It’s been a few weeks since anything worth writing about came to mind. Usually, things pop in around 2 AM, and I get up to write, but lately I’ve been sleeping all night. I got a new Eastman mandolin and have been putting in four to six hours a day, reteaching myself to play the little beast: I played it as a child, then discovered the guitar, which in a way was a mistake; I should have stuck with the Mandolin and fiddle. The trip to South Dakota, the fender bender, lost keys—all of it did me in for a while, so my mind is a blend of oatmeal and Malt-O-Meal coated with Valium sprinkles.

Something will be forthcoming, but I’m trying to stay non-political, though I tend to scream at our poor Television and the Squirrel that raids my bird feeders. I’ll try to be nice and pleasant, but that’s hard for a guy who is nearly 78. Not only am I playing the Mandolin in our church band, but I’m also reteaching myself the fiddle, so gluttony for punishment is my sentence. I’ll write something nice and cozy soon. God Bless the Alamo and Davy Crockett.