there’s a certain timelessness to life. we mark the passing months and years in increments, but we view the world from the collective time we’ve been alive. the “new” time gets added to the “old” time and a continuum is created— we view the sunset from the point of view of both our current and former self. for me, this is life’s great romance and mystery. from our mind’s eye, we are timeless.

my father was an ardent fan of simplicity. “it’s hardest to be simple” he used to say. i somehow absorbed his passion and my quest for simplicity has found its way into most parts of my life. when donna suggested i get a christmas tree for the cottage, i hesitated until she shared her vision of a tree outside the windows next to the marsh. then it made perfect, simple sense. the end result of the lighted tree overlooking the acres of marshland is that i’ve created a beacon of hope. its presence has given me a sense of peace that i’ve never experienced. it actually feels like christmas this year. my father would have loved it.

november is one of my favorite months. there are still occasional warm thermal drifts of summer, but the hollow cold takes over by month’s end. it’s a traveling month. bare trees in the northeast stand like silver sentries pointing to warmer climes in the south and west. the pacific stays warm almost until month end, and the surf beckons to wrap itself around you for a few last days. it’s a dying month. the old dies away for the winter, making way for the new. that’s exciting news. there’s an anticipation in november— the promise of better things to come.

back in 2004, clayton and stevie had just joined paul and me in the van gogh brothers, and the band had really started to hone our sound. clay’s 3-part harmonies had emerged and our roots-meets-pop songs were getting stronger, having completed our first album with producer anthony resta. we were looking for a place to play regularly- like every single week. we were road tested by then, having toured with pals, the Swinging Steaks, and aside from my touring days in my '20’s, paul and i had played countless gigs in LA, nashville, the midwest and throughout the northeast- in bars, ballparks, arenas and the like. how many below-zero wednesday nights in january in an empty bar does it take to polish a band?

as usual, summer is flying by and it’s almost back to school time again. i’ve been enjoying life at summer house and i’m trying to ignore the call of responsibility, at least for another few weeks. i haven’t TOTALLY unplugged this summer, but i’ve dialed it back a lot. the ocean air and expansive view has really put me in a different state of mind, and the prolonged northeast heatwave had accentuated everything summer. i love the fall, but like many of us, there is a nagging sense of “doing” that comes with it, and this is the first year in many that i’m not ready to let go of these summer daze!

once in a while, you get lucky in life, and i got lucky this summer when i found a pristine cottage on 150 acres of salt marsh on the south river on boston’s south shore. it’s one of those magical spots where there’s usually a breeze and the wind chimes play in the great white oak that shades the house. i’ve been here for four weeks now and my soul and spirit downshift every time i walk through the gate. i am immensely grateful for this little slice of paradise and it feels like a life saver. i’ve named the cottage “summer house.”

writing songs is like catching fireflies. on the lookout, we notice the light in the corner of our eye and, ever ready with the jar, we swipe at it. once in a while we get lucky and we capture the little prize where, for all to see, we parade it through life showing it to friends and onlookers and memorialize it in a recording where it can shine forever. but for us, one is not enough. we continue looking into the darkness for the next, and the next after that, and the next after that. sometimes the fields are filled with fireflies, and sometimes there’s not one to be found. that’s just the nature of things.

at last! we’ve released “backroads” and “ghost” to the streaming services… (here’s a link to backroads). we’ve felt that these are companion pieces— “ghost” being created during the height of the pandemic and “backroads” after the peak, as a reflective tome on so many of the themes we all contemplated as the world shared this common experience. pal john baldi graciously described backroads as “a perfect companion for your Spring/ Summer road trips,” and we hope it will be!

“sometimes the universe conspires for us,” i was reminded recently, and that sure seems to be true as i look at the view from my new kitchen window. i’ve been fortunate to have lived in several beautiful places over the years, and my luck seems to be continuing. one of the things i’ve missed about the west coast is the light and space of california. the east has its own version of beauty, but light and space is rare; and to get it, you usually need to be a millionaire. but, by coincidence, association and miracle, i got an out-of-the-blue call about a little place on a little piece of land next to a hundred acres of light and space— a songwriter’s dream— and within minutes, it was to be mine. i see it as a birthday present from the universe and it feels like a giant safety net in a tiny package. thank you, universe!