so bold for another Monday.

The coffeehouse pictured in yesterday’s post (the first post I wrote this morning); it’s a very holy place and it’s only been Here a short time.

This morning while I was there writing I covertly watched something interesting.

The guy who built it up suddenly and magically last year with his wife (I think his name is Dale) was sitting with a clutch of old guys, and, sounded like, pretty smart thoughtful guys. They were talking about HUAC and that J. Edgar guy. Stuff like that. But it seemed to me that Dale’s mind was elsewhere. He was doing the conversation because … he wanted to sure, but also because it’s a now a part of his job, mission, and business. He left after a few minutes.

Later on I headed out to the benches kitty-corner from the place, for a little distance and perspective. A Tacoma pickup rolled up and rubbed the curb something cruel. Dale was behind the wheel.

Some other guy walking two dogs up the street witnessed it, and apparently felt he knew Dale well enough to counsel him against doing that to his tires.

Dale stood in the street talking patiently to the guy, about how the tires were just about shot anyway and getting replaced this week.

It spoke to me, about the quotidian perils of minor celebrity.

In the video I’ve shot so far, I don’t show off my face. Maybe I will eventually. But even if I don’t, people (in massive numbers, I have to hope), will learn the shape of my truck. Recognize my streets and stomping grounds. Maybe run their eyes over a vanity copper license plate that says Vairtere, or something like it. I’ll have to deal with the same well-intentioned sort of thing, though doubtless on a more cryptic and modest scale.

If I demur or shy, people, don’t take it personally please.

The cat is named Dusty and he’s with us because he was assaulted, by a human, quite possibly with malice, and needs some nursing for a hairline fracture of the pelvis. He’s a good boy. If you want him and you’re committed to love living here, he’s yours.