Anthony Trollope. Please don’t tell Henry James.

I would like to lie around this weekend on a hill overlooking the beautiful, revitalized, ecologically cleaned-up Connecticut River, as it wends its way down under highway I-95 to the Long Island Sound. It is listed officially as “One of the Last of the Great Places.” I would watch the swans and geese and other birds soaring in over the marshes and wetlands across the river and wait for my pet eagle, “Wally,” to appear down on the dock on top of the flagpole. I love this more bucolic, less social part of the Nutmeg State. And when I am there, I am a master at doing absolutely nothing but feeding my soul.

This weekend, I want to lie around with all the magazines I haven’t read during the week and finish Counselor by Ted Sorenson.

This weekend I have a date with a seal. There are a lot of seals in British Columbia and living on a boat I meet quite a few. They are quite personal, and there is one in particular who talks to me in a thump thump sort of way. I think he is asking me to do something about one boat here that is a bit loose with its rubbish and it stands out in this sparkling clean sea. I’ve seen the owner. I’d guess he is a logger; he has muscles that wouldn’t make it into the arms of a jacket. I wouldn’t ask my captain to take him on because my captain is irreplaceable, but the girl who is one of the managers of the marina strikes me as absolutely fearless so, if I can get her as upset as the seal is, I can lie around the sun deck feeling I have done something good about cleaning up the world. I have to get a picture of the seal for you. Very smart seal.

This weekend, while the rest of you are lying around doing nothing, I’ll be performing in Spokane and Portland and earning the time to lie around on Monday while the rest of you have to get up and go to work. Or, to paraphrase Edith Ann, "God made the world in six days and then took the seventh day off while the rest of us have to get up and go to church."