It was reported on Sunday. He was 92.
The year that I turned 25 I was living in Seattle. I remember sitting on the back porch, the only place we could smoke, reading, “Another Roadside Attraction”. The “We” was, a roommate and I. We had two chairs from the kitchen facing out on an expanse of woodland park. It was covered with blackberry brambles and evergreen trees. There was a constant rain.
If I close my eyes I can conjure up those heady days (daze). They were full of wild nights of drinking and long hangovers of sitting out there sipping bourbon from a pint between us. Smoking and reading. There was an intense perfume of evergreen and misty rain.
So I fell in love with Tom Robbins. Read every book and dreamt of somehow meeting him. He was like a rock star in my mind.
Of course that never happened. Five years later I would be home in Chicago and my mother would die.
Not a good place to dwell this morning. There are stories and stories. Later. I’ll tell them later.
Right here, right now, in this apartment in this place, at this time, I am extremely grateful to be alive and sober. I am grateful for a strong cup of coffee and heat hissing up in the radiators. I’m grateful for a little work today and the fabulously wild imagination of Tom Robbins.
☮️🙏🏻🦋
Spinster Life 