Pepperbox Studio Redux

Finally, a post about my business, ah yes, may we recall the elusive Pepperbox Studio, gone missing or so it must have seemed, during this last horrendous year of unpredictable germ warfare. Gone missing, as in the soul and spirit of something, unfortunately obscured .. & moi, never a high stakes poker player, cooly nonplussed - no, I can't play that game. I wear it all on my sleeve, and if you didn't see me this year, I'm glad you didn't. Those who did, bear the scars, & will tell a less than flattering tale of my escape from near disaster, over and over again. And still, here are friends, both new & old, who've shown up, to pick me up. And though I guess it takes some gumption to plod from one end of a dysfunctional life to the other, its true friends who'll go the extra mile to make sure you're not dead. I'd like to mention names, and even license plates, so that you can follow them, and festoon them with flowers. But I'm scared of forgetting one, in my fragmented life's kind of habit, missing the best of the best, at critical junctures, until the stars prop me up & allow clearer eyes to see. I ask forgiveness, for my bumbling, and my lack. I've found this year to be extremely taxing, as have you, perhaps. So here I am. Standing in front of this building, my new studio, my new Pepperbox, both of us feeling new, while autumn leaves rotate green to red, or gold, to brown and fall and skitter. An owl's hollow call empties the field, while one feral tabby walks behind me, purring, sensing a longer life and an easier existence. My songs have yet to fly here. The rain begins to fall. I walk on makeshift gravel paths, over chunks of torn earth, stretches of freshly seeded barren land, where lumber piles have killed the grass. I look into holes, that will soon be doorways, at rafters that will soon resonate with voices, at stairways and landings waiting for guitar amps and of course, guitars. There will never be enough guitars, although I've often cursed the surplus of them, at music jams and sessions. Perhaps now, we'll have more space to sort that all out. The ego, from the talented, from the intuitive, from the poetic. It all plays an important part. We'll be open for business this winter. Well, I have to try. Thanks to Stefan Jacobs, Karl Miller, Julie James, John Dickason, Cherrie Namy, Suzan Seymour, Nickolas Bissonnette, Logan Rotax, Gus Yost, Marek Stycos, Wilder Yost, Mike Mayone, Christopher Mayone, Anna Ridgway Snipes, Bill O'Connor, Tania OConnor, Cindy Lou Barlow, Philip Barlow, Brian Leff, Adrianne Lenker, Don Brumfield, Alan Schmidt, Wilder Wheelock, Glo Webel, Jamie Gage, Susan Dollenmaier, Brian Axelrod, Dana Hart, Sandy Lincoln, Lalita Karoli, Jack Metzger and others who have supported my relocation to Lincoln, Vermont. God bless.