I was reminded that today is the fiftieth anniversary of my first visit to Kansas, a trip to Wichita to see a Black Sabbath concert at the newly opened Century II concert hall. It’s marked in history because of the twelve inch snow that fell on Friday night, followed by another ten inches the next day.
We had come to Winfield on Friday and slept on the floor of Michael Totty’s dorm room at Southwestern College. Heading to Wichita the next day for the concert was out of the question. The campus became a winter playground with students leaping from the dorm room roofs into ten-foot snow drifts, making huge soups of ingredients collected from random dorm rooms and the passing of many joints around circles of new-found friends.
Fifty years seems like a long time, maybe it’s a milestone of sorts. My high school fiftieth reunion was postponed because of Covid 19, this seems like a more appropriate commemoration anyway.
I shall resist turning this journal into a full-blown memoir, I’ll just stick with tracking the moon and the sun and the occasional snowstorm and let these personal moments sneak in as they please.