Little vacation here unto the great state of Vermont, USA, Earth, town called Reading, 20 minutes drive from anywhere in good weather and right now it’s below zero degrees, fahrenheit, wind chill -15 or so, and snowing. I am indoors. There’s a fire in the place (a wood stove with soapstone walls and a window on the front door) and Z and Uncle John (well, Papa John really) are watching some kinda CSI spin-off on Netflix while I indulge my first internet usage in over a week.
Tomorrow is our last day here (to my dismay and surprise - I had thought our plane out was on Friday, but NOOOO - but I remember now, because I have to move the truck across the street when we get home, to accommodate unrational Los Angeles street cleaning policies) … and the current tentative plan is to maybe snowshoe with our friends Christian and Elena, brilliant writers both. But all plans made in this region at this time of year are by definition “weather permitting” …
That is not why I do not live here. I would live here again if I could afford to not drive anywhere between December and March. I haven’t lived anywhere else as consistently beautiful as this place. Although, at the moment, down in Los Angeles, I am playing more music in more bands in more venues (and making less money at it) than ever before in my life, and I think I’ll ride it out. Vermont is probably not going anywhere. Nor my dear friends who live here. They are not going anywhere, too.
