Journal Excerpt: 2001

wow. i’m dizzy. it feels good. i could stop to think about it but i won’t.
the weeds are tall but that’s ok. the roses are bountiful

today i missed some of my friends in new york. i thought about the ones who
maybe sacrificed too much trying to “make it”. some of them have been battling the
music business for almost twenty years now. that’s a long time. it just creeps up
on you

it’s hard to know what to do sometimes until it’s too late. i went down kicking and
screaming, but now i’m married, have an amazing five year old daughter and a
perfectly charming little house. i got lucky. it could have gone the other way

we just got back from going out to dinner. isabelle met all the waitresses and they
hung up her crayon drawing from the paper they put on the tables
she is the joy of my life

it’s eight thirty five and just starting to get dark. it’s quieter now than when I started
writing this. maybe I should go in the house. i need to memorize my scenes for
monday’s class

life is good
bye

* 1995

i was playing in a brightly lit coffeehouse in a mall in danville when a woman
walked up to me and started a conversation. or tried to: i was in the middle of a
song and it’s difficult to carry on a conversation while you’re singing. she wanted
to know, among other things, if i took requests. i tried to discourage her from
speaking by giving her a look that conveyed: “hey, i’m trying to sing a song here,
do you mind?”. she got the hint and opened her purse, pulled out a post-it note,
wrote down the song she wanted to hear, and stuck it on my folder of lyrics that
was sitting on the table next to me.
that was the last time i played at a coffeehouse. the note is still stuck on my folder

* 2002

hugo was born at home on a wednesday at noon. isabelle was there. she was
five-and-a-half. she did well with the whole experience; got close when she felt
brave, walked across the room if it was too intense.

she had been the only child and only grandchild for so long we knew it was going
to be a hard transition for her, so everyone made an extra effort to involve her in
hugo’s arrival.
it was a nice gesture, but the reality was that the new baby would be getting most
of the attention for the forseeable future. whether cooing or crying, yawning or
sleeping, everything he did was new and amazing

after dinner i spent time with isabelle, playing in her room, trying to preserve our
connection. when it was time for her to go to bed i read her a story then kissed her
goodnight. as i was leaving her room a wave of sadness came over me that took
me by surprise. i felt the loss that she was experiencing; the end of her being the
only child. the end of it being just the three of us. our rhythm, our routines –
everything would be different now

when i turned off her light it felt like putting a period on the end of that chapter.
the next chapter would be called “life with the new baby”
i don’t think either of us were ready for it

* 1975

paul and joe and little face lived on the same block
we lived around the corner
my brother and i would tell our parents we were going to hang out in paul’s garage
“what do you do over there?” my mom would ask
“spit and swear” we would answer
paul was always working on a 1950s truck, trying to get it running. there were so
many things wrong with it no one ever expected him to succeed
the rest of us just messed around. shot things with a bb gun. melted things with a
propane torch.

paul’s wasn’t like a normal house where there was always the possibility of a
parent walking out and disapproving of something you were doing.
his parents never came out of the house, and we never went in
they were in there, but we rarely saw them. they were like shadowy mythic figures

paul’s garage was where i would later keep the motorcycle my parents told me i
couldn’t buy. where i burnt my hand dropping a lit match into a half empty gas can.
where joe fixed my triumph spitfire after he crashed it into a tree.

* written june 1, 2009

i was strict with hugo and i feel bad
i didn’t read him a story because he didn’t get his pajamas on fast enough.
he was tired. i was grumpy
i said i didn’t want to be mean to him
he didn’t understand: “grown-ups always say that and it doesn’t make any sense.
then why don’t you read me a story?”
i tried to explain; “if you have a pet and you really love it and it does something it’s
not supposed to do you have to say ‘bad dog’”
it seemed like that made some sense to him
then i said that i can’t have to tell him 3 or 4 times to do something
he interrupted; “why do you have to say it again!? i know!”
then he started crying a little bit
i said i was sorry
i said i would sit with him while he fell asleep
i asked if he wanted me to do that, or go
he said “go”
so i went

* 1981

i took a year off from college between my sophomore and junior years
i hadn’t declared a major and had no real direction toward one
i joined a band called euphoria. they had an agent and gigs that paid well.
mostly high school dances playing whatever songs high school kids wanted to
hear.
at first it held my interest because the other musicians were good
then it didn’t. i stopped rehearsing and my playing suffered
so they fired me
i couldn’t blame them, but i was still surprised and hurt when i got the call
it was the keyboard player
he did say: “as a person you’re a ten”
that was nice

* 1974

junior high – math class – terri dorris passed me a note that said ‘lori likes you’.
lori was in the class, sitting a few rows back. she and terri were best friends.
i didn’t respond. didn’t look over to terri or back at lori. i was surprised and excited,
but completely at a loss for what to do.

that friday was the dance. the rest of the week i did not acknowledge the note – did
not change my behavior in any way.

friday night in the gym i stuck with my usual group of friends. lori and terri scurried
around most of the night – at dances the girls always seemed to be going back and
forth to the bathroom
lori was wearing a floor length dress. we crossed paths a couple times.
there were expectant glances from both of them: “well, are you going to do
something?”. i never did

all i had to do was ask her to dance. then hold her hand. then she would be my
girlfriend. it was all set up.
but i was somehow frozen. unable to act. say hi. smile. anything
i would have been so happy to hold her while we slow danced. maybe get a
goodnight kiss

at the end of the dance terri came up to me and said: “lori doesn’t like you
anymore”, then walked away. that was it. i missed my chance.

the next week at school lori was holding hands with chris winger

* 2010

rehearsing one of my songs; ‘the sun will rise’. i was still figuring out the lyrics for
the transition to the chorus

there were two people i was thinking about when i wrote this. seeing they were in a
lot of pain. wishing i could help them in some way

* 1985. journal excerpt: true west european tour

arrIved in holland 3 days ago. ferry ride was long. played black jack in the bar
the rooms were tiny; approx 6.5′ x 6.5′. each had three bunks

bought gloves and sox at a truck stop. richard and kevin bought switchblades.
eating lunch in a mall in appledorn. a pastry covered with potato gravy, chicken
and mushrooms.

first gig went well. approximatley 200 folks. the club had a hashish den

mickey didn’t want to exchange currency for kroner when we were in germany, so
we had to sit in a parking lot for three hours waiting for the bureau to open. he is
obsessed with getting the best rate

* July 8, 1988. Friday @ 1:00 AM or so

having a night cap at Paul’s on 11th street
saw sandra bernhard at the orpheum; ‘without you i’m nothing’

frankenstein is on the TV above the bar
he just carried the little girl into the lake. you don’t see him drown her, but you
know that’s what happens
‘are you lonesome tonight’ is playing on the juke box

the screen just went fuzz. my mind is fuzz. lately i’ve just wanted to sleep and hide
from everything. i need to clear my head and focus my energy. it’s dispersing into
nothingness

now frankenstein is in the windmill and michael jackson is singing ‘the way you
make me feel’

two guys at the end of the bar; a big guy smoking mores and a regular guy who
hasn’t gotten more than an ‘uh-huh’ in in the last hour.
the regular guy just ordered another vodka and cranberry juice. he’s had a lot
already

now the windmill is burning