The powers that beForce us to live like we doBring me to my kneesWhen I see what they've done to you.

This one is just gonna be words.

Stanette came back from seeing her sister. Her sister is at home (yay!), alive (double yay!), and on the long road to recovery. Love you, Stephanie.

Stanette called on her way home from the airport, just before midnight, and said she was hungry.

I went straight to work, fired up the grill, made a pepper-salt-garlic-onion-soy sauce hamburger patty.

It was about a pound and a half, and I made it one big, thin patty, like a plate-size pancake. The sizzling soy sauce sent me sailing into the stratosphere.

I pulled it off (heh heh), let it sit and warmed up a couple tortillas, the big ones.

I put a little mayo-dijon-mustard-sriracha-ketchup on the tortillas, and then sliced the burger into long strips.

I put the burger strips on the tortilla, grabbed a handful of spinach, threw it on the burger, wrapped it up and partied down.

(((((((One Two From Me To You.)))))))

This morning Stanette made coffee and brought it to bed. We read our books and eased out of bed.

We had breakfast and I toured her through the garden I have been tending to while she was gone. The cherry tomatoes are juicy. We ate them sliced open with salt.

We picked some radishes. Several varieties of hot peppers are hanging off the stalks.

I went on a weeding, lawn-mowing, weed-whacking jihad, the likes of which you infidels have never seen.

Three and a half hours.

During that time, Stanette cleaned the few spots I may have missed while she was gone. For three and a half hours.

Somewhere in there, I had a reuben. I never regret ordering the reuben.

I ran into town to get some guitar strings and plectrums.

Stanette shopped for wedding dresses online.

I laid a towel across the dining room table, and put fresh strings on my guitars.

It was really relaxing. I was zenning* out.

I cleaned and polished them up. No music was playing.

Then we watched True Blood.

Later, I marvelled at how good new strings feel. Like your teeth right after the dentist, shiny and clean.

It's pretty much an imaginary Wembley Stadium up in the Boogie Station. 80,000 screaming fans.

I make the "hhhhhhhhhhhoooohhhohhh" mock-stadium sound myself, and bask in the reflected glory.

They demand an encore, and I deliver.

Again.

I do an interview afterwards, in my garage, and an MTV reporter asks me if we're sellouts.

I say, "Yes. We are sellouts. We sell out every seat... every night."

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Good night, sweet angels.

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*100% legitmate word.