Simple words for those who have strayed from their true heart

Why don't you dream anymore
What's in the way
How come you point to the door
And ask me to stay
Why don't you flash that smile like you used to do*

I'm looking through you, where did you go
I thought I knew you, what did I know
You don't look different, but you have changed
I'm looking through you, you're not the same**

* (the Cars' Ric Ocasek)
**(the Beatles)

Art Shelter

I have an Etsy shop.

It is an upscale art shelter. I use it to temporarily house things I make with just a pen (mostly).

Art shelter residents include drawings, artist trading cards, idea maps, a memory enhancing laser gun and a hat.

These art pieces are happy in their fancy no-kill shelter. Do not pity them. If, however, you might be ready to give some art a permanent home, please feel free to stroll around the premises and see if anything catches your eye or nips at the your pant legs.

Will be Posting Soon

Christa and I extended our sabbatical an extra month. This leaves us with 2 more weeks in the wilderness.

We are well.

I will be posting soon.

Venturing Farther

We are now, dear intreped blog reader, even now, venturing deeper into the territory that had been clearly marked -- 6 months ago, mind you, and you know how quickly things change in this global, technological age -- "post-sabbatical."

Yes, we were clear before hand that the afore-mentioned sabbatical might get extended, it's true. Still some of us (me, for instance) were pretty sure it would be over by now. There were, of course, signs that indicated otherwise, arrows pointing in another direction, but I (for one) ignored them.

So if you're reading this, I was wrong. Simply and completely.

In recompense for that travesty (and as a sort of waiting-room-magazine, although hopefully better in quality, and certainly with less recipes and adverts) please enjoy these images, culled from the Reuel art archives:

Justin Clemons shot the photo.
Christa did the folded art.
I drew the birdy things.

Literary Vestigial Organs

Now it may be that this post is unnecessary, a sort of literary vestigial organ. I may be back now, full of vim and vigor, ready to do whatever it is that I will do here on the other side of the wilderness. If so I apologize.

However, please remember, dear reader, that I was thinking of you when I so carefully crafted these words of subtle humor and muted good cheer.

And so, if these words are missive tonsils, little toes of gathered words, literary adenoids or -- tragically -- the written nictitating membrane of the eye (so to speak), I hope that you may, in a fit of creativity rivaling the sculpting of the David or the penning of Louie Louie, find some good use for them.

January Is When We Were Planning to Return

The question is are we actually back from the wilderness or not?


While you're waiting to find out, take a look at these (shot during the spring Watershed tour):

The first photo is Surge on Smith playing at Sons of Hermann Hall in Deep Ellum, TX. Joel and Greg, members of the Southern brilliant (bass and drums), The amazing Blackwells (violin and lead guitar). Kelly (band leader, lead singer, songwriter) and me (guitars, bvs, and co-writer of the songs).
Photo by Justin Clemons.


The last several photos feature me, Toby and Joel playing Jitters in the metropolis of Millersburg.
Photos courtesy of Heather McDonough.

That Kind of Cold

The snow is cold enough to wage war with the heat of my skin.

Not like the early flakes that almost immediately yielded to the change and trickled down my arms and nose in their newly liquid state. No, not now.

This is ice-crack, broken-glass-twig-and-needle, gravel-packed and mud-caked-solid-around-the-tires cold.

At least it is -- most likely -- that kind of cold in Millersburg, OH, Goshen, IN, and (most certainly) Oymyakon and Snag in the Yukon. But I am elsewhere. The question is where?