There’s a great story in Across The Great Divide, about how the Band hooked up with photographer Elliott Landy. They didn’t want the best photographer — they asked around, looking for the worst photographer, because “best” wasn’t necessarily what they needed at the time, and someone said, “Well, I don’t know if this guy is the worst, but he certainly works for the worst publications.” And they went out and found him, and he self-admittedly screwed up his whole first meeting with Albert Grossman and Robbie Robertson, and then he got the job and made some of the most iconic photos of the group ever taken — the cover photo for The Band, for one. That story delights me.

I am thinking about empty small town airports right now. Empty small town airports, the hands of people I know, and the Band. I was grouchy last night, about the end of the weekend, but today I am quiet and thoughtful.