Sunday September 16th
It's been a good year for the kudzu. This summer the south has been plenty wet enough. It drapes thickly over the trees, fences and telephone poles along the roadside, and makes a grand scene of characters frozen in action, green and still. I roll by a Baptist church bus on I-40 as I drive west through Winston-Salem on my way to Charleston, West Virginia for a gig. The vision of an old, faded blue and white converted school bus makes me pause and connect with a kind of peace I'd been looking for several days now, since the 11th at least.

I've spent the week, like most Americans, in front of the television stunned beyond belief by what's happened. It's taken a great force of will to turn off the radio and the TV. To sit in silence and try to fathom what's happened. Then from that silence, there emerges a void that pulls me back to reconnect with everybody's sorrows. I turn the TV on again and sit transfixed. We listen to everybody's stories - amazing stories of loss and heroism. The things I usually write about simply pale in comparison. I'm grateful for the discipline and routine of writing these "notes" otherwise I'd not be able to write anything at all.

Chuck Brodsky said to me a few nights ago -- before any of this happened -- "One door closes, another door opens". Well now it relates. It sticks in my head like mantra. One door closes, another door opens... In a way, we are privileged to have witnessed this terrible birth. There have been kindnesses and a gentleness I've witnessed in strangers behavior to each other this week. These kindnesses do not go away. They stay and resonate with people for the rest of their lives. It is easy to see the horror and feel the anger, but there's more to it than that. We are changed for the better I am sure - except for the cost.

Saturday, Sept 22nd
Yesterday I secured a Post Office Box in Asheville, NC and got pleasantly lost finding my way back to my van on the unfamiliar downtown streets. I wandered into a record store and bought Buddy & Julie Miller's new self-titled CD. I'll tell you a potent combination for taping into pent up emotions - this morning, driving home from South Carolina, I went between listening to Scott Simon on Morning Edition read his eloquent and vivid commentaries about the wreckage in New York City, and Buddy & Julie's songs. Buddy singing "Rock Salt & Nails", and the clincher was Julie's song "Rachel" that refers to the Columbine High School shootings. I almost had to pull over for not being able to see the road. Their harmonies have always been like a key thrusting itself into my heart and spilling out emotions I didn't know were there.

Been writing plenty - all tentative lyrics and scraps of ideas coming from the upsurge of thoughts and feelings surrounding the bombings, talk of war and patriotism. I am curious in other songwriters, and how these events will manifest in new songs. Though I'm in agreement with myself to let rest the urge to finish something. The ash needs to lie still for a while. In the meantime, I've been taking consolation in some old songs, and in a new tree to me this year. The Crepe Myrtle flowers in the late summer dryness of August and September. Planted all over the Raleigh area it makes incandescent orbs of rose, lavender, and all hues in between that stand out along roadside and gardens. Seeing it is a happy and defiant statement to the world. Life goes on - and brightly!

Sunday September 23rd
Today I've spent packing boxes and preparing my belongings for storage while I make the transition to move to Asheville. I'll live two months on the road, and then land in Asheville in December. As with most things there is uncertainty in how circumstances will take shape: where I'll live and the path there, but there is also much anticipation and promise that reaffirms the need to trust the thought that when one door closes, another will open.

Now, I've got to get back to packing and moving. I wish you all peace - keep in touch.
- Dana