Breakfast, dinner.
Cherries that were formerly in the bowl, I have just eaten. Summer solstice approaches. Writing and reading, farting around, snacking off of other people's plates. Two days ago I made a joke about becoming a scary grandmother, serving people salad using my bare hands, whether they wanted salad or not. Then, last night, without thinking about it, I did exactly that! Or, nearly. Dreams can come true, is what I'm saying.

CASE IN POINT.
It has happened, of late, that I have moved into a big lovely storefront on a wide, tree-lined street, a quiet but major thoroughfare that begins at a hip and trendy corner, and ends at the entrance to a park. In this storefront, which is possessed of two huge plate glass windows and several rooms comprising over 2000 square feet, several other artists-printers-designers and I are in the process of turning the space into a workshop and boutique. I don't have any pictures of this yet. Part of the reason for this is that my press has not yet arrived from the countryside, and so I have as yet had nothing to focus my attention and affections upon; the other reason is that our building has recently erected 5 stories of scaffolding, then covered that with sheet plastic, so at the moment the light isn't so good. But they've given us two months rent-free to make up for the inconvenience. Anyway, we need time to get everything set up.

The press I will be receiving is being cleaned and oiled, just now, by a new friend of mine who lives in Viborg, a city 4.5 hours west and in the middle of the part of Denmark that is attached to Germany. He, Bent, is involved with a working museum of printing and book making out there, called Vingaards Officin, after the German printer (Herr Weingarten) who came up to Viborg during the Reformation. The museum is currently housed in an old garage and has no fewer than 3 Intertype machines (for casting lines of type from lead - also known as a linotype machine), two Heidelberg presses, an Eickhoff (Danish-made) cylinder press, and a small Korrex cylinder press. And type. And some friendly guys, retired from their jobs as printers and binders and machine-fixers and teachers. One of them, it turned out, had grandparents who had moved to Austin, Texas, maybe a hundred years ago. Back when it was a tiny town! They had a son, this guy's father, and then eventually moved back to Denmark, leaving sweet, hot, dusty Austin far behind. I visited this place not too long ago, but that will be another post.

printed in Viborg.

Today, I begin a short project with Concerto Copenhagen that will take us to Potsdam, near Berlin, for the weekend.

Also, today, rain, after several weeks of perfect weather. On days like this, I can take a taxi with the bass and feel no guilt. Thanks, rain!