The 49th Revolution

Ah, the years keep rolling on. Same as it ever was, same as it ever was . . .

We were supposed to get a couple inches today, but the temperature never dropped below 37 degrees, and the rain never changed over to snow. I know I'm getting old because I'm okay with that: when I was a kid, I loved the snow, but there's something about a 100 mile roundtrip commute that dims your enthusiasm for snow.

Sharri and I got into a new (rental, for the time being) house this year, a move that was long overdue. In ten years on Adams Street, we paid enough rent to cover the original purchase price of the duplex we rented (both of them - the whole house, that is). Not to mention the fact that the small one bedroom took on the aspect of a maze by the time we moved out. I tell you what, me and my darling had a ton of shit. But now we are in a house that is very close to being my dreamhouse . . . closer than I expected to get. It's a great place, and we are very happy to be there.

This year was not enough time on the bike, not enough time in the gym, not enough time playing music live. It's funny how much I miss the gym, I just have to get off my ass and go. As far as the bike, I've spent a bit of time tooling around Germantown, but I really need to get back on the paths. I miss tearing through Portland as fast as my Schwinn Varsity and middle-aged body will let me.

The music will take care of itself. It always does. I actually turned down more shows than I played this year. One promise: the rise of Black Kaspar.

More broke than last year, but no big deal . . . otherwise, more of the same. Those big changes predicted last year didn't quite come through - things happen, you deal with it, you move forward.

I am now officially bearing down on the big 50. No promises, no predictions, except for that one about Black Kaspar. Maybe next year I'll write something a little more interesting than this post card. Until then, love to you all. You all keep me from going crazy.