AdPock

It was love at first sight, Though we didn’t quite get along, You tried to eat kitty, My girlfriend wanted you gone. But you were mine, I looked you in the eye, I told you I’d love you, I told you I’d try, I read all the books, I paid all the bills, Made said girlfriend my wife, To give you stronger will. But you gave back infinitely more, Taught us there’s grace in opening our door. That kitty’s now your brother, My wife your ma, Our forever family, Even now that your gone. We tried our best to keep you happy, boy, When we took you in, I guess you couldn’t have asked for much more, And in the end, neither could I.

While watching the Oaxaca episode of Netflix’s  Somebody Feed Phil , I was moved by a weaver at the Vida Nueva weaving cooperative , an all-women collective known for their vibrant and colorful artisanship.  Her description of the importance of color in their culture made me realize that my own colorful work comes from a similar spirit: “Todo es color.” Everything is color.  “Es nuestra vida, es nuestro entorno, es nuestra naturaleza. Los colores son alegría, los colores son felicidad, los colores son amor, los colores son vida. Las aves, las flores, todo nuestro entorno, el sol, todo es color,” she says, sagaciously so.  Per Google Translate: “It’s our life, it’s our surroundings, it’s our nature. Colors are joy, colors are happiness, colors are love, colors are life. The birds, the flowers, everything around us, the sun—everything is color.” My wife and I, who  experienced the wonders of Oaxaca recently , both cried while watching the episode. It’s a beautif...

I was 16 years old when I saw my first Dead show , maybe 15. It was either 1989 or ‘90, or maybe time doesn’t exist at all?  I’m not sure if that  McNichnols  show was the one that changed my life, but I do know it brought me back. And by the time I came back, I was ready for acid. And that first acid show definitely changed everything. Well, that series of three acid shows really: in Bonner Springs, Kansas ; outside in the parking lot the next night; then back home in Denver a few days later, at Mile High Stadium . How appropriate. I realize there is no way to tell my Grateful Dead story without getting deeply personal. That’s the nature of my relation to this music… it’s inside me now. And I believe I’m better for it. Am I the most motivated or successful person? No way. And I may be a borderline hedonist and 100% absurdist , but I don’t think anyone has very much bad to say about me? Which is a pretty good starting point for goodness, i think. Anyways, Bobby died ...