This morning I sat at the pump at the gas station for a very long time, waiting for John to come out and pump my gas. I admit I was feeling shunned, assuming he was just inside talking to the farmers who come in for coffee and talk in the morning. I felt like a jerk (for a moment) when he finally appeared, confessing he�d pulled a car into the shop to work on it and found that the driver�s side door didn�t work. Someone hanging out inside the office had to come out to the garage to let him out.

A humbling experience to start the day.

But then I called The Whip on my way in to work to find out about buying tickets for the Kelly Willis/Bruce Robison benefit in Bloomington Friday night. But when I arrived at work, someone from the station had already e-mailed me with more information, though I hadn�t left my e-mail address when I called. They rock.

I rock.

Hey, a little self-esteem-building can be a good idea sometimes. Especially when one has been stewing.

Items I Have (Thus Far) Determined I Need to Buy to Live Anywhere Save My Present Apartment:

1. bed

2. couch

3. hand-tinted photo of a swimming hole

4. wood ironing board

5. kitchen and bathroom trash cans

6. toilet brush

7. wine glasses labeled �His� and �Hers�

8. dish drainer

9. towels (bath)

10. compass and/or sense of direction

11. drying rack

12. endless supply of tomatoes

13. cookie sheets/jelly roll pans

14. cutting board

15. renter�s insurance

16. attitude

17. curtains (and the sense to close them)

18. assorted clamps/sawhorses/saw/drill

19. glass measuring cup

20. shovel

21. pictures (4) of birds using dyed real feathers as accents

22. keychain

23. nut chopper

24. tv antenna

25. bay window

26. microwave

27. large wine rack (or table�for rolling pins)

That�d do it. Or would be a nice start.

If anything exciting goes on in the world today, somebody please e-mail me. I�m doing labels and stuffing envelopes. Scandalously easy work.

Today I�m oddly focused on the pitfalls of motherhood, thanks to a frank Q & A session last night at happy hour that was more than a little like this. More on this later.

I�m also pondering the issue of story songs. Like these from Johnny Cash (I heard �Stampede� on the radio this morning�give a listen to the sample) or any from Tom T. Hall. I think Tom T. disproves my theory that all story songs are depressing, but I might argue that he�s the only one who can make �em happy and fun.