I wanted you to know I think about you often and hope that life is treating you well.
This is how often I think about you:
I had a dream that continued two nights in a row this week. It surrounded you teaching me some of your songs. You wouldn’t give me the music but, instead, tried to show me how to play the songs on the guitar. At the close of the dreams, you gave me the words to the songs and wished me well in learning them, since we had a show the following evening. Now both dreams were not the same, though the action was essentially similar.
And here’s why they struck me as funny after I woke both times: I am a fabulously crappy guitar player. I keep an electric in my basement and never let my family know I do simple scales on it to pass the time and get over being angry about being me. Chords and anything beyond do-re-mi elude me. I have never plugged it into the amp, which is as big as a portable CD player, and never plugged in the amp. I don’t even know if it works. It probably has pretty lights on it.
Secondly, the idea that I would ever play or sing onstage is the most ridiculous thing that’s ever gone through my head, consciously or unconsciously. My poor singing ability would amaze even Tiny Tim.
Third, to have an accomplished musician and songster like you demand I practice for an on-stage performance is absurd all by itself. I probably wanted to be a performer when I was a kid due to influences from the Monkees and the Partridge Family. But I don’t think I even had the desire when they were current. Plus…I mean, really.
The second time I had the dream, I woke up laughing so hard I think I ruptured something. The same dream twice in a row on successive nights?
Still, it was nice to see you again. You were quite good to me in the dreams, as you are in real life. I hope you are happy in all things. I will see you at a performance. Someday. When my family quits bugging me all the fucking time.
All my best,