The City Of Brotherly Love

I spent some time in Philadelphia yesterday, not because I wanted to but because my plane got rerouted. This sort of thing happens to me all the time, so much so that I've begun to feel like Ed Norton's character in Fight Club -- You're in JFK, DFW, LAX, You're in O'Hare . . . I've avoided the city of brotherly love ever since Hank died, bitter because of the black ice he slipped on, the orange someone dropped that helped make the fall worse. It sounds like a joke -- A blind man falls on an orange . . . But it isn't, and I don't like being reminded of the past. Despite telling myself I wouldn't, I looked at the city as my plane touched down, a city so beautiful and urban and perfect, saw what Hank loved about it, its tall building and mass transit and had to let a little forgiveness into my heart.

Earlier that day, I'd been in a diner in the rural south were two men sat at a bar nursing Buds. One asked the other if he was left or right handed. "Started out right, then went left." The other dude asked why and the first dude with the bad wing said, "Got paralyzed. Didn't break no bones, though." The conversation continued for a long time about the wisdom and advisability of switching your writing hand. "Didn't mean to get paralyzed. Just happened." And so the matter was settled. And I thought about how true that was, how some things just stop working and you have to adapt. I have a feeling that Hank diverted my plane so I would have to see his city, the loveliness of it at twilight, the time when something is always the most beautiful. And the lights, my God, they were spectacular, even if I hate to admit it.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"Honesty is something you can't wear out." Waylon Jennings

Cocktail Hour
Drinking music suggestion: I Am Shelby Lynne Shelby Lynne

Cocktail Hour
Happy Tuesday!