The opposite of a finding aid

Hello from somewhere I can tell you about when I get home in a week.

A year ago or so ago right now I was working in the courtyard of a rambling apartment building in the French Quarter.

Today, I flipped through images of documents from the archives and wrote in the kitchen of a house on a beautiful and wild bay much further north, and I made red beans and rice mostly because it's Monday, and I put this on:

Opening this folder* from a research trip to the Schlesinger in 2019 (which yielded some of the material in this 2020 New Republic story), I found I had lodged this at the equivalent of the back of the file drawer—

Sorry if that's such a mess that it hurts but I know exactly how to find those again.

One more soothing thing, also from this kitchen, and more on where I am soon:

xxM