Don't get me wrong: I know road trips don't solve anything. Like Bob Franke once sang...
And I remember that longing from my highway days
Though I never could give it a name
It's lucky I discovered in the nick of time
That the woman and child aren't to blame
For the hole in the middle of a pretty good life
I only face it 'cause it's here to stay
Not my father nor my mother nor my daughter nor my lover
Nor the highway made it go away
And there's too much darkness in an endless night
To be ashamed of the way I feel
I'll be kind to my loved ones
Not forever but for real
And

Now, I tell you, what could be more perfect for two post-modern gypsies?
I LOVE buskers - fell in love with them in Covent Gardens in London - and have been nearly addicted ever since: the best are comedians, social critics, entertainers and wounded healers all at the same time. And out on the street to boot! Today's destination, however, is

We are almost ready to go: a little more packing, dropping our old dog off at the kennel and... I have to stop by the house of my little guitar man so he can show me his barre chord. He's been working on it non-stop for 10 days and told me after worship: I can get it 95 out of 98 times! So, before the road takes over, I need to see this little quotidian miracle. I am a happy man.
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