I’m drinking the last of my Honduran coffee. It’s good and rich and I savor each sip since I’m not sure when I’ll be back down there. Maybe in the Fall, maybe not. When things are busy here, my vision of starting a basketball program at the school in some mountain village becomes more tempting.
Two weeks ago I got back from the desert. In my absence, winter departed. I know this is true for Orion is staked out on the western horizon right after dark. The snow is quickly melting. I’m having fewer fires in the hearth in the evenings. I need to cut some more wood. Until then, I’ll ration what I have, saving my remaining stash for the infrequent cold nights.
I’ve been reading a lot. Just finished Jim Harrison’s memoirs, Off to the Side. The first two third of this book was wonderful. But once he began writing about his success, I got tired of reading about his dinner engagements with people who from Hollywood. The last third of the book could have been a "Who’s Who" of Hollywood and I could have cared less. Yet, I enjoyed the first part of the book and felt the presence of a kindred soul as he talked about his journey through life. Last night I stared into a James Thurber’s collection of stories titled Thurber Country.