Qualifications didn’t matter. I said it anyway.
Indifferent strangers swirled around, jostling me from a thousand miles away as only New Yorkers can, empty eyes looking right past my pitch, that claimed square yard of concrete that was mine for a minute–candy wrappers conveyed.
The looming hulk of Madison Square garden chuckled down at me, a scruffy street musician finishing a drowned out Johnny Cash cover.
Thank you, and goodnight.
Nobody heard.
But I meant it.
Then I breathlessly ducked back down into the subway without buying an umbrella from the hawkers, and left.
The train went to Philly and eventually here.
(Good thing I took the express.)
All trains roll through the years, and now it’s the last Friday of ‘23.
A Warming Feeling
Much happened this year. I wrote that book like “Martha” asked. This blog is growing. And that newspaper column showed up one day
Writing for the paper is a charge. I like to think of the words sitting in a fragrant soft bed of paper, waiting to be picked off the newsstand and read in little country stores along Campbell highway while the logging trucks rumble outside.
Writing for this is wild. It’s like an international living room, something that I hoped social media would have been. (That’s turned into an international laundry room.) People stop, and read, and write, and we all get to discuss and ponder and think together.
Pass the pretzels.
When I used to play lots more guitar, every once in a while the gig would go well, and people would start to drift in.
It would be a warming feeling, a “hey, now we’re cooking” vibe.
This has the same feeling. We’re all gathering, collecting into a little corner of the internet. I’m sweating, trying to craft something coherent, worthy of your attention. Sometimes it’s a dud. Sometimes it clicks, and I’ll find a riff, and it works.
I saw the moon this morning, stuck like a balloon in the sycamore, leftover from a late night Christmas party. I said hello, that it was a fine day, that the mist looked like it was finally clearing, and for the first time in three days one could see the ridgeline on Long Mountain.
It said nothing.
(Or maybe people don’t yell “FREEBIRD.”)
And sometimes it’s just odd, and we can all chuckle.
(I’m confusingly appreciative of the “no-men” who I’m blessed to know.)
It’s such a tickle to have a place to put the pines on a July morning when a hint of dew lingers in the grass, the mad poems of springtime and fear and loss, the nostalgia of autumn with a sad rain, the spiderweb of an idea followed right along with you. (I’m usually as surprised as you are at the conclusion.)
Thank you for that.
Not Sure Why
I’m not sure why I do this. Maybe it’s…
Because I made up a deadline.
Because people sign up for this, and the schedule SAYS M-W-F.
Because an editor told me to get better at writing, one should practice.
Because I’m genuinely worried things are getting worse, and maybe I might do my part about it.
Because it seems flashy in a quiet way and like I might matter (which isn’t a good reason, and I know it.)
Because we’re actually building this together, a warm little room that isn’t dark, or twisted, and if you hold your laptop up to your ear, you can hear the cricket frogs down in the horse pond.
And because it’s nice to have a place to tell you about them.
I get to do some cool things. The library kids skyped in to the woodshop this evening. We’re building a telescope for under fifty bucks. “Is that a saw you cut a tree down with?”
“No, but THIS is. It’s gonna be SMELLY!”
ROARRRRRRRRR!
There’s guitar, and discussing astrophysics, and driving along listening to stupid pop music on the way to talk with seniors about big ideas. And don’t forget Elvis records.
And this blog.
It’s a treat, and thank you for being part of it. Thank you for reading it, for dropping a note, for continuing friendships, for building new ones, and hanging out.
I suspect 2024 is going to be hard. Monday’s post is the newspaper column talking about Resolutions. I’ll be needing them. I’d like to figure out a few ways to make this blog be…useful, of service, aiming more for a lighthouse, if for nobody else but me.
There’s time to figure that out. The road will sing Friday evening on the way back through the mountains, a reminder to listen (and to get new tires).
I’ll keep an ear out. Let me know if you have any thoughts, too.
While Orion sets out on a hunt with his dogs, and Twins watch the moon balancing on her ladder, painting the sky a midnight blue, I’d like to say...
Thank you, and goodnight.
–Josh