If I were downstairs right now 30 dead eyes would be looking at me. They,  previously owned by a dozen former deer, a couple elk, and my personal favorite, a kudu. A kudu who's been with me for some 13 years. I say with me because I met him or his twin back in an office in Tuscaloosa, Alabama somewhere around '09 or '10 and he's been with me ever since; following me from office, to office, to lake house, now to farm. The kudu. He's my favorite. 

I'm at my friend Matt's farmhouse for some work and it's what I need. Forty miles from everything and quiet. Ear ringing quiet. I could stay here a week and really get something done.

I wonder what my kudu was thinking when a high powered rifle delivered him first to the ground, then to what must have been a giant box and finally, to a wall in Tuscaloosa. Surprised, is what I land on. 

//

In June I'll have been removed from the shoe selling world for longer than I was in it, but I'm still grateful and thankful for the relationships that I created during that time; that there's still people I call my friends from it. Still people that I've worked at keeping in touch with. 

A handful of Matt's (Wagner, Booth and Duncan), Carter, Ari, Feb, Colin, Jlew, Dave, Fritz, Kris, Rick, Rod, Lisa and many more that I spent a lot of time with. Talking running. Talking life. Drinking beers. Laying down miles and most importantly, laughing like hell. I'm glad I didn't walk on from them when I walked away from slinging shoes. 

This morning, though, Alabama, and quiet. 

//

Last night we were talking about the things we think we want, and I was struck again by how little I feel like I need. The things. I think if I had one "stuff" wish it would be for a quiet place. Well a kind of quiet place. I'd also want to be able to make noise in it. A studio of sorts, music equipment, a comfortable chair/couch. Low warm light. Maybe a record player. Maybe not. A place to write. To escape to. 

When I was a kid we had an attic that was off the hallway across from a linen closet. Call it a walk-in attic. 5 steps leading up to a mostly finished room with a window that looked towards the Gulf of Mexico if you could look out just right. My dad's and I's hockey skates, paired and tied together, hanging over a rafter, a flexible flyer sled and a toboggan.  Ridiculous things re routed to southern Mississippi, never to be used again. Boxes of pictures I'd go through from time to time and 4-5 maybe 5 ft tall hanging clothes boxes from our move. 

The boxes were lined up on the right side of the attic and I had at some point moved them away from the "wall" so there was a space behind them. It was maybe 4 ft wide and I could stand behind it. I'd taken an old kid sized chair and a table and had various other treasures I'd found in the attic back there. I drew some but mostly I just spent time there. Quiet time. Alone. Ears ringing in what must have been stifling Mississippi attic heat. Thinking. 

If I won the lottery that's what I'd want. A quiet place. 

Too bad I don't buy tickets. 

//

This morning I am thankful to have Alabama, quiet pines, my kudu, coffee, a good friend, my ears ringing to remind me of the music I play too loud. 

I'm thankful to have a warm memory of a small crawl space in a house that was washed away by a hurricane. Of a small table and chairs. Of skates and sleds that would never skate or sled again. 

#hugsandhi5s