Now that I’m outed as a passionate Paul Girl, everyone who sees something related to Macca alerts me. Friend Theresa just sent me this Guardian article by Alan Johnson, a British politician who has just won a major book award for his memoir. A true kindred spirit: a memoir writer, almost exactly my age, who had adored Paul all his life. I’ll try to send him my book. How to send a book to a British politician? Any ideas?
I just wrote a note in the response stream at the Guardian, informing readers of my book. Have never done that kind of bald-faced marketing before. But that’s how it’s done.
A stunning day, at last. The vegetables are growing, I can see them stirring in their soil from here. I awoke to major rustling outside at 6.30, opened my curtains and watched a mama raccoon and 3 babies climbing the ivy after a long night of foraging. A little one almost slipped – Mama caught it around the neck with her teeth and dragged it up with her. Another nearly slipped and hung, swinging, on a branch, but managed to struggle upright and continue the climb. Yesterday, a major explosion of skunk juice filled the air as I watched a variety of people stopping at the Little Free Library outside my house. Oh, it’s a busy place, Sackville Street, at any time of the night or day.
Today is Booboo’s second birthday party across town. But first, I’ll zip down to the market on my bike, and then there’s a Sheep Festival at Riverdale Farm. It’s not every inner city citizen who can enjoy a Sheep Festival three blocks from home.