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Friday Night Lights

except… softball.



Rutland In Bloom





canvas and paint



Sounding Out The January Thaw

The January Thaw is kicking off and, as in previous years, my musical wants turn to a more Spring feel – full of Celtic, folk, and bluegrass flavors with tinges and moments of classic rock and reggae-fused rock.

It’s a very powerful thing for me, emotionally, when the air warms to break the ice and melt the snow. The air is fresh and crisp but the thawing organic material puts the scent of life into the air, carried by a beautiful moisture. It is invigorating. The chorus of snow and ice melting off rooftops is a cacophony that soundtracked many memorable moments in my youth.

This weekend will bounce around temperatures in the 40s and 50s Fahrenheit, so my car will be blaring these warm, friendly tunes out the window.

The Driftless

The lovely lady at the mando is a dear old friend and the tunes this little troupe jam out are like lying in a small meadow blanketed in a life-giving breeze. Their first EP is a free download, so get yourself some old timey goodness. [getcha good tunes]


Anyone familiar with the modern wave of Celtic-inspired music is familiar with Dervish. They’re the top of the crop and their cover of Bob Dylan’s Boots of Spanish Leather is my favorite version of the song.

Chelsea Wolfe

This thaw and winter are getting a lot of heavy play on Chelsea Wolfe’s new acoustic collection Unknown Rooms. To try and describe it would never do it justice. Instead, simply enjoy the music.

and, of course, a little Sublime

What are you listening to in this period?

Free Write Exercise

   Budding leaves are appearing from this old maple tree’s branches. Another spring is moving in. The days are warming and the nights easing in their attrition. The cycle continues. My distorted human rationale tries to find some obscure, ethereal, hidden significance to this process, but it is all that it is. I know it requires no more than that; what it is, is more than enough.

   The weeks flutter by faster than I can grab them, in some inane abstraction of immutable time. Am I retaining fewer moments? Am I wasting time? My insides scream to move forward.

   I live in a world of delusional halfwits.