Catching My Breath

The Osengas are back home in Nashville today. The Osenglets, i.e. the little ones, are sweaty and ripe from being outside in the Sheol temperature/humidity of the Urban South. And it's good to be here.

This past weekend was a long overdue, very good trip back to my hometown. We caught up with some old friends, the Grandparents got to do their spoiling and showing off, and all in all it was good.

Caedmon's had a show Sunday about an hour from Normal. Actually two shows, one at 5 and one at 8. Very odd. And of course the one at 8 was way better and of course the one at 5 was a mini-high school reunion for me.

There's nothing quite like taking a guitar solo in front of the guy who taught you to play, especially when that teacher was Mark Lockett. Gulp. But it seemed to go all right, from that end. The shows were fun, though my nerves were high.

I also read the uber-bestseller book "Twilight", and I'd like those hours of my life back. In case you're thinking of reading it, here's the book in four sentences. Because the book was basically these four, and ONLY these four, in various forms for 500 pages. Spoiler Alert, if you care. Which you shouldn't.

"I love you. You're perfect."

"I love you, but I'll hurt you. I should leave but I can't."

"I love you, and I don't care. And I'm clumsy."

"Yes, you are. And I love you. And I'll hurt you. And I am perfect."


So now I'm back home, typing a blog while the sweaty Osenglets are putting Dora stickers on my laptop. "Yes, I'd love a ripped-off Boots' head. Put it right here." Today and tomorrow are catch-up, cleaning and laundry and getting ready for the ladies to go to North Carolina and for me to go to Canada for an artist retreat. More on that later. I've made some more progress on writing with Letters 2, but haven't been able to record. Hopefully Friday, when I'll be a bachelor for a day.

So there we are in a nutshell. Thanks to everybody who came out to see the band play Sunday, hope you enjoyed it. Oh, and thanks to Illinois for having good pizza. There's no Nashville comparison. Not even close.