Chill.
Grab a coffee, English Breakfast tea, Chai, cognac, scotch, bourbon, water and maybe a smoke,
all depending on where you are in the world of time zones.
Plug in some decent headphones and give yourself 7:40 minutes to just . . .
Chill.
This is 'Both Sides Now',  Herbie Hancock from River: The Joni Letters
Hancock is and has been a jazz piano God to me.
Forever.
And believe it or not he is 70 years old. (born in 1940)
At any rate, get a drink, perhaps a smoke and just
Chill.
for 7:40 . . .
Your brain will thank me.
This is musical/cerebral Zen at its finest.

A favorite song of mine that means many things to many people.
(for me? not about the 'horse')
Please listen and enjoy.
I had another post ready to go until I entered HTML Hell. (And I mean Hell)
My blogging mentor, genius and friend is working on the sketchy details.
And it's all about the details.
Headphones would be great for this vid, IMHO
We got your city girls, y'all.
Here at the Western World . . .

After I hit the 'publish' button on this post I will be away from the blog I so love for a little bit. I have so many wonderful things to cook for the holidays over the next few days that I will have no time to sit down and visit here. I want to wish each and every person that visits a wonderful Christmas filled with all the things you've come to know and love over the years. I pray that broken hearts can be somehow mended, shattered spirits can be lifted, a little grace can be restored and that at least one person finally finds the true meaning of the holiday. May God bless all of you. Thanks for reading here. I leave you with one of my favorite renditions of a Christmas classic. And have yourself a Merry Little Christmas . . .

To my wife . . . (and in a small way to a  very dear friend from Cape Cod '09.  Do you remember?)

I have followed Richard Page for almost his entire career. From 'Pages' and 'Mr. Mister' to all the background vocals he's done over the years. Who is Richard Page? You have heard him before. Trust me. Click here. Click here. Click here. An amazing musician that never got the recognition I think he truly deserved. Such is the fickle nature of the music business. Please enjoy his holiday offering. The deeper message of this song far surpasses all the 70% off Xmas sales at 'Walmart' and 'Macy's' This is yuletide warmth, cubed. And yeah, I always cry at Christmas . . .

Special dedication tonight as I recall a smoky dive from the 50's called the 'Waltz Club'  . . . Long story and definitely not one for this blog. I knew of one of the patron saints of the place, from what I've heard. Sweet dreams, lady, sweet and smoky dreams Maybe I'll see you in them . . . [11.9.09] *I find it intensely gratifying (for very personal reasons) to give you the list of the players on this archaic recording: Johnny Hartman, vocal John Coltrane, tenor sax McCoy Tyner, piano Jimmy Garrison, bass Elvin Jones, drums God must have been engineering.

Thought I’d bring you up to date on the state of my current didgeridoo playing;

1. Yes, I can play it.
2. And it sounds like a didj should sound.
3. I can make it growl, sing and almost talk.
4. I have fallen in love with this incredible instrument.
5. I am still learning to circular breathe and make animal sounds (Dingo, Roo, Kookaburra and more)

I play my didj at least 4-5 times a week for approximately 30 - 60 minutes or until my lips turn into the consistency of lean ground hamburger (my lips get that red as well). I did, however, figure out how to blaze my way into the Didgeridoo Hall of Fame. (is there such a place?) It came to me in a flash while talking on Skype to Maureen and Mark in Australia (the Givers of said Didj) last Friday night. I’m going to play THIS on  my didj. (no need to listen to the whole song, just the beginning riff) I know that it’s weird. But it’s original, yes? I know I’ll never win an award but hey, I am having an absolute blast and it makes me smile whenever I play my didj. (most definitely not the last didj I will ever own) Stay tuned for more Didj updates, if you'd like. Still thinking about that YouTube video as well. Be patient folks, be real patient.

I listened to this on my Nano tonight and could only think of my Mom. I'm but a breath away from where she is . . . She loved music. Good music. Sweet music. She would have loved Groban's voice The man playing piano is David Foster . . . another God, of sorts, for me personally Enjoy

I figured out that I spend approximately one month a year riding the train back and forth to Boston. One month. 30 days. 720 hours. 43,200 minutes. 2,592,000 seconds. I write, read, sleep, text message, eat, drink and look out the slightly opaque windows and think. I’ve been doing this for over 4 years and if it weren’t for my writing stuff and my Ipod Nano (thank you M), I think I would have thrown in the towel years ago. I will say that it endlessly fascinates me when I look back and read some of the things I’ve written on the train; the original thought process with my cross outs and all. It’s the true ‘me’ that not too many people see. Pamela and the girls have seen much of it and one other special friend but my journals tend to get sequestered soon after they’re filled. The journal I’m currently writing in has ‘Beginnings, mishaps & didgeridoos’, ‘Akubra’, ‘Communion’ and ‘Serenissima’. The corrections and edits are actually quite funny in a way; silly things, inconsequential explosions of neurons misfiring and my internal editor trying to patch it up. It's a literary ER of sorts going on in my mind 24/7. Though I’m very proud of much of my work, there’s so very much more to do. Tough pill to swallow when I look at the stacks of yellow legal pads & journals filled with my thoughts, blues and dreams. I currently have 7-8 stories waiting to see the light of day. It makes me sad because I just don’t have the time to devote to editing them and finishing them in the fashion they deserve. When they’re ready, the will let me know. I honestly think that what I’m trying to do here is keep myself sane as I think about those 2,592,000 seconds. You know what my commute needs? A 20 minute neck massage times 2; into the city and out. Maybe a rub or three on the soles of the  feet on the way home. Hey, a writer can dream, can’t he?

Most of you know that I received a didjeridoo of the highest order from Australia when I was at the Cape. (thank you Maureen and Mark) (especially Mark, for the packaging . . .  thanks, mate) I have, in all honesty, devoted myself to playing it. Although I've yet to master the art of circular breathing, I can play the didj now. When I first blew into the beeswax mouthpiece the first thing I thought was, "Wow, this thing tastes funny." It was the beeswax. No worries. No more chapped lips either. The first sound I got was something similar to what would come out of my ass after 13 bowls of kidney beans. Yup. It was shit. Sounded like a blunder under water. Since I've been reading and practicing, I can get the fundamental drone (sweet spot) and actually make this sucker growl. I do promise to put up a YouTube video when I feel proficient enough to not look like a total American asshole trying to play an authentic instrument from another country. I've so much of Australia in my blood right now (Vegemite, too) that it's only a matter of time. Stay tuned folks. This is going to get interesting. Promise. The short video below is an aboriginal playing the didj. Pretty amazing in my opinion. The dude can blow. Don't look for me wearing the makeup though . . . As far as the hair? I might get a wig just to be funny. Stay tuned. Check it out, y'all