Twelve hundred miles, twelve hundred miles, ….
It’s too far too walk. Or drive. Or fly. Just to get my new TFTW book signed. I can’t fault the shipper. They were expedient. Prompt. Speedy. Only the book flew out of there before Mr. Fenn could sign it.
I’m jealous of you New Mexicans, Coloradans, Arizonans, and others who live within a couple hundred miles of Santa Fe. Don’t it make my brown eyes green.
And now, the blues. Folk music, rather. I’m also going to have to forego the chance to have a glass of wine with Forrest and to hear Bob Haworth of The Brothers Four and The Kingston Trio, (am I old enough to remember? almost, maybe) in front of a cozy fireplace in the lounge at the Inn and Spa at Loretto!
Monday September 30th from 6 to 9. . Also, Tuesday, October 1st from 5-7 (you’ll need to RSVP). Visit Dal’s blog, Thrill of the Chase, for the actual invitation from Forrest Fenn/Charmay.
My RSVP —- Regrets.
Where will I be? Twelve hundred miles NorthEast by East (–ish). Flyover country. The Midwest. Flat lands.
Warm waters blazing a trail down my cheeks….maybe.
My feet are wet from thinking this thing over. . . [See/hear Blue Umbrella lyrics by John Prine.]
Any Midwesterners so inclined may join me in spirit. Can you play guitar?
Five hundred miles, five hundred miles, oh Lord, I’m five hundred miles away from home.
- Trove Of Mich. Folk Music Unearthed In Archive (npr.org)
- Discovering John Prine: A Memoir of My Muse (awaywithwordsblog.com)
- The man who buried his treasure in a poem (telegraph.co.uk)