When I was in the Atlanta airport I picked up Carlos Santana's new autobiography, The Universal Tone.  I'm relishing it.  As I type this I'm listening to Santana Live at the Fillmore, an astonishingly beautiful album of live jams recorded in late 1968.

In late '68 I was 15 years old and listening to other things. I caught up eventually, but then I'm still playing catch-up in many ways.

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Ketchup. Catsup.

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Freak flagon.

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Still feeling punched in the gut by my sister's death.  Tears are set off by the smallest things--a news story, a stray thought--whatever.  I'm grieving.

Amy cheated death so many times over the last 25 years, It's hard to believe she's gone.  She was a strong, brave girl.

I'm struggling to return to routines.  Have been doing a lot of housework and yardwork.  Hoping I can find a way back to thinking/writing soon.

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