We’re getting close to the High Sierra Music Festival. When I bought Bob the tickets, I was pretty optimistic about it — I mean about me enjoying this experience of several days of camping and music. But as we get closer to the actual event I am dreading it. Walker called yesterday and we were chatting and she’s telling me about the line up early Thursday for the key camping places and how we can jockey with cars closer up who can throw down our tarps for us and I say, “I hate it already.” Walker assures me I can stay at the motel until this part is over. “So I’m just the window dressing?” I ask. “You are our Vanna White,” she tells me.

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