Dad,
Even though we miss you, you haven't missed much a' anything since you been in 'da' joint.' Terry Dickey's sixtieth birthday party was a real good time; her sisters came up from Dallas and they were not only very attractive, tall women (you know I'm a sucker for a pretty face and long legs), but they could shake it too. The bash ended too early; the old crowd don't party like we used to twenty years ago. But there were some mighty good meatballs; Dave, my bass player, took home the leftovers.
You did missed a lot of good music during Easter week. John Carter and I sounded real good together, although I blew the last three measures of a hard piece on Easter morning. I hope Barbara Zuck isn't too severe in her criticism of my performance.
Well, now that I think about it, you woulda' enjoyed the Cols. Jazz Orchestra last weekend. Their guests, Ken Peploski and Peter Appleyarn, brought back those good old Benny Goodman clarinet days when Lionel Hampton played vibraphone. They played Airmail Special and Flying Home and I never get tired of hearing those songs. Thankfully, we didn't have to suffer through another version of Sing, Sing, Sing, for the ten thousanth time.
The rich people over on City Park returned from boozing, whorin' and drugin' around Amsterdam and we did go see a strangely beautiful Israeli film, The Band's Visit; about an Egyptian Police band that gets lost in the deserts of Israel, in the town of Beth Tivah. Sorry, we didn't eat any popcorn in your honor; I been eatin' way too much of it lately at OSU basketball games.
Byron and Milli Kohn had their fifty-seventh anniversary last Tuesday, with lunch at Shaw's Restaurant in beautiful, Downtown Lancaster. We talked about you; I told 'em you was a mess but too stubborn to kick the bucket and too hard headed to heal.
Well, this is week two of my six week creative period; taxes are due in two weeks, so I guess I can't put in off no longer. One book is done and one more to go, as well as two compact discs. I'm too creative for my own good.
I play a party at Cooper Stadium, Friday. I'll get a box o' corn for you, after I finish the National Anthem! How many of them dime dogs you want?
Sorry, we're not havin' any real fun while you're on vacation. Maybe we can get the warden to give you a furlough; we can go put a cherry bomb in Greg and Catherine's mailbox and wheelchair like hell.
Bright moments from Creole Village from your loving 'sun'!
A
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