My Dearest Trude,
Where are you? Are my missives falling under your intelligent gaze? I feel I've lost you in not one, but two universe; the vastness of North America, and the infinity of the electronic ocean. I continue to write to you as one casts a message in a bottle - with little hope that the message will be read - but still the vaguest of suspicions that it might yet fins its intended recipient.
What makes me doubly sad is you are not here to share the antics of the warm and warming Bill Irwin. Fool Moon has returned to Broadway, and we are all the richer for it. It is not startling, innovative, heart-stoppingly clever. But it is oh, so sweet, gentle, clever, guileless. Oh, yes, there's some person named Shriner with Bill. More of him below.
Let me hurl my bouquets of gratitude to the Deity who provided that my life span and Bill Irwin's should coincide - if only briefly. I look on his kind countenance (Bill's, not the Deity's) and I am beguiled. It would be pointless to describe his charming escapades. It would be pointless to describe Van Gogh's bridges, Brahms' op. 118 piano works, Wright's Falling Waters, a desert sunset (you know about that). Perhaps I wax icky. That is my right. Bill Irwin is an angel on earth - I thank him for his desire to share his gifts.
And there is that Shriner fellow.
Well, the entertainment is balanced between Good Clown (Dear Bill) and Spiky Clown (David Shriner). Thesis, antithesis, synthesis. All right, I can live with that. Shriner is excellent at what he does, but for such obnoxiousness, I need only walk from the theatre to the street and it will be there tenfold. Shriner makes me laugh. Irwin makes me smile. I prefer to smile - though I am grateful for the laughter.
And I am in love with the percussionist of the Red Clay Ramblers. You-Know-Who sensed this and got rather shirty after the show was over. Well, for heaven's sakes, can't an old fellow like myself enjoy the beauties of the young. Y-K-W is not in the best spirits these days, but even so. I would've thought even he could have appreciated the charms of the handsome young skins beater. Actually he did, he just resented the fact I did. Y-K-W is not always easy.
Perch soon and give me a clue as to your whereabouts. There is a Christmas salami with your name on it - but I have to know where to send it!