The third floor of my home is a busy place. It's a guest room, class room, performance space, and a lovely spot to sit and play my fiddle, sing a ballad or think. Attics in general are places where things collect, memories, junk, treasures, and other people's stuff. Attics are also where, traditionally, writers and thinkers have been forced to live, since writing and thinking haven't often been highly paid or valued.
And so, here I will write about my little corner of community, my memories, and my thoughts on music, politics, friends, cats and whatever else comes to mind. Oh, be careful of your head. The ceiling's a little low in spots.
