Well, I wrote a nice long eloquent blog for us all and then hit the wrong button and it deleted. So no pretty words. Just the bottom line.
Like most or many of you we are on lock down. It's amazing how much you love your space until you can't leave it. Right? Or maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm just itchy. Hankering for a road trip with none forthcoming for a good while. So me and Mama - on the hill. Have some precious family we still see because we have all been shut in and exposed to one another and no one else. If that changes - no visitors. No tea with Sister or laughing with my son Chris and his little wolf pack or my beautiful niece and handsome nephew. Our tribe will downsize if and when that happens to two. Me and Mama on the hill. The way it's been for a long long time. But. - You guys are missing loved ones too. Thank God for Skype, FaceTime, zoom - take your pick. Tech suddenly matters more than it ever has.
In our world. I am covered in paint. There is paint in my hair. I have not worried about washing it out. Who cares? I don't. I have painted the kitchen. cabinets and the baseboards and the pantry. It has made a gallon of paint seem like the stuff the universe was born from. Like magical stardust I tell you. Like a fairy godmother came along and gave me a wish and I said - Geez maybe you could do something with those old nasty brown cabinets and that spider ridden mouse attracting pantry. Voila. She did. Only the she was me. Day in and out. Write, work, record. Then paint. Sometimes wander downstairs exhausted at 5:30 and then pick up a paint brush to paint while I cooked dinner and while I ate. I have drug (as we southerners are prone to say) Mama's rocking chair into the kitchen so she can sit and eat and watch and drink coffee and say - you missed a spot. And she is delighted. I also figured out how to string up a light in the pantry of dark-y dark darkness where cans always fell on your foot and you could grope around for days with a flashlight trying to find something you were looking for. If I should die from Covid next week you guys should know - that girl can paint. But she can be a little messy with it. Not on the walls - those are good. Trim, good. Cabinets good. Pantry pristine. Like - dudes - I've always imagined the property brothers coming in the house to tell me - this house just doesn't have any good bones to start with. you gotta bulldoze. And I'll say - NOT THE PANTRY. Cause I figured out to hide a fuse box the size of weather balloon. This pantry was never meant to be a pantry. It was - a spider holder. A mouse farm. BUT now - It's a freaking pantry and that's what I would tell them. Take the house if you must but leave me the pantry because it may be one of the single greatest accomplishments of my life. Yes, this is what corona has done to me thank you very much.
That and I've come down to only two major important food groups. Coffee. Red wine. That's it. I mean I'm going straight up basics.
Sure - I have flour, beans, rice. Yes - people can live on that for years according to my depression era rural poor family. All we ate was one biscuit a day and we were glad to get it. On Christmas it came with a little syrup on the side. That's it. And we pulled cotton in the cotton field in the hot sun - note to ya'll - do not ever open the door to get stories about picking cotton in the hot sun because I can tell you it is the worst work you can ever get but by God if you do it and keep doing it to survive you are one of the strongest people on the planet. I was raised working yes but also lying on the beach in the sun with Banana Boat intense MUST TAN BEFORE YOU WEAR THIS tanning lotion and baby oil and Iodine. I tanned professionally. Seriously. And my dear Grandmother who would move heaven and earth to be with me and protect me looked at me like I was crazy. Slightly. Not full on cause she loved me too much but she would say honey, stay out of that sun. That's because I didn't have to pick cotton sunup to sundown to survive in that hot dusty field with only one biscuit to eat all day. So the sun meant something else to me. It was like - an accessory for the skin.
But I digress. Where was I? Oh yes, the plague. Writers. Stories and so forth.
We should be writing fabulous stories filled with pages of life changing words. But because writers can also be shape shifters many of us fill the pain a little close to the bone of every person who has died around the globe knowing that each one is attached to their life story and the stories of all the people who loved them and never got to say goodbye so we are having a hard time CONCENTRATING.
Yes, that is a little bit of an issue. And then we have a flip side of - I just don't care that I'm not concentrating. What difference does it make anyway? And also an underlying anxiety that I AM NOT PRODUCING because - maybe it's me, a writer thing, an American thing - I don't know but I am always wanting to hustle, produce, create, finish, record, promote. Hang Ten. So this strange ball of confusion engulfs me where I don't know should I rush out of the bed and do sit-ups and push ups? Or check all the socials? Socials win. I've never been so dependent on social media to connect me to other people who like me are disconnected.
I'm thinking tomorrow I'll wake up ready to rock and roll and be my old self. But tomorrow hasn't come.
In January - January 21 when I first saw the videos leaking out of China I went to bed at night, barely slept, and saw what was heading our way and would not be stopped. For days I kept checking the numbers in China not believing them for a moment and watching the flight trajectory's of the last planes leaving Wuhan and the trains stations. And, I knew. So what did I do?
I watched four seasons of THE EXPANSE on Amazon Prime and painted cabinets. After all, this was serious times and took serious measures. But I realized somethings - the big pictures, the national picture, the safety of all humanity was out of my hands. I hate that when it happens. But hasn't it now?
So - as I told my son, Nick yesterday on FaceTime - I'm not afraid of dying - I'm more afraid of letting your nana die. My primary focus has been to help her stay alive into her 90s so this monster has put me in the awkward position of protecting her from - everything. Infection. people. Marauders. Hopelessness. Fear. Hunger. I forget. She's a babe of the depression. She's tough as nails and stronger than I am. No, she can't go out or be infected but mentally - I asked her once - What was it like Mama in the depression? She said - Hell, we don't know there was a depression. It just leveled the playing ground. We had always been depressed.
See what I mean?
So when I say hey - I've got firewood if the power goes out. We've got iron skillets and beans and flour and water. And she says - We can live a year off that. She means it.
In the meantime - while we are still in this spot and living on the edge I will not lie. I am not taking this time- at least not yet -- to embark on some new GEEZ isn't this just. A GREAT TIME to get into fighting shape and meditate and fast and pray. Not. yet. I told a friend the other night on a l zoom social - I should be fasting and praying not drinking. And he sagely said - I think there is a time for fasting and a time for prayer and a time for drinking. And that this is a time for drinking.
The world has turned topsy turvy. The writers I know and love who are friends of mine had book tours scheduled and new releases coming out. The kids were in school looking toward family vacation. Now everyone is sheltered in place and nothing is the same. we watch posts from friends who are doctors and nurses working twelve -fourteen hour shifts without the proper medical supplies and we cry with them to survive. And our stories suffer a little. They do. The ones we are meant to be writing. But that won't be forever. Out of this many stories will be born. Wait and see. I promise you.
I cling to every shred of good news and human kindness. I love that Willie and Paul Simon were playing for free with a host of others. I love that writers are offering free readings, lessons, artists of all kinds the same. That we are embracing one another across all of our social distances the best we can. And many of us preciously appreciating every golden moment.
There hasn't been a moment of this time that I have forgotten about my readers, my friends, my family far and wide. Or my stories waiting to be told. I've just been caught in a limbo of sorts. A what was and what will be. I've thought - geez I should have learned to work a garden like my Grandaddy Skipper but it was easier for me to be in the city of NY where I could pick up food every night at the week from the bogettara down the street. Which would allow me more time to write and record and produce. That's been my hustle and love and passion and lifestyle along with loving my family for many years. Now? Should I learn to bake bread? Grow Potatoes? Cut my own hair? (I'm about thirty minutes out of doing this?) Do I sit and wait or create a new lifestyle. Have things changed for a little while or have they changed forever? Only time will tell.
In the meantime - I encourage you to - well, not be like me. To not be anxious, for anything. To reach out by phone and FaceTime or whatever portal works for you to connect with people. If you can't concentrate on a new book - pick up one of your favorite old ones and reread it. Sometimes that is more soothing. Binge watching a new series. Oh, for heaven's sake - YES. If there was ever a time for you to get lost in discovering the excellence of Stranger Things in all it's glorious 80s then it is now. I do believe in daily sending out what I believe is light, peace, goodness, healing - to the entire planet. To - as one Italian man told me in Lorca, Italy one night - It's a party not just for some of the peoples but FOR ALL THE PEOPLES. If there has ever been a time that we are going through something together as one people on this planet this is it. My tag line in some of my bios is - A southern girl with a global heart. (Someone once said - I don't know what that means) I hope you do now. I've never known a time that we were as connected, that we needed to share ideas, discoveries, hope, laughter, and love with people from every corner of the world then now.
Perhaps tomorrow, this real tomorrow, I'll get up and get back into the stories I'm writing and they will flow as freely as red wine. But if they don't - I'll be gentle with myself knowing that time will come. Surely, it will come. And take solace in the fact that Mama can rock in the kitchen while I make peas and cornbread. That we can sit on the porch and watch the sunset. That in the am - dawn will come. And, with it there is always a glorious chance for the resurrection of hope.
Peace, Light and Love to you All.
* We are a tough people we humans. We surprise ourselves at every turn. And if we have in the course of modern society taken a few things for granted, fast food - movie theaters, gathering easily with friends, hugs, kisses, love, life - we'll come out of this on the other side with a little more wisdom for the worry.
This famous photo:
This woman is Florence Thompson, age 32, and the mother of five children. She was a peapicker in California. When this picture was taken by Dorothea Lange, Florence had just sold her family's home for money to buy food. The home was a tent.
In an interview available on YouTube, Florence revealed that her husband Cleo died in 1931. She picked 450 pounds of cotton a day. She moved to Modesto in 1945 and got a job in a hospital.
When I've been away from my blog and away from you for oh so long, too long - I always want to begin as my friend Kaya McLaren does in her most excellent facebook posts - For Friends Who Like Long Letters - because I can let you know right up front that way this will be long and it will be rambling in the same wonderful way that Kaya unravels the threads of her life before us in her words to share what is happening in her world. I often try to share her posts and am always frustrated and surprised when I find I can't share them because she hasn't set the post to share. And I also admire the fact that she basically is saying you don't own my words and can't free fling them into the universe where people may not understand me. These words are for my friends and for them alone. They have come here to this page of their own accord and are kind and gentle souls who understand the wildness of my spirit and the pathos of my soul. She is a warrior I would follow into battle and sit with in peace. Friend her and you will be able to discover these wondrous musings of hers that I am unable to share.
Where do I begin? The world has shifted seemingly overnight or in a week in our country. Although it only seems this way. I'll show you where I've been. Many of you know that last year I went to Scotland for research on a book titled The Ancient Way. It was a wondrous journey and the telling of it became more than research the journey became the story. I can't wait to share it with you. I think its even available for pre-order now but that's not the purpose of my post. Those will come later, closer to pub time. Today I am thinking of the things that happen that we don't realize are happening as they are happening. Like, if we are saying our last words for the last time but we don't know that we are. Or if someone is leaving us before our very eyes and saying goodbye in so many ways but we're blind to this happening because we are going about our normal in our natural habitat. Like, I am right now. Writing to you from my office upstairs that looks out over the hill where the skies today are grey. Yesterday they were bright blue and the day was glorious and I wanted to go outside and soak up some sun to heal me from all manner of maladies - a sinus infection, and general aches and pains and such but the sun she heals me all the time. Always has. Lying on a beach, suntan oil drenched, gulf coast waves washing in and the sun warming me all the way through to my bones. Me and cousin Deb laughing and that AM radio blaring WDLP - Here Comes The Sun - And I say it's Alright. We lived in glory days. Our entire community of Panama City Beach - high school one big rambling group of chill if you ask me. Neighborhoods and clubs and clicques aside - all I remember was we were just all alright together. That there was natural weaving in and out of our days. And whatever darkness any of us were dealing with at home was somehow left behind when we entered those doors at Bay High or hit the beach. Life was good.
Where was I? The sun. I wanted to go sit on the hill. Take a book. Let the sun heal me inside and out. But instead I opened a paint can and started again. The kitchen cabinets that have been a busted dirty brown for God knows how many years. All my years of being here and all the years before - suddenly I decided they must be white. Could be white. Would be white. Granted I didn't have the money to rip them out and replace them like they needed but by Glory I could hit that little boutique down the street known as Wal Mart (love it or hate it it's what we got) and get a gallon and a brush, put on my ball cap and my jeans and earphones and start knocking it out. And out and out and out. And yesterday was my finishing of a sort. Got them covered. Most with a couple coats. Patched the holes. Silcone. My hands look like - well a working woman's hands. Like a cabinet maker. Skin ate up with scrubbing paint off. Gloves slow me down. Paint thinner burns a little but it works just fine.
I woke Mama up most mornings and said - Time to Go to Work. I drug her rocking chair in the kitchen where she could drink coffee and watch me. She said - You got a talent for this. You might be able to make some money at this you know. (Last year I painted the living room while she watched amazed that I could cover the walls, climb the ladder, roll it out, trim and tape.) Yep, I tell her. There's some hope in that. Maybe I could make some money painting. - -
I think you like it, she says. Seems so.
Let's my hands busy while my mind thinks Mama. Right now I gotta story running through my head. It involves a woman in the woods feeding wild coyotes. She's got a plan. Is up to something.
Hmmm, she says.
She is better with the concrete manner of things. Let the painting just be the painting, no stories hiding there. Let it all be what we see. Just what we see, nothing more and nothing less. An honest days work where at the end of the day something can be weighed and measured for its worth.
Hard to do that with words. So nebulous. So quiet.
Mom says look at all that hard work. You did that. It's amazing.
And I think - writers need someone who says this when they close their laptops at the end of the day. When they've done good work, when the work just wouldn't come out right. When they had to start over and over and over again. One more time.
So yesterday, there was that glorious sunshine and me on my knees with the paintbrush, me on the stool with the paintbrush, over the stove with the paintbrush. One more cabinet, one more inch, one more cabinet. Then the knobs. Take off those thirty year old knobs with stripped screws. Screw in new knob. One drawer, one cabinet, one drawer, one cabinet. One by one. One more time.
Before the glory of my Bay High days I went to a little Middle School called a Jr High then by the name of Jinks Jr. High. Hornets were our mascot. I don't know why. But they are formidable I'll give you that. It's just yesterday and I'm in 7th grade and I tell my teacher that I want to study Dante and read it in the original language. I think he asked me what I planned to do when I grew up or what I wanted to study in college or some such thing. He looked at me a little strange and said - Why would you want to do that?
To which I'd have to answer as the beautiful Robert Mirabal of Taos Pueblo once told me over lunch when I lived there - In our language there is no word for Why.
Let's just call it a Divine quest for lack of better reasons. Dante's Divine Comedy. A journey through the Inferno, Purgatory and on to Paradise. Must be a reason.
Life goes on. The beach waves roll in. Baby's come along to rock and raise. Life threads between our fingers all the time. Songs to be said and laughs to share. Tears to weep and weep and weep. And then to wonder - why was I crying? I forget now.
The birds outside the window on the hill are fussing something serious. We've been out of seed for days and it seems they've had enough of it. Demand that we restock supplies. Get back on schedule. Some kind of schedule. But schedules are strange things. They're there until they aren't. Till the world shifts into shadows.
Thursday I'll be on a plane heading to Seattle and then on to Whitbey Island to SPU MFA program. This quarter we are studying Dante. We are studying the translation that features the original Italian on each facing page. Imagine. Divine quests. In due time.
January China made public notice that a new virus was wrecking havoc in Wuhan. The news reports were sketchy - far apart. But the twitter feed. Different story. Escaped footage. Whistleblowers. Real faces in real time saying - it's not what you hear. It's not what you see. It's fast. It's worse. Seven people dead. Ten. Seventeen. The city of Wuhan shut down. Bulldozers pulled in to tear up roads. Blocking escape. Go home, speakers said. Stay home. Infected. 1000. I looked at the roads. The videos. The police. The healthcare workers sending out illegal pleas that were soon erased. I poured a glass of wine, went to bed. Called my sister. Told her forty million people are locked down. She asked the number again. I repeated it. Caught my breath. Then I went downstairs. Showed my mother videos of funny dogs, kittens, flowers.
Went back to bed. Watched the lock down in real time. Watched the last planes leaving Wuhan. Watched the actual flights in real time and where they were landing - everywhere. Around the world. I woke up, picked up my phone. Checked the numbers out of Wuhan. Numbers I couldn't trust as far as I could spit. And made a cup of coffee and said my prayers.
I went on Twitter. Searched for the top virologists, the experts, the people paying attention. Starting making a list. I stopped when I got to 100. I followed people who had thousands. I followed people the experts followed. I checked that list, that feed. I watched the leaked videos. of Mothers in china having to say goodbye to children to go to the hospital in another city to work never expecting to come home again. I watched the doctors on the front lines working until they were infected and died. They were thirty five years old.
I made Mama coffee, said - Look at the birds.
It's a woodpecker, a red bird, a new bird.
I wrote a story. Made more edits to -The Ancient Way. Lingered over the words about the light. The light. The light. I thought about the light of Iona. The eternal everlasting light. Here I found some peace.
I wrote a blog on Psychology Today about praying everyday at noon for the people on the front lines of the Corona Virus that still didn't have a name. I went to sleep praying for those people - the sick, the frightened, the healthcare workers, the first responders. I watched videos of houses being nailed shut. With people inside. Nothing to see here. Nothing to see.
I stared at my plane ticket for Seattle. I read Dante's Inferno. Thought about divine plans. And how the world spins and spins and spins and something spins out of control.
I recorded a radio show with my friend Kaya about her radio show - The All Women All Country radio show and was proud of that. Giving space and airtime to these great women of song often overlooked or not known. I read a book. Watched an episode of The Expanse - series set in the future far out in space. It seemed a good place to be. Far, far away.
I cooked peas and cornbread and collards and corn for Mama and she said - Boy, that was good. I think I'll have some more.
I made coffee and sat on the porch with dirty old wild dog Kevin. We looked out over the hill and thought about one day soon it would be spring. And we waited for what we knew was coming.
Seattle. Ground zero. The first case of the unknown virus made itself known. The patient was being treated in isolation with a robotic arm by health care people wearing hazmat suits. Do tell. I poured a glass of wine. Said my prayers. Started thinking how great my life has been. How damn great. Regrets. Not so much. A shadow here, a turn there. Wish I had been a little wiser in some ways. For the most part I've been decent. Stayed true.
Back when I grew up that beach was a paradise. That's what we grew up on. Sand dunes far as you could see. Sea Oates that rustled. Sandcastles down by the wash of the waves. There was no better place to be. I've seen a thousand sunsets over that Gulf. Can hear the waves down deep in my soul. They'll never be erased.
This day is not going to see the sun. The grey has settled, planted its cloudy feet. Determined. A hawk sails over the sky searching for red birds, tiny bits of things, mice. Rabbits on the run. One day last week a flock of vultures landed in a tree. Nothing dead. Hopeful, resting, waiting. Kevin barked wild, non stop, circled the tree. They flapped their black wings. I laughed at his insistence. He was out of breath when he climbed the hill but smiling, successful. I said - Good dog.
Another country, another case. I checked the numbers in China every morning like the stock market. Then went on instagram. Found something pretty to look at. Tried to push the novel, Station Eleven from brain as I told everyone you should read it. Now. Listened to people say this is just a little virus. Like the flu. Nothing but a virus. Don't you know - nothing but a virus is also called a plague. But what are words? So light. No weight. No substance.
I wore out my prayer beads until they broke. In and out of my pocket. My purse. My fingers. Finally they are unspooling. I try to keep them but the beads fall to the floor, the sheet, the chair. One by one, roll and disappear. I make a note. Need new prayer beads.
I found a funny photo of puppy. Mom thinks it is the funniest thing. A Siberian husky and he is so little but looks so mean. I understand they are not. They are friendly to a fault. And trouble. I think someday I'll get one. For company when Kevin's gone. I hope that is a long, long time. He is unruly and some trouble. Is not big Dog Titan. Doesn't sleep in my room but on the hill watching over all as we sleep. But he love me something fierce like I am something special. Everyone should feel like that.
I check the numbers, watching the cases lighting up in countries around the globe. Pack my bags in faith. In that bizarre follow my destiny kind of faith. I watch the calendar of days. I know science. I know what fourteen means and twenty one. I understand the world exponential.
My mother used to managed a restaurant on the beach. Right on the water. I worked there when I was eleven, twelve, and so on. Eventually graduated in age from morning shift to night shift where the college kids worked. Spent all those years, every summer right there looking at the waves in sunlight, moonlight. Rain or fog. Saltwater in the air. Paradise.
When I was a kid and then a teenager there was the Miracle Strip Amusement Park. That is a mouthful but it was a big deal. A family affair. My Memaw road through the Haunted House. You could hear her scream all the way to the Ferris wheel. The night, the lights, the spinning rides, the smell of corndogs and cotton candy. Paradise.
This hill has been a comfort to me and to mine. For years The Adorables came every summer for a month and played furiously in their 'clubhouse' out back. Spun stories, arranged rocks in odd patterns. I left them there for seven years. Couldn't bare to unstack them. Like they might come back, return to their childhood and expect to find them there, like I did my sandcastles. And the baby boys - those Charmings have done the same. Their clubhouse, their little three dollar swimming pool, the water hose, watermelon dripping down there arms, their faces wide in happy grins. Paradise.
My Mama though, she misses Florida and always will. She misses flat land. But still she says look out there today - It looks like Old London Town - when the fog is rising, lingering, settling around the house. Or the wind is whipping up the hill, whistling through the house. Just listen she'll say. Just listen.
It's almost time to plant the window boxes again. Just yesterday the trees budded out all over Nashville. New life. New season. The world goes on in spite of. In the middle of.
I check the numbers out of China. Check Italy. Iran. New Zealand reports first case. Brazil reports first case. Argentina reports first case. I buy Mama tulips just because.
I show Mama funny pictures of a little dog leaning to howl, a little girl crying because she got a new kitten saying, Can we keep him? We can? We can keep him?. And I cry and she cries cause the little girl is crying.
I look at the cabinets. Put in my earphones, put on Willin by Little Feat, open the paint can. Dip in the brush. Make a difference where I can. A little white paint. A hard days work. Something to show.
I get quiet. Go off line a bit. Don't write much on the socials. Don't post on my Reader posse videos. Cause I'm painting and thinking and thinking and painting. And praying.
Just the flu someone says. And I watch the numbers. Count hospitals beds, healthcare workers with hazmat suits. Healthcare workers with no hazmat suits. China called in the army. Italy closed all the schools. Locked down. A doctor in the US calls the ER and says - I've got a fever, I' think I've got it. They tell him to stay home. They can't provide quarantined space right now. He calls back, is transferred to a recorded line about CoVID 19.
I open the paint can at night. Pour a glass of wine. Paint another cabinet. Another coat. Mama says - I sure am proud of you. That's looks so good. Thanks Mama.
I got a storm rolling up in my soul. Do you feel like a do? I turn the music up.
I think about things. What's important. What's not. What's lest and what's most. What adds up and what needs to be laid down. Now. By everyone. While there is still time. All those sharp edges. Degrees of you and me. Me and them. This side, that side and upside down. We're down to us. Us and us and us. Now and now and now. Here's where we stand.
Now I check Seattle numbers every morning instead of China. Then I flip to Italy. Watch Italy. Real time in real numbers.
It's better to use paint with built in primer. Makes it easier anyway. Still. Sometimes you need more than one coast. More than two. Sometimes it take a whole lot to make something old look something new.
Got a new baby one the way. He's growing everyday. The Adorables have cornered the market on that pet name. The Charmings are a little ahead of him. But I know he will be adorable. He will be charming. Already is. I watch the videos of his ultrasounds in wonder. He sucks his fingers. Hungry to be alive. To see the world.
I think I'll plant Ivy again. It's something green I can grow. Something enteral. And I'm gonna try something new this year. A butterfly garden in the flower boxes. Because I can. Because you never know.
The world's going in quarantine. The schools in Seattle close - go to online classes. The University of Seattle goes to on line classes. The University of Seattle Pacific goes to on line classes. I read Dante. Watch my plane ticket go up in smoke. Unpack my suitcase. My calendar still has the two weeks blocked out in red - SPU MFA - DANTE.
I go to the church, pull up to buy new prayer beads. As I'm about to get out the first case of COVID19 is reported in my city. The next day the first case in my hometown. No place it seems is left untouched.
I come home. Tell Mama let's find a movie to watch. Cook something I don't remember. Breathe. Just breath. Kitchen's looking good she says.
Getting there, I tell her.
It's March. On the inside I'm getting quieter. Stiller. In January - way back in January I was calling my sister, talking to friends, my sons sounding a little panicked. I'm not panicked anymore. I'm painting. Earphones in. Little Pink Houses. Ain't that America. Home of the free.
I've been working on that story about the woman, the coyotes. Yesterday - out of the blue in turned into a full blown novel. In the split of second. Seven sisters. Each one with a story that leads into a story. It just might be a Southern Gothic Tour de Force. Never know. It can happened.
Back sometime in one year me and Cousin Deb drove up to Dothan Alabama to see Joe Cocker in concert. Feelin' Alright - turn it up. I just can't waste my time. I must get by. There's too much to do before I die. Feelin' alright. Not feeling too good myself. Feelin' alright.
And so it goes up on this hill. Everything's just as normal as it ever was. Same as it ever was.
And in the middle of it I've never stopped thinking about you. Wondering how you are. What you're doing. Thinking about time and destiny. About this amazing life I've lived. This charmed hard knocks down and out up and down life I've lived. Counting my blessings like precious stones.
I want to tell you everything's gonna be alright, stay alright. It's gonna be what it's gonna be. We've reached a turning place. But everyday we have a choice. To walk into the day with brave hearts, to say our prayers, to lay down our swords. Need a little holy, healing water out there we do.
Wishing you peace and light, peace and light, peace and light in spite of everything. And a way for you to settle what's most important in your heart. To talk to your family and your neighbors. I don't know. Maybe plant a tree. Make some soup. Write a song. Cause all in all - the world must go on.
Think I'm gonna go write now. There's a baby boy on the way ready to be born soon. And, he needs some stories to be told.
Thanks so much for reading, liking and sharing with friends.