Monday. Just…Monday.

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I spent Sunday installing cat doors so the boys could go out and play on the hillside. They choose not to, since it’s cold and windy out but inside they can lie in a warm sunbeam as Bast intended. Still, it’s good to have the option, and I’m sure they’ll use it. Probably in the spring. For the nonce, however, the squirrels are safe.

Something that almost came up before, so I thought I’d mention it and get it out of the way: I stopped doing formal reviews years ago and these days I don’t review that much, and when I do, I don’t review books by people I know personally. That is, friends. The reason is simple: I value the friendship more than the urge to voice an opinion. I make an exception for Parke Godwin mostly because 1) there was little chance of my NOT liking something he’d written. He was and remains one of my favorites and 2) Despite his better than decent career, I still consider him underrated, and anything that gets the word out is a good thing. In contrast to another book I’m reading. By a friend, and a very good writer, but this is early work and while not bad, should have been cut by at least a quarter. Very wordy, and believe me, I know wordy, being guilty of it myself on occasion. (Pause now for the Muse to stop laughing).

Anyway, I won’t review it because there’s little point in criticizing someone for something they used to do. And I value the friendship more than etc. Just so you know.

I was shocked to hear of David Bowie’s passing. He wasn’t that old and I had no idea he was ill. It’s impossible to overemphasize the influence the man had and continued to have on popular music since I was aware of music as a separate thing. “Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars” was the soundtrack of my college years, and it feels like the passing of an era.

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