Dear Every Happy Pop Song Ever,

You suddenly all make sense.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Vienna,

Slow down, you crazy child
you're so ambitious for a juvenile
But then if you're so smart, tell me
Why are you still so afraid?

Where's the fire, what's the hurry about?
You'd better cool it off before you burn it out
You've got so much to do and
Only so many hours in a day

But you know that when the truth is told
That you can get what you want or you can just get old
You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through
When will you realize?
Vienna waits for you.

Slow down, you're doing fine
You can't be everything you want to be before your time
Although it's so romantic on the borderline tonight
Tonight

Too bad but it's the life you lead
you're so ahead of yourself that you forgot what you need
Though you can see when you're wrong, you know
You can't always see when you're right
You're right.

You've got your passion, you've got your pride
but don't you know that only fools are satisfied?
Dream on, but don't imagine they'll all come true
When will you realize?
Vienna waits for you.

Slow down, you crazy child
and take the phone off the hook and disappear for awhile
it's all right, you can afford to lose a day or two
When will you realize?
Vienna waits for you.

And you know that when the truth is told
That you can get what you want or you can just get old
You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through
When will you realize?
Vienna waits for you.

Hugs & kisses,
B

P.S. Thanks, Billy Joel, for getting it so right.

Dear Guitars,

I love you so utterly deeply that it's almost embarrassing. Last night, listening to one of your brethren in the expert hands of my string-strumming friend, I was transported.

Life, for a short time, seemed incomprehensibly good.

As Shakespeare once wrote, how is it that sheep's guts can hail the souls from men's bodies? And while I know that my friend's guitar is strung with steel, the sentiment is the same. He plucked, and he strummed, and he played his fingers across the frets, and I was truly happy.

You are a gift straight from God, and I am so thankful for friends who can play you well.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Madison,

Where else can I:

• make friends on the bus home from work?
• walk past the poshest restaurant in town, look in the window, and find one of the chefs (my next door neighbor) waving at me delightedly?
• spend the weekend biking, sailing, picking up my CSA, and attending a food and music festival downtown?
• fill my bike tires with a gratis air pump and fix-it station set up along the bike path by the city?
• always—always—get a smile on my face when I enter downtown because it's always just the right place to be?

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Antonio Lotti,

Thank you for this rich, liturgical composition.




Crucifixus pro nobis, et passus, et sepultus est. Laus Deo.

Amen.

Dear Julie Fowlis,

Thank you for recording a Gaelic version of "Blackbird." I don't even have words for how much I love your "Lob-dubh."

Tapadh leibh,
B

Dear Stephen Stills,

I never realized how much I talk to you (calling you "Steve," of course, since we're totally BFF) when I listen to your music until I lived upstairs from a landlord named Steve. Awkward.

Hugs & kisses (to you, not the landlord),
B

Dear Christmas Carols,

Now.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Scythian,

I didn't think anything could make you better, but adding brass to "Cubicles and Tylenol" was, quite simply, an act of genius.

Hugs & kisses,
B