We’re hitting the edge of summer. We can’t sleep with a window open all night because the temperature drops into the forties and the blanket we’ve been using is a tad too heavy. It’ll work toward the time when we really wish we could climb between 1,000 count cotton sheets butt naked and wander into the arms of Morpheus. We won’t because deep down in our brains we’re worried about one of the kids or a roommate seeing us making a bathroom run in the buff. I worry about that now that I’m in my sixties. In my thirties not so much. The body was different and there were other reasons for the lack of sleepwear. A girlfriend who enjoyed sleep as much as any feline I’ve seen. She didn’t make any sudden moves, it was as if she oozed from one position to another. I enjoyed watching her when I couldn’t sleep. When she woke, it was in stages. Eyes open, followed by a sleepy smile. Stretches followed and finally wound up with her trying to find her robe that was tossed on the floor the night before.
Now, I’m sitting in a second floor apartment, semi-watching a Mets game. The third they’ve had go into extra innings and listen to the drone of minibikes racing up and down LaSalle Street. The trees are in full leaf shading the living room and the breeze carries the same aromas from last week, charcoal starter followed by burgers and franks. I’ve got a steak planned but I lack a grill and really don’t want to go through the hassle of buying one that’s a reasonable size because there’s not a lot of storage space and I know I’ll probably use it once or twice and it’ll rust away or get stolen. I’ll stick with cast iron indoors. I’ll enjoy what I’ve got.

Today, June 1st is the birthday of the woman whom I’ve loved since I first saw her. Marilyn Monroe. I’m not going to say I’d sell my soul to spend time with her because I know how that works out. It goes back to when I was a kid and me and my cousins would walk to the Boy’s Club. My cousin Dave was in love with Bridgette Bardot, he pronounced it Bar-dot as opposed to the proper Bar-deux. For me it was Marilyn, blond, breathy and built, or at least what older kids told me right after they said I wouldn’t know what I’d do with her if I got her. That might have been true. But meeting her would have been enough. Given the circumstances, if it were possible I wouldn’t know what to do with her if I met her at my present age. She was a self-created image that became a prison. She wasn’t intellectual but she was well-read. The problem was the public wanted the overblown sex goddess who filled their intellectual need for a dumb blonde who’s great in bed and looks good as long as she keeps her mouth shut. I’m sorry Marilyn. I thought that once.

Today is also the birthday of two rock icons: Pat Boone and Ron Wood. Pat Boone made rock and roll white and Ron Wood is in a group that made the white girls squirm when they played.
It’s also The Murph’s birthday.

The Mets won by a run in the eleventh 4-3.

Have a good week. Be nice to somebody you really dislike.