Slow moving today. It's hard to get going with so much gray. I tried to sneak in a few lines to you while my three year old eats her breakfast, but she'll never sit still. Breakfast is a five act interpretive dance with that one. Act 2 (and 4) this morning required her dumping out all the clean laundry between sips of milk and hiding in the hamper. Her baby sister, Simone, senses my frustration. "Argh... WHY must you keep going in the basket, Ellery?" I ask. "Because I fit", she says.

She's has her Stegosaurus rain jacket on now and is out the door. Another wet one out there today. This weather is predictably wretched for retail, but the rain is most welcome. The pandemic has really interrupted our sense of time, and how we mark and measure moments. So with holidays and other milestones passing with little pomp, these longer storm stretches validate this all perhaps feeling like a proper season. We need these trail markers. And, with the reality of an unwelcome annual fire season here now, I have a deeper appreciation for these wet winter months - even with all the emotional weight and wash dumping down on us. An introspection reluctant to leave. A revisited page from some autumn afternoon not so long ago.

If I'm lucky, I can hear Max in his residence above the shop - playing cello in the late morning solitude, a Bach suite undulating over the ceiling beams. The store will have a warm glow by midday. Staff arriving to liven things up. Masked, muffled laughter. Phones ringing and funny messages mixed in with online email requests. Lots of jazz today. Cannonball Adderley. Mingus. Gilberto for certain. Nothing better than Bossa Nova and the rain.

Let's keep tapping. Let's keep moving. Swinging and swaying, cool and gentle. And if it gets really wild out there, know that we've got an ark of wine here to keep you warm.

Cheers,

Daniel

Gene Ammons to start it off:  PLAY
Somethin’ Else: PLAY