Hellooooo. It’s starting again,
Hellooooo. It’s starting again, I’m at the airport with all the baggage, in the hot sun, waiting for the band, and a man sits behind me. He’s confident, healthy and humorous looking, he’s broad like a big animal. I sense he’s Australian. He asks me for a light, and my suspicion is confirmed.
How is everyone else? More later, S.
I should have said “he’s broad like a beach”, now that I’m standing in the cold slushes of Seattle. Sometimes when I get off a plane I wish I could be here, wherever the here is, on vacation, like to sleep and walk and draw and drink coffee and other private things, but I remind myself it’s like a working vacation. A vacation away from my life where the work I love is central, to the life where what I love is for two hours a night, and surprises in between, but the work to make it happen is blue collar, and that’s the gritty reality, which contains within it the stuff of romance.
Did I ever mention how often, when I’m heaving the drum case and guitars etc onto the cart at the baggage claim, a person comes up and says, ” I love your music, where are your roadies?” At first I felt defensive until I was told John Wayne always carried his own saddles.
I started by carrying my trap cases into the New York subways for all and sundry, at all hours, when I was much thinner and paler and totally alone, so this is really not a problem for me. In fact, when I flip on the lights in my storage and put my hands on my cases before I pack for a tour, I pause and a smile breaks in my guts, it’s the beginning of a physically demanding journey, but to where, and what will happen, and it’s pungently mine. Ah, and my fingers are stiff with cold..S