Bar rooms and a honky tonk jukebox--they were my loves.One night met a middle aged barmaid (judging by the spread) who was a former Raio City Music Hall Rockette.She prided herself on her intelligence and she was a real ballbuster-a know-it-all like my father. I happened in looking for a waitress I had met--the barmaid sniped and sniped about that but I ignored her. With a few drinks I--in my then customary Norman is a piece of shit mode-- remarked that I was a writer who was doing more high paying construction work than writing.She remarked that she had a degree in fashion design but bartending had always paid more. She added that she owned apartments in Queens--"don't rent to airline stews" she said. I was in about the middle of my six breakdowns and not taking my meds. I didn't tell her I threw away a couple of hundred bucks during my first breakdown. But perhaps she would have understood. I left alone,but I left a big tip. Back to this Sunday. Our assistant rector is a woman and she gave us a fine sermon about the blind man who Christ healed. Yes was blind but now I see. Writing. Got to learn to contrast better.My parents were young adults during the Great Depression. Understand Norman, understand.