Beltane                                                                                  Sumi-e Moon

The 102nd running of the Indy 500 is over. Will Power won; Danica crashed. Big traffic jams and lots of beer. Noise. Green flags, yellow flags, and one checkered flag. I went once, long ago, maybe 1958. The mighty Novi V-8 was in the race and from our seat near the fourth turn we got to hear its roar every lap as it accelerated for the long front straightaway. Watching the 500 was a sensual experience. It wrapped us in sound, flashed colors and tires and driver’s heads before our eyes, briefly, and put us among the 250 to 300,000 people in attendance. “Gentlemen, start your engines!” (no. no women drivers back then.)

Lebron James carried the Cavaliers to the NBA finals, his 8th straight. I’m beginning to see that he might be Michael Jordan’s equal, or better. Certainly his will and drive match Michael’s. Basketball and the Indy 500. Hoosier themes not removed from my life though I watched neither the race nor the NBA playoffs. They still crank up my interest.

My Sunday was much less exciting. Garage cleaning. Getting back to a task I had almost completed when Jon moved in following the start of his divorce from Jen. Nap. Money meeting. Another Midsomer Murder, number one of the twentieth season. Dreams.