eight millimeter tapes and borrowed machines

well, Fuller, looks like you'll have to be satisfied with my production notebook. I sorted through all my little Hi-8 tapes this morning, looking for the one with "The Lesson" on it to transfer to big tape, to send off to Fuller in my portfolio of creativeness.

I didn't find it.

What I did find, were a lot of memories- happy and sad now dredged up by looking through tape after tape after tape. Adam Bouse, you were there. And Sarah Stanek, and Evie, and Phil- dear Phil, and Charlie of course. I looked thinner. I gave Mike Burnett a Herb Alpert record, and the choir was singing, and Liz Makula fell out of a trash can, and I laughed, like I always do. Marcus and Nicole got married, and my beach was eternal in its sunset with its squeaking sand. Ashley, you dove in for my papers as they skittered across your pond. I spent an endless summer across the midwest, playing bass and loving people and laughing with Kati Hultman. Erin and Maria were so small, and playing with plastic cups at the Olive Garden. We were a whole family. My parents still owned a bakery, and my hair was shorter, and I made a layup. We all danced, and danced.

And danced.

Let me never forget this, how blessed I am. How much love I've had in this life. Even on cold days like today, sitting in my pajamas on the floor of my apartment and letting reality settle around me like a fog, let these simple bits of film and machine remind me of where I've been. Who I am.

Where I'm going.