i’ve been off surfing into the past, old ballet days, having found this image on somebody’s blog while studying archives for woolf camp (mama, don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys, no matter how evident the talent is, as here in this perfect four year old--just look at those hands!) gelsey is alive and in australia, married to somebody new. johnna is nowhere to be found.  johnny is touring a ballet of casablanca in beijing?  wha?  sigh.  (how odd that gelsey made it while jack didn’t, but then those girls were tough as nails--i mean survivors--and jack wasn’t, does that count?)

anyway, i continue to awaken at 4:30 isn’t that great?  of course i go back to sleep in an hour or so, but it’s a start anyway. now it’s nearly noon and today is gasparilla, so i have to remember not to go south.

gasparilla is tampa’s version of mardi gras with none of its positive overtones.  ersatz and stupid.  and racist. nobody in their right mind would go near it, except people who move to south tampa with far too much money for the area and try to create some sort of life. sigh.  so i’m not going to the shop today, perhaps i’ll go north and drop off those socks at susan’s, hmmm.  anyway, my computer morning is over now and it’s time to get on with saturday…

the spell checker on this thing seems not to recognize the word saturday.  odd.