Summer's swirling away and my head is doing the slow rhythmic circles of a cat watching the toilet flush. Mornings on the front steps watching the birds cut invisible 8's into the sky have recently included slippers and a black hoodie. Blankets have come out of hibernation and roam the house looking for their first meal of the new season . . . toes and legs and knees are on the menu. Shivering has never felt so good.

The "Big Conference" is fast approaching. Soon the house will be packed with art friends from all over the country. Couches will be claimed, the spare bedroom will be coveted and envied over, and then even the most extra of extra blankets will feast on cold flesh.

Students will arrive in a matter of days, sun-burned and summer-burned. They are younger every year. Soon enough the break of summer will be a wave of toddlers in Hurley diapers and CK one-sies crying for beer and dropping dollar bills on the floor while they fist mooshed treats into their mouths.

Art is happening here. Secret art that will eventually fill this blog with in-prossess pictures of deranged delights and confections of your childhood memories.

And it will be for sale.