Stoop swingers.

Dirty Projectors' Bitte Orca album on vinyl is spinning in Dish and Rabbi's dining room and I am folded up in a royal chair at the oak table writing and singing along. I just came in from cruising the Mansion stoop where I sat surrounded by all of my favorite boys: James (fresh back from Chinoise), William, the Dirty Gurngler, Two Dads, and baby Evan. Skateboards and complimentary paraphernalia dotted the front yard, along with one million bicycles. Mine and Rabbi's new coffee table book/source of inspiration lay spread open on my lap and four pairs of man hands dipped up and down in the corner of my eye above the guac bowl on my right. James' guacamole is illegal. And by illegal, I mean delicious. I missed them, that, this. Eating chips, shooting the shit, lazy skateboarding on a Thursday at 5 in the afternoon, magic hour creeping, Will spring cleaning and making way for a real dining room in a dilapidated Mansion that we have all grown up in (in a sense). I missed my boys. I missed my girls.

Speaking of girls, Rebecca and Trish have taken me into the nest, hen style, and our shit blends beautifully. Record collections collided, high heels are everywhere and the total number of piece combinations from our respective closets are limitless. The sky is the limit with these birds. I like it. Last night, Dish and I sprawled out with our records everywhere and she took me on a musical journey starting with the Sonics, followed by Roky Erickson and then headlong into a heap of heavy psych. It was pretty wild and eventually we took a musical break and sat on our own stoop for fresh air. Belford took note and called over the fence and we went next door to the Mansion and sat on their wide porch laughing until Rabbi came to shepherd us to yet another sun porch three stories up and kitty corner from our original roosting spot. This is Winnipeg. My Winnipeg. This is the neighborhood and we are a bunch of multi-aged stoop swingers. It is nice to be home.

Jana Hunter is on now and fresh vegetables reaped from a late night turned early morning visit to Mama Shaun's garden in the country (Reb's parent's house outside of the city limits) are steaming on the stovetop. We watched the full moon with necks craned while staggering down the family gravel road. Grant and Ian found a ramshackle homestead and dragged us inside to look. The moon was beautiful through the cracks in the lean-to roof. Absolutely beautiful. I felt so youthful, full of vim and vigor, standing there in that wooden room beside the women and the men who dragged us in. Matilda stalked between our legs with indifference, unmoved by the beauty of the near harvest moon. I thought it was amazing, but then again, these days I amaze easily. Even a toilet seat amazes me. A telephone, a banana, a sidewalk. These things amaze me. I am amazed.

My fresh green beans are ready and Rabbi just came in with another bottle of rouge. Excuse me, summer calls.

Oh, I am back from the dead. Megsie Kinita, my stylist extraordinaire cut through my bush bangs today with hedge clippers (basically) and dunked my head in a pool of dark dark dark brown and after three grueling hours in her chair, I walked out feeling like me again. I can see. I once was blind but now I see. Thanks Kinita, you rule.

This is Rebecca and I, mere hours ago. Edie and Francoise are back with a vengeance. Watch out boys.