Listen

If only more of us did. Listen, that is. Spent the last hour trying to teach three wannabe rockers Purple Haze. Ah, Jimi. You bent that thing of wood and steel, made it a cloudy lens, a dim crystal ball where future guitarslingers are still looking. For that muse you seemed to have made your mistress.

Playing in that so-called 'zone' I think, is more about listening. If you can hear each note before you play it, and can feel that electric-tight connection between your firing synapses and flash-ready fingers, if you can see your whole life being just about that moment before you step off the cliff and fly solo, if you can see your footprints on the waters of imagination, if you can chart your course to a distant unseen shore, and land on your feet with the change. Ah. That would be something.

Little Miles wants so much to walk. He's pretty steady on his feet now, can almost stand without support. This afternoon he reached up from the floor, grabbed my legs and made me walk along with him. He's such a joy. Five teeth and all. The chandy's have a little blog for little Kiarna, and I'm thinking that's a good idea.. maybe I should get one for Miles. Poor fella, he'll have to deal with all the stuff I write about him someday. Hope he doesn't get too mad.