Tom, with the Strawberry Range in the background. We travel well together and it's strange that I only spoke to him once in over two decades, and it was forced by circumstance---he was tending bar and I landed at his hospitality station. Go figure. But all that time and space seems compressed now. Both of us, we've found---like big surprise there--- are living on grace, which is about the best place to pitch your tent.

I've been dealing with this issue lately about the pro's and cons of having pictures of "ex's" in the house. Most of the people I have pictures of have passed away, but some I understand are still with us. When relationships end, its like an entire span of history has to fit into some sort of category and this feels very odd to me. I don't want to pack it up and pretend it didn't happen---and I've done both. For awhile I put all the pictures away of the people I've cared for---whether friends, or former partners, or relations. That didn't feel right either. My house is filled with pictures of people I love or have loved. It seems better to keep those faces uncovered rather than hidden in a drawer, or as my former friend Billy Bob once did, bring them all up to the ranch and burn them screaming "Die Mother F*ucker! Die you c*nt! My neighbors loved that.

Still, I truly believe you can't know where you are going unless you've made peace with where you've been. I guess sometimes that takes fire. Or Hobby Lobby and a 50% off sale on frames.

Tom, and the fact that he came back into my life last fall, to me is a testament to this sort of hope. I rode with him down to Arizona and he's trying to get me a referal to the MAO clinic---we'll see what comes of that. Todays postings and some for the next few days are shots of that trip. And a testament to the power of prayer.