The Path

In front of you, in front of me, never easy
So apparent, still deceptive, so we go
Sometimes blindly, often frightened, but together
Even as one of us lags behind

And when I need to walk alone
Don't take it as a slight
It's just the way I'll always be

Walking slowly, running madly, catching breath
Hold my hand, push away, meet again
See the sunrise, sweat the midday, watch the sunset
And drink in the moon along the path

Critter Crossing

The ice and snow doesn't seem to phase most of the critters around. With all the leaves down it's even easier to spot them as they dart across the lawn. Squirrels and birds are a constant, raccoons and skunks amble through, once in a while a lost fox. I've seen coyotes in the park down the street and of course tons of deer. Enough to have venison for dinner well into May given a suburban round-up permit and a rifle or bow. Watching the critters out the kitchen window while I cook is a great pastime, but they are just too fast for me to snap. All that remains is the crosswalk.

The Grid Went Down

Sunday the wind was fierce and the grid went down. We have that problem a lot. More so since Ameren took over Union Electric a while back. They don't spend as much time maintaining the lines, trimming the trees, etc. so when the power goes out it's down for the count. Growing up in the country we expected outages to happen. A little bit of ice or wind and we'd be out for a day or more. But we prepared for the inevitable, lots of water jugs, charcoal, blankets, flashlights, kerosene lamps, books and games. Now we are so tied into the grid, what do you do? Easy for me. Light a candle, grab a guitar. Or cook up something toasty on the gas stove. And there's always many books to choose from. Sometimes I think it's good to go without the grid for a while; but I'd rather do it by choice.

I knew the bride when she used to Rock 'n' Roll

Sometimes it's hard not having kids. People seem to be waiting for an explanation. With women having babies later and later in life, well-meaning friends tell me there's "still time." Uh, no. Truth is, outside of when I was about four years old, and then a very short window of time in my early 30's, I've never wanted to have children. The maternal instinct just sort of passed me by. I have a niece, I have friends with kids, they're great and I love 'em, but it's not my gig. Maybe I'm too selfish, maybe I'm too bi-polar, maybe it just wasn't meant to be. About the only instinct I've ever felt strongly throughout my entire life is the need to be creative. And what is creativity if not a birth of sorts? Writing, painting, drawing, photography, gardening, cooking and especially music; the outcome of this, these are my children. But unless you are some famous, childless artist or rock star, people just don't get it. Not everyone can be rich and famous; not everyone should have kids.

Dan Fogelberg - Sometimes a Song.

Today I bought the "new" Dan Fogelberg single from iTunes, "Sometimes a Song". It's classic Fogelberg. Deceptively simple melody, clean guitar work, lyrics that ache with emotion, signature layered harmonies. It's one of those songs that make you smile, makes you want to cuddle up with your lover in front of the fireplace on a chilly Valentine's Day and sip a lovely glass of port. It's a bittersweet thing for me, hearing this song that he wrote for his wife for Valentines Day in 2005; knowing he had so much more music to give, grieving that the muse is now still. But Dan will live on in our hearts and minds and souls through the legacy of his music and through those he inspired as well.

100% of proceeds from all digital sales of "Sometimes a Song" will be donated to the Prostate Cancer Foundation. Untold thanks to Dan's wife, Jean, for sharing this intimate gift with all of us. Me? I'm off to learn it by tomorrow so I can pick it for my sweetheart on Valentine's Day, one Dan fan to another, because sometimes a song really is the only way to show him how much he means to me.

The Gate

Imprisoned by the undefined feeling that gnaws
Deep within the well of emotion beyond consciousness
Living where no one sees the possibility or aftermath
Of laying the forbidden bare to the sea and the sky.
Freedom is escape and escape is impossible, unthinkable
Uncomfortable silence in guilt blankets all desires
Only few have had both and paid dearly at sunset
When the gate closed as death for the very last time.

Blue Ridge Pottery Obsession

It all started when I saw a set of dishes at an antique mall back in '88 or so. Beautiful, sunny, hand-painted yellow flowers on a ripply edged plates. They wanted $280.00 for an incomplete set. It spoke to my re-emerging ruralness, to the carefree country girl stuck in the city. I loved it. I had to have it. But I also had to have car insurance, so it stayed in the booth. I flipped the plate over and wrote down what was stamped on the back. "Blue Ridge. Hand Painted. Underglaze. Southern Potteries, Inc. Made in USA." Complete with a mountain and a little pine tree. Thus began my obsession. I bought a collector's guide and scoured flea markets, antique malls, yard and estate sales. Now my world is filled with over 50 different designs, from my original beloved "Sunny" on a Colonial plate, to this maple leaf china cake tray in "Tussie Mussie". Back before the eBay boom, plates went for as much as $10. to $25. each. Now, like much of the collectibles market, not so much. Still, I look for Blue Ridge everywhere. Like the Kovels say, "Buy what you love." Yep, I love it.