Hey Tally folks:

let me tell you about my friend T-bone

She and I dated for 5 years and have been close buds for 5 more.

She can cook up anything from escargot to vegan sloppy joe. She can drink a 12 pack of beer and walk a straight line. She can balance two jobs and taking care of a mom with issues. She can dance like a muppet. She can tell a joke (as long as it is one of a half dozen she knows). She can make a tshirt look pretty damn good.

What can't she do? Wash dishes. Name a cat anything except Baby (she currently shares a tiny apartment with Old Baby and Good Baby). Whistle. Make friends with girls I date.

Last night, she took something off the can't list. See, she was an end of life surprise for her dad - in her 20s, she's the youngest of 5 kids, and the oldest is in his 60s. Her experience with babies is in the range of slim to none. But a bunch of our friends and loved ones have started spawning, and now there are newborns everywhere. The thing is, T-bone's never held one. The youngest kid to ever sit in her lap was a few years old, and that was only for a few seconds.

But Brother B put his wee one in her arms last night and stepped back. She whispered to Waylon, "When you're older, we're going to be best friends." She peered into his little face and he blinked back sleepily. She cried a little. T-bone and babies - who knew?

Did I mention Punk Nite?

I'll (punk) rock you like a hurricane. (I'm actually pretty much the world's worst dj, but it always turns out to be a lot of fun.)

take me to the river

Tonight: Mostly clear. Lows 41 to 48. Northeast winds around 5 mph.
Saturday: Mostly sunny in the morning then becoming partly cloudy. Highs around 76. East winds around 10 mph.
Saturday Night: Partly cloudy. Lows 50 to 53. East winds around 5 mph.

As the locals know, the weather in North Florida ranges from hot as homemade sin to cold as a witch's tit in a brass bra. Somewhere between the season of massive heat and massive skeeters and the season of chilly damp followed by hard freezes, we get a couple of perfect weeks. Candy blue skies. Bonfire nights. Moonlight turning every leaf silver. Sunlight that warms your body without melting your soul.

Camping weather.

My ground tarp's cut, an 8 X 10 slice of an old billboard cover. My quilts are rolled tight and bound with a bungee cord. My cooler is washed out and waiting to be packed full of three days worth of canned beer. My backpack's crammed full of socks, drawers, notebooks, and novels.

All around town, I can imagine my friends. We've bounced a few messages off each other - I know we're all half out of town already. "I'll pick you up at 6, be ready." "We got plenty of food, don't hold us up once we get rolling." "Give me the address, I may need to stay last at work and come after."

I've got my mind fixed on one moment in time: past the hour and a half drive, past the unlocking of the gate and the turning on of the water supply, past setting up my tent in the dark (good thing I've got practice on that one), past gathering wood. The moment when we drag stumps and folding chairs up next to the fire, crack open our beers, and settle in to watch the night unfold.

Don't miss out on the good weekends, guys. You don't get a whole lot of them.