11:30 AM - Boise, ID.
I'm very much looking forward to our show tonight at the Sapphire Room in the Riverside Hotel.  One final opportunity to share the stage with Rosalie Sorrels. Rosalie was the first person that I sang for. No I wasn't a little toe headed kid singing at her house on the Avenues in Salt lake City. It was July 2008. A couple short months after my fathers death in May.

Upon returning home after my fathers funeral and memorial service in Nevada City I wasn't sure what my next move was going to be. After decades apart we had spent the last eight years getting to know each other again. Now what? The previous eight winters I wold drive down to my fathers home in Nevada City and pick him up for a short two show monthly road trip. He would always encourage me to learn to play guitar and sing so I could accompany him on the stage. But it was something that I could never bring my self to do. As a little boy I could never reconcile the fact that in learning to play and perform I would be learning to do the very things that kept my father away from me for so may years. But after his death, what I inherited, along with his old road worn Guild guitar, we inherited together. We inherited the songs and stories of people and places. So I made the decision to learn to play guitar, sing and join the family trade. A couple months later I found my self at Rosalie's cabin in Girmes Creek, it was her yearly birthday celebration. I almost knew three chords, not a whole lot has changed, and I surely couldn't yet sing. I remembered the stories dad would tell me about sitting in the kitchen of Rosalie's home in Salt Lake City and singing songs to each other. I decide that sounded like a fine idea. I got up early the next morning, pulled out dad's guitar and  went into the kitchen. She was sitting there with Mark Ross having a cup of coffee. I sang her "long Gone" a song that I had written for my father. After I finished she said "Duncan, I like the quality of your voice. You just need to learn to breathe better." Now I could could have been the best damn singer in the world but I was so nervous I could hardly breathe. Mark said "Hey Duncan I think your guitar needs new strings." Together we sat on the bed and put a fresh set on my fathers guitar.

It's hard to believe that tonight,  five years latter, I will be performing on stage with Rosalie.

Dear world, I've left town, I'm on the lamb, well at least for a few days. Every time I through my belongings in a car and drive off my mind intermediately begins to regain some of it's elasticity. The road is my therapy. As the miles pile up so do the memories. So I have decided to maintain a road blog, a collections of short stories that are portions of a much larger story.

Now you have to understand that my grammar is like a poorly paved Utah road worn thin by the winters salt, it's full of chuck holes. But you see, whenever I write something and share it the masses there a few people that the first thing they look for are mistakes, scholars I suppose. Now I try to appeal to everyone so these mistakes are in here for you. Have fun.

The only time that I remember feeling the need to have a serious with my father was on this very subject. We had both flow into New York for a short two show tour. We acquired a rental car and drove up to Saratoga Springs for a Friday night show at Caffe' Lena's. The next day we loaded the car, said our goodbye's and lit out for Homer, New York. The weather was terrible and the driving was slow going. For the first hour or so the conversation was our typical road banter, you know, old family stories and ways of solving every social abnormality out there. After awhile my father started correcting every thing I said. After about ten minutes I snapped. I pulled the car over to the side of the road, turned off the engine and said "Listen, I know that I may be poorly educated but  that doesn't mean that I'm unintelligent." I was always the kid that brought home the progress report that read something like "Duncan is not  working to his potential"  I would tell my mother that I was fine it was the teachers that weren't working to their potential. Then I told my father "I know you posses a complete command of the English language and how intelligent your are but every time you correct me it proves to opposite." he said "Your right, I don't why I do it, I'm sorry." That was it, I started the car and we drove off. You know what is truly remarkable about this story is that after being separated for the better part of thirty years. The only ting that we had to fight about was my use of grammar. Not bad.