YAWN

Cats yawn quite a bit. Catching that yawn can be quite difficult. I was quite pleased to get Tupelo on Friday afternoon. Ah Brooklyn.

Emmylou was so so happy to see me, although this is not a picture of her pleasure. She followed me all over the apartment, whenever I got up. She slept next to me on the couch. Happily, I will get to see her again on Tuesday as I need to be back in town for a couple of days.

Friday night, John V. and I had dinner with Z, and our friend Phil ("America's Favorite Canadian"), and Phil's gf, Una, from Iceland. Phil and Una were in town from Montreal as Una had a music video playing at BAM in a film festival. 

Rodney Crowell, the singer-songwriter, wrote an autobiography, Chinaberry Streets. Mart brought me the audiobook. So, on Saturday, when I could finally tear meself away from le kitteh, I popped it into the cd player. I didn't take the weather report all that seriously and blithely headed up the Saw Mill River Parkway, notorious for flooding. 

Hurricane Carla was a "highlight" of Mr. Crowell's childhood and his description is riveting (and funny). Rain pounded my car as I listened and drove: it was nearly a simulcast! 

Okay, I've been bingeing on tv for the last four or five hours, having watched The Simpsons, True Blood, The Newsroom, the first episode of Politcal Animals, and now The Newsroom again. I should just stop writing.