Shortly after I put up my last post I read that Kenny Rankin had died. It came as a shock. His voice has been part of the soundtrack of my adult life. For years Kenny Rankin and Michael Franks were the two people I would drop everything to see perform, especially in the intimate settings of clubs like The Bottom Line.
I've been playing his music constantly for the past three weeks. I've downloaded the stuff I still had on vinyl and anything else I didn't already have. Some recordings like my favorite disc, "Here In My Heart" aren't available any longer; how does that happen?
A few days earlier Koko Taylor died so I've felt obliged to play some Wang Dang Doodle, etc. too.
The music hasn't made me feel better so much as it's supported the mood I've been in.
We've had so much rain the garden is a mess: weeds and slugs. Until this week I haven't even wanted to look at it. I've been able to ride a bike into one village or the other for various errands but I've only done one nice ride on my road bike. And here it is the end of June.
And I haven't been able deal with people except in small doses. Almost everyone I come into contact with seems clueless about the ramifications of the economic collapse and they continue to act as though nothing's changed. I feel like I live in an asylum. And the inmates are definitely running it. And just to prove it there's this national hysteria about Michael Jackson.
I'm just grateful it's been a good month for strawberries.
