this fantastic. The vibe was that of a coffeehouse with a wine bar back in the historical district, where I lived in the greater metroplex, that my daughter and I would go to play chess and Sabina and I had our first few dates-'member when? They had milk stout beer and bourbon made over in Breckenridge. And it was funky, because you gotta have the funk.

I checked out the place in the name of research and curiosity, of course. One of the proprietors toasted me with gin upon making my acquaintance. When I mentioned the Irish whiskeys I'm found of, she promised to acquire them. Oh, fuck yes. My new best friend.

"You keep stocked up in dark beer and fine Irish, and you will see me again," I told her. "Regularly."

Hey, it's been two looooooooooooooong years since there's been a cantina in town... 

To mark the calendar demarcation of summer, we took in a bonfire party. Stories and shots of vodka straight from the bottle, because that's just what you do. You'd think, in a funky mountain township of two-hundred bipeds-on a good day-I'd see all my neighbors on regular basis, and yet, being misanthropic, I pull it off that it's been a bit since I've seen some cats-as in at least a year, maybe I suck. It was nice to play ketchup. The stories. The silliness. The oh-that's-why-I-avoid-you-like-leprosy-and Anthrax-even-if-they-had-a-few-good-songs. Matters of balance, and I might be about chaos, but, paradoxically, I strive for balance.

It doesn't get get dark until nine at night and it's been hot! up here. With obligations, to be cliché, I've been busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest. And, for some reason, I thought it'd be a good idea to take an online archeology course. So it goes. These are what a good friend of mine calls the days of milk and honey. 

Two days in, by a calendar's timekeeping, and summer's been awesome. I cannot convey my excitement for the rest of it. The whisper in my ghost speaks of wonderful time...it just might be a good season.

Tally-ho, muthafucka!