In a brief ceremony held under cold rain, the loyal hen Goldie, recently removed from the chest freezer where she lay wrapped in a feed bag since her death in winter, was buried per daughter’s request beneath a flowering plum tree overlooking the valley. Last of our first flock.
Played my songs this weekend surrounded by musicians who push me, are patient with me, and who have provided me with a whole other slice of delicious life. I like to think working a little off-balance keeps me from running the same old ruts. I know my bass player can relate.
I’m not big into writing “tricks.” Mainly, you just do the work. But sometimes when I’m stuck I shut down the electronics, get out one of my manual typewriters, and bang away. No filter, no brakes, no backspace insta-edits. Just cover the paper with words. Long stretches of worthless clatter, sure, but invariably the dross…View post
Kitty may or may not attend.
Over a decade now since a friend came out of the woods (admittedly within range of a Kwik Trip), handed me a CD, and said let me know what you think. It’s good, I told him, after many listens. You’re growing. Growing in fresh directions. And difficult directions. As you should. And must. But I…View post