I still have every one of them.
Boxes full of notebooks.
Simple things, really.
Spiral notebooks.
Yellow legal pads.
Three-ring binders.
Pages filled with words...
thoughts...
and memories.
Old.
Tattered.
Stained with things...
that we probably won't mention.
Statute of limitations and all.
It was the '70s, ya know.
There are hundreds of songs in those notebooks.
Good ones.
Bad ones.
Some that should have stayed exactly where they were.
Thankfully...most of them did.
High school was just another stop along the way.
I learned a whole lot more after graduation.
Everybody else seemed to be trying to figure out where they fit.
I never understood all the clique stuff.
It always seemed kind of silly to me.
I was more interested in the people who didn't fit.
I've never really 'done' normal very well.
Normal doesn't usually have very good stories.
Most of my closest friends didn't even go to my high school.
Most of them were older.
One of them was Randy.
Randy could really sing.
The boy had pipes.
I hated him a little... just sayin'.
He also happened to be a bit of a smart ass.
We got along just fine.
Before long we were writing songs together.
We probably spent more time laughing than we did writing.
If there was a laugh to be found, Randy usually got there first.
Dad finally asked me one day,
'Why are all your friends smart asses?'
I answered,
'Because of the first word.'
He just looked at me.
Mom laughed.
Then life happened.
People sometimes ask why I didn't chase music full time.
Simple.
It was math.
I've always thought I was born about ten years too late.
Timing has never exactly been my superpower.
The singer-songwriters I admired had already made their mark...
Music was my passion.
It just wasn't my business plan.
Besides...
I've always been kind of partial to regular meals.
So I got a job.
Built a career.
Raised a family.
Music never left.
Every house had a guitar leaning in the corner.
Somewhere nearby...
there was always a little recording setup.
As life got busier.
The writing never did.
The notebooks never complained.
They just waited.
Then one day... during a move... I lost them.
Not one notebook.
All of them.
For two days I couldn't find them.
I searched every box.
Every closet.
Every place I could think of.
Because I hadn't just lost my notebooks.
I'd lost my lyrics.
My stories.
My memories.
Forty years of breadcrumbs...
leading back through a life I never wanted to forget.
There's a fine line between prophecy and paranoia.
By day two...
I was firmly on the paranoia side of that line.
When they finally turned up...
I just sat there looking at them.
Smiling.
Relieved.
Funny...
I wasn't really afraid of losing the songs.
I was afraid of losing the story.
