My March Madness

It's beautiful outside, but I'm lying on the couch, sick, listening to Sinatra at the Meadowlands circa March '86, and watching a Duke shooter sink a three-pointer.

I guess this is my version of March Madness.

Sinatra is telling me to take it nice 'n' easy, and that's good advice. I'm headed down what I hope is the back stretch of the flu, frustrating, forgettable.

Jenn has gone to a bridal show. Shelton has gone to Bristol. I have gone from the bed to the sofa.

It's OK. It's been a long, long time since I've been this ill. Plus I heard yesterday that my good friend and A-Number One dobro player Phil Leadbetter may have lymphoma. Put it in perspective. And pray for Phil.

I've been feeling so good lately. I'm in love with a wonderful woman who will become my wife in six months. Work has never been better. The words and rhyme keep playing in time.

This is but a detour. I'll rest awhile then get back in the game.

Y'all excuse me now. I'm going to pull the covers closer and take a nap.