Stuff and more of it

I stumbled downstairs after getting an interrupted but mostly decent night’s sleep. I’d had jumbled, puzzling and less-than-happy dreams. The bastids evaporated the minute I got up to brush my teeth, leaving me with nothing but a cloud of confusion with a side-dish of sad.

“the fuck? If’n I’m gonna be waltzing to a gloomy tune I’d REALLY like a motherfucking clue as to what it’s all about. Is that too damn much to ask? NO. No it is not.

Our local not-so-terribly-wildlife attempted to rescue me from myself. After dishing up Nurse Coco’s brekkie, I went out to give Umlaut his morning meal and pats. But lo! The hungry creature on the mat wasn’t our Umlaut, no. It was the cutest little skunk! I believe our guest was no more than an adolescent. Possibly, she/he'd slipped away from her parents, in search of madcap adventure and, of course, Fancy Feast. We’ve got both here at the Famous Valhalla diner, don’cha know.

We haven’t had skunk visitors in a long time. I’ve missed them. They’re always polite. They share well with others. Never spray (not on my porch anyway). They eat insects and mice. AND they match the rest of my herd nicely!

Sadly, I didn’t get a pic of our very shy, new visitor. I hope she/he returns. Gotta start thinking of a good name. Mercutio? Rey? Fenrir? Delilah?

Sure, she LOOKS like she’s using me for a bathtub
 BUT she’s actually imparting healing and warmth.

Also, “Nurse” Coco you wonder? Yeah, that’s her gig. She forcefully reminded me of this yesterday. It was the third day of my Purge-a-thon and I was feeling the weight of sifting through so much history. Also cleaning – that’s some exhausting shit, lemme just tell YOU! I took a break, sat down on the bed and *BOOM* she was on my lap and, NO, my fine muthafuckas, she was not getting up. What could I do? She’d hauled out the big purr guns.

So, not being able to move and all, I picked up one of the novels unearthed in my, seemingly unending, purgation. It’s the Ross Thomas tremendous thriller Missionary Stew. I’d forgotten all about Thomas – hadn’t read him in eons.

Back in my Back Bay print shop days, shortly before my first spine surgery, there was a fabola used mystery bookshop just around the corner on Newbury Street. Yup, way back then, the street had independently owned. interesting businesses. It wasn’t all corporate owned, pricey as hell, Posh City clothing boutiques, hair salons and I-can’t-afford-a-glass-of-water-here restaurants.

Spenser's Mystery Bookshop was tremendous and the biz owner, Andy Thurnauer, was awesome plus. I’d limp over on a break from work, sit down and we’d talk books, art and LIFE.  I never left the joint without a few newly recommended authors in my backpack. I wouldn’t have met the witty, engaging Ross Thomas if not for Andy.

Where is Andy now? I’d like to send him a belated thank you and I’m remembering you mega fondly note but //shrugs//  I can’t find a current shred of him anywhere which, of course, strikes fear in my fearful bean.

Anybody out there know Andy?