This week’s calendar entry cannot be improved upon, so I’m going to hold back my usual torrent of clever self-obsessed blabber.
Here’s hoping that — today, or someday soon — all of us get to enjoy one of those perfect days that make us glad we’re alive.
June 14, 1973.
Hope Street 
Is that another lottery number? Man, somebody was playing the numbers.
I knew someone would catch that. Yup, I guess lottery fever was more than just a two-week affliction.
Still seems counter to my grandfather’s nature … but, the evidence is the evidence.
[…] We’ve visited my grandfather at moments of celebration, and moments of grief, and moments of frustration, and moments of silliness, and moments of sublime Zen quietude. […]