Jesus, gang.

Another dreary cold day with HIGH winds — and a little sleet!! Who the heck is in charge of the weather these days?

Whoever you are, could you quit with the high winds already??? It’s been something, like, 5 days in a row now. (“Thank you for your attention to this matter.” DJT)

If I didn’t have to go back to town later today and then drive home after dark tonight, I wouldn’t mind so much.

And I don’t really care that much that it’s supposed to snow tomorrow, when I’ll be out having an early Christmas lunch with Wendy and Kara. It’s those high winds I can’t handle.

Anyway.

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Okay.

Sad news yesterday.

The playwright, Tom Stoppard, passed away at age 88.

He wrote one of my favorite plays of all time —  “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead” (1966). From my POV as a writer, I thought he achieved something completely spectacular with that play. It’s really funny but it also totally fucks with your head — especially if you are reasonably familiar with “Hamlet”.

“The play expands upon the exploits of two minor characters from Shakespeare’s Hamlet, the courtiers Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, and the main setting is Denmark…”

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And today marks another sad occasion.

The magnificent Shane MacGowan has been gone TWO YEARS now, as of today. I can’t fucking believe it, gang.

From The Pogues’ Instagram page this morning:

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Well, as long as we’re at it–

From Phyllis Stein’s Instagram page — another great photo of Willy (Mink) DeVille, from 2000.

I had no idea he ever had a horse farm in Mississippi!

Here’s another song of his that I used to love listening to on my Sony Walkman while walking alone around NYC at night in the early 80s! “Just to Walk that Little Girl Home”, 1979.

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And here’s this —

Another gorgeous photo of a Native American. I have no idea from which tribal nation, or when the photo was taken–

(Oh, and, NO, I have not heard anything more yet from Wayne on the manuscript for The Curse of Our Profound Disorder. Nothing since his comments about Jack Kicking Eagle. I’m not tapping my toe and glancing at my watch or anything, because I know he’s busy…. but come on!!!!) (And the publisher has at least been in touch but she hasn’t finished reading it yet, either…)

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Okay– back to Instagram…

And a veritable bonanza of Nick Cave photos on Instagram this morning!!

Mostly from photographer Ross A Waterman:

And Nick in furry ears!!

And Nick in Berlin, in 1987. I don’t know who photographed it:

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And an update on how Christmas is progressing here in Crazeysburg!

This morning, I put the Christmas flannel sheets on my bed!!

Jesus, gang. I just can’t emphasize enough how overwhelmed I feel about the potential of getting all the Christmas stuff out with all these frisky young cats in the house now.

But, on Thursday, I am having breakfast with a friend here (oddly enough, NOT in Granville, but only about 2 seconds away from Granville…):

And then I think I will spend the rest of Thursday getting the Christmas stuff out.

I’m at least trying to psyche myself up for that outcome, anyway. We shall see!

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Other than that, I have 28 more caregiving shifts until 2026!

(I don’t think I’m going to do a daily countdown, but I guess you never know.)

Meanwhile, I have to go wash my hair now, then do some yoga, then feed my lovely self and then head on out in the sleet and cold and wind… to go look after the retired Minister and his lovely wife and cat.

Enjoy your Sunday, wherever you are in the world!

Thanks for visiting.

I love you guys. See ya!

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I leave you with this.

The classic “A Rainy Night in Soho” by The Pogues, 1986. As always, just beautiful. Enjoy, gang.

“A Rainy Night In Soho”

I’ve been loving you a long time
Down all the years, down all the days
And I’ve cried for all your troubles
Smiled at your funny little ways

We watched our friends grow up together
And we saw them as they fell
Some of them fell into Heaven
Some of them fell into Hell

I took shelter from a shower
And I stepped into your arms
On a rainy night in Soho
The wind was whistling all its charms

I sang you all my sorrows
You told me all your joys
Whatever happened to that old song?
To all those little girls and boys

Sometimes I wake up in the morning
The ginger lady by my bed
Covered in a cloak of silence
I hear you talking in my head

I’m not singing for the future
I’m not dreaming of the past
I’m not talking of the first time
I never think about the last

Now this song is nearly over
We may never find out what it means
Still there’s a light I hold before me
And you’re the measure of my dreams, the measure of my dreams

Sometimes I wake up in the morning
The ginger lady by my bed
Covered in a cloak of silence
I hear you talking in my head

I’m not singing for the future
I’m not dreaming of the past
I’m not talking of the first time
I never think about the last

Now this song is nearly over
We may never find out what it means
Still there’s a light I hold before me
And you’re the measure of my dreams, the measure of my dreams

c – 1986 Shane MacGowan