Over the past 4 weeks, I’ve been learning how to type with one hand. Ellis is currently cradled in my left arm and I’m attempting to peck words with my right. Life throws its learning curves, eh?

In an electronic effort to alleviate my habitual leanings toward waxing either too philosophical or poetic, I will now attempt, however brief it may last, to “keep it simple, stupid”. Even though I rarely make a consistent, concerted, keep you up-to-date effort to write in this little corner of the world wide web, I feel that my attempts to do so more often than not emphatically reduce many readers’ brains to mush what with my inability to keep a single, consistent, non-hazy thought throughout the blog and my tireless, and perhaps feeble, attempts at employing metaphor. I know, I know….I’m doing it again. My condolences to those of you whose minds have been baffled by my outpourings. So goes life like rain upon a roof. Smile.

“The night was humid.” So read the typed words of Billy Crystal’s character, Larry, in Throw Momma From The Train, one of our all-time favorite movies. We have it on VHS (we’re so old school) and we somehow watched the whole thing last night amid chili for dinner, cornbread muffins and a restless Ellis Perrin. Throughout the movie, Larry is a struggling author attempting to write a great novel, but in 6 years’ time has yet to produce a single page. Since he is a struggling writer he also teaches a class on writing (this sounds so utterly familiar to me) and gets caught up with a naive stalker and momma’s boy, Owen, played by Danny DeVito. TMFTT is very nearly a dark-comedy what with the Hitchcock-inspired double murder, creepy writing students, a floozy of an ex-wife and, my favorite, Owen’s undignified, hardly loveable, furry-lipped mother whose demeaning utterances of “Owen, you nincompoop” beg at least a slight upward curving of the lips. I’ve seen this movie an untold number of times and it still makes me laugh. I usually catch a new line that I’d never caught before. I love those kinds of shows.

It is a dreary Sunday here in Nashville, TN. Cold, wet and, dare I say, humid. As I sip coffee from my favorite mug and munch on a cinnamon-raisin bagel, I somehow resonated with Larry from the movie; as I have sat frustrated, angry and bewildered with my journal, guitar and/or pen in hand over the past weeks I have come up blank more times than I care to admit. How is it that what you do for a living can seem like the first day on the job even though you’ve been to the office enough times to warrant residency (so to speak)? How can it seem so strange and unfamiliar? Have I forgotten how to write, how to plumb my mind, how to process life in its monsoons and droughts, how to communicate it all? Essentially, it feels like I’m in the throes of a heated, ongoing contract negotiation with the writing life, and the only mediator is clueless ol’ me. I have no training for any of this, no proper education in the field, no writing acumen - certainly not of the business kind - only my gut instincts, my wits (which may or may not be at an end), the encouragement of a cubicle of people, and faith, even though it doesn’t feel like faith at all, that darkness will succumb to light. Eventually. Hopefully…. And there I go again waxing and waning like I said I wouldn’t.

Danielle and I - rather, Ellis - have been inundated with gifts from many, many generous people this past month in the way of meals, gift cards, clothes for Ellis, and baby gear (swings, cribs, car seats, etc.). It’s more than a little overwhelming in scale and is, quite frankly, hard to accept. So it goes with grace. Thank you all for your prayers especially on 12/21/06 (we can’t believe it’s been a month already). Whew.

In other news, spring is right around the corner, whether you are able to believe it or not, and that can mean only one thing: snakes. My communally offensive annual snake-kill count will hopefully be up and running soon. Actually, upon further reflection, it would be nice if there was no need for the counter this year. With the warming of the ground - and, God forbid, from underneath my house - comes slithering reptiles and we all know what that means: potential destruction. Please reference “Whacking Day” (The Simpsons, Season 4, episode #9F18). You simply must. In keeping with the subject at hand and to ring in the new year, I offer you this interesting article from Down Under. The link is courtesy of cellist/bassist and new Nashville resident via Massachusetts, Hitoshi “George” Yamaguchi (no relation to Kristi the figure skater). [For a humorous story, ask George about his shared ethnic surname with the famous figure skater and one clueless lady who interrupted our set during a concert he played with me in Illinois late last year.]

Lastly, I had no idea this existed until today (I was bored). I’ve now achieved uber-notoriety because I’m on YouTube. Oh, to aspire to such lasting fame… This brief clip is from an impromptu house show I did in Detroit Lakes, MN this past fall.

There. Was that so painful?