Just de-grassed and de-pineconed the demesne.
And, whilst squirting down some Middling City crud from the front of the house, the mailman arrived and concurrently startled Yours Truly.
In his hands some mail, as well as a telltale tube, signalling that the Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. print has arrived. Kurt made it, with the help of his friend, Joe.
I emailed Joe, instructions to do so to buy art by Kurt are on the site, and sent in the appropriate funds.
First, a Kurt shopper has to print out a handy order form.
Our book club met about his Player Piano this past week, and Heather and Jeremy hosted and cooked a fab dinner. Next book: Unbearable Lightness of Being.
Most of us had seen the movie and I have some visuals from it but not too much the plot.
And now the print is here, one of his "portal" images, and then it will be time to drive over to Penny Wyatt's framing emporium to have this, as well as a few other art pieces, made to look polished and complete.
Today is River Fest, YT could hear first men yelling over at the rugby field and then the strains of Black Magic Woman. No, not the real Santana, for it was a cover band that moved on to other material.
Have been having some cellphone bad luck and took the little green phone over to the Sprint store which looked like one of those architectural pirates had stolen the store's interior. They are in the midst of an upgrade.
They kept my phone for a long time and, upon returning, was told that the interior of the phone was filled with green stuff, corrosion. That the phone had been wet.
I assured them it has never been wet. They disagreed and informed me I must put in an insurance claim.
The phone answers itself sometimes, sometimes it does not take voicemails at all, and all calls are subject to not being displayed ever. This is a dilemma of the modern sort.
Putting together a small album of Freeland images that I made and will drop this at the funeral home so that those attending his waking days may have a look. Then Carla, his partner, may keep it if she likes.
Time to move along the timeline.

Artful, timely Love.

Rest (or walk, or rock out) in deserved, carefree, earthfree peace,
Freeland.
Freeland never waivered from what his muse, what the art heart says.
Ars Longa.
Vita Brevis.
Love of Wild Things, Love.

Fresh Airstress Terry Gross receives an honorary doctorate from the big U tomorrow in a special ceremony for her solely at the Butler Mansion at the Del/North corner: she could not attend the big U's big C about a month ago.
Perhaps she was keynoting elsewhere, perhaps giving a Schumeresque GoForIt (fist in air) speech.
Was chosen to document the Guitar Competition this pending Monday, which Yours Truly looks forward to: hours of photographing misc.musicmusicmusic.
About to head over to Heather's for the bookish gathering, an unusual mid-week v. as it somehow worked out for all of us. We are going to be interviewed en masse for the Shiney Happy Mag for a piece about clubs about books, not book clubbings.
YT put out a challenge, first to Annie, then to the writer at a recent gathering, that our club would like to challenge other book clubs to an old-fashioned kickball throwdown.
JW,Esq. is on a kickball team.
He is not only a corporate success, but a kickball success.
He is my kickball mentor of sorts.
So the challenge.
YT has her own Shiney Happy pieces to write for this verysame lit-based issue.
Brilliant analyses of this and that, perhaps some Latin terms tossed in for good measure.
Now here is some primo Latin for You:
Amor est vitae essentia, Love.

Yesterday was a wedding shoot in a downtown Middling City hotel, an Orthodox Jewish wedding with lots of rituals, and traditional good photo ops.
When the vows were completed and the MazelTovMazelTov chorus of young rabble-rousing men was parading backwards behind Yours Truly, en masse we re-entered the hotel lobby.
Nearing the escalators there - there - was a tall slim man in a white suit with black lapels, a silver mask on his face. Standing. Watching. Comedy. Tragedy. Fellini. Bergman.
Much later heard that there was a Mardi Gras-themed fete in progress and so therefore this was not the MC's latest onsite loon.
During the reception infiltrated the men's quadrant of the hoopla ever so briefly to get some shots of the groom aloft and general mayhem when a large, black-clad arm came crashing onto the bridge of my nose. Officially now injured four times.
Friday was Gary's surprise party as he has become forty.
Michele wanted to have the swingin' affair in Karpeles Manuscript Museum (always shockingly fab of showcase content - at both locations) and I told her to namedrop YT to Chris Kelly, herr director. She did and he gave her a hefty discount, mental highfive to rock boys of yore.
So there We all are, setting up and ready to holler surprise.
I asked a few others just when Gary would be arriving.
Suddenly, I saw Michele's head at the front door and then I grabbed the cam, the Polaroid, charged toward Gary screaming SurpriseSurpriseSurprise.
He was like so not.
Apparently there was a cellphone mishap and he did the following calculation:
2 + 2.
It was still a fine soirée and at one point I rested my eyes upon a couple of showcases off against a wall of the former church, below one of its overdone windows showcasing some celestial event.
I asked Chris's assistant, Vanessa, if YT could wheel the thing out to the center of the room for some snaps of Gary in it, he being a Goth and obscure ambience fan.
She said Fine.
Gary was thrilled.
Time to make more, do more, just more more more and more.

Showcase teeming with Love.

*this just in*
And how many out there wherever can say that they received an email from an acquaintance, a prison clergyman of sorts, who is publicizing that he will gladly switch spots with that squinchy-eyed Paris Hilton and do the rest of her time for her. He hopes that she will instead of jail head right off to a place that will help her mend her ways. And perhaps cluelessness and horrid driving to boot.
Of course this is thee one and only Marty Angelo, former MC-based disco czar.