Pick Up The Pieces

As I get my priorities in order and piece together the rest of the year, this song by the Average White Band is on permanent repeat in my head, so I thought I'd share.  Somehow, through a flurry of to do lists, phone calls and flow charts,  everything is taking shape in this effortless way that smells like a promise foretold.  Winter is the perfect moment to hibernate, work on new ideas, work on self.  I've got a new cookbook, a new blank book, I'm re-reading books on music publishing.   I submitted songs to the IMAs and the ISC.  No matter how much I practice, it's never enough.

I'm clocking 6 miles and 20 flights of stairs every day on my fitbit. To get this chunk off of my midsection, I'm going to have to double those numbers and eat clean. I need new ASICS running shoes and my mornings in the gym until spring to pull that off.  A ten week timetable is doable. The dental surgery I've been putting off will even things out. So will a month of unlimited yoga. 

Talk about eating clean: I'm doing the winter farm share from the Corbin Hill Food Project -- and I got a lamb share, too.

And then there's the banjo in the living room that's on permanent loan from Mike that won't stop glaring at me because I haven't touched it in forever. So that's it -- I'm getting cheap weekly lessons, I'm going to touch it all the time. Clawhammer, here I come.

My Baby Taylor hasn't let me down yet. I used it to write my next album -- which is done, more or less.  More songs keep churning out of me, though.  I want to record, mix and master it before the end of the year, no matter what. A spring 2016 release would be ideal. I'll be in Europe on tour in March, God willing.  In the meantime, I'm a performing musician with HAI, working on a set of holy blues and learning how to sing all over again. At least that's the way it feels these days.

Hilliard Greene promised me music theory lessons.  The junk room is starting to look like a junk room. I want to try the tasting menu at Minton's.  I have to go down south to see my Godbabies.  I need a backup pair of my favorite Sam Edelman pumps, in black.  The wine rack in our bar is completely empty.  I have to get a Fender Strat, for the road.

I have to pick up the pieces.