June has come and gone–really?–and now it’s the official start of summer. This I know because I saw Wilco perform last week, a summer ritual for me.
The show was exhilarating, without a doubt the tightest Wilco show I’ve seen yet, the most energetic and the most exuberant. I came home to tell The Husband that the first set was a lot of new material, played in such a way that I had to order the album, but the encores were my favorite since that’s when they turn into the Best Band in America. Lots of great favorites, including The Late Greats which I don’t think I’ve heard them play in person. I stood out of my seat and belted out the words for every song of the two long encores. Terrific.
The beach. We’ve been three days so far this summer, including a lovely trip with the Rummel-Hudson entourage that had my daughter charging the waves with Schuyler. I forsee many trips out to Santa Monica this summer–I’ve left the umbrellas and chairs in the car, and the backpack has a spare towel and sunscreen for the duration.
A book, in stores. Last year on my birthday I received the contract for The Book. This year, I walked into our local bookstore to see ten copies on the New & Noteworthy Nonfiction table. It’s been quite the year, in between (obviously) but this was a surprising, stunning moment, one every writer dreams about. Amidst the sorrow, yes, joy.
New binder, new writing. I’m back at it, by hand, not at five am just yet, but two hours a day, while The Girl is at summer school. It feels really good. It’s time.
now available on Amazon.