January 26, 2011 - Rock Springs, Wyoming for the night. Wind howling so loud it drowns out the TV, and the doors are rattling as winter threatens to break in and bury me in drifts. Heading East to Philadelphia and thinking about the gigs I need to set up in Minnesota in April and the work before me... I drove in silence most of today, thinking of words my Mom has given me yesterday and years ago. Words that echo in the heart of all of us - about loss and love and possibility. Perhaps the song will emerge, though I'm never sure. She writes about the rhythm of the road - that's where I get this wanderlust. Years of youthful traipsing across the country in the back of a Buick or Ford station wagon (or a Plymouth or a VW Bug). Knowing that the fries tasted the same no matter where you went and that a pool was a summer necessity for parental sanity on the road.
I'm following a path tonight and I wonder where it will find me tomorrow. Rehearsing words I'd wish I'd known at every loose end of life, practicing for everything yet to come. We practice for 90 years more or less, until perhaps we get it right.