I truly believe the universe gives you what you need, when you need it. I also believe that everything happens for a reason, which makes me pretty popular with friends who are looking for a positive outlook on a situation and more than a little irritating to those who prefer to marinate in the negative. So this weekend when I received an email saying this would in fact be the last week of my column for The Telegram, I immediately saw the good side. Truth is there have been so many instances over the years, whether I was traveling in Africa, Afghanistan, or rural Newfoundland where the sheer stress of trying to find an internet connection to meet my deadline nearly killed me. Or the days I had to steal away from a writing or studio session to try and finish my column, only to stare at the computer screen, worrying that I used up all my words for song lyrics. Depending on what was going on in the world and in my life, I have spent as much time trying to edit down wild, novel length thoughts into a 400 word piece, as I have racking my brains trying to come up with something, anything at all that could possibly be mildly interesting to you all. Something that hopefully, I hadn’t already written about! I truly have felt a huge responsibility to those of you who faithfully read my column every week and stopped to ask me if I got my sister’s wedding dress home safely, or if Willie Nelson really is that nice, I simply haven’t wanted to let you down. I will continue to write blogs on my website dav-net.com, but I will do them without a deadline, with less commas (if that’s even possible!) and hopefully with a lot less stress. I remember how excited I was when I was first asked to write for The Evening Telegram and how proud I felt to be a part of its rich history in our province, a pride I will carry with me forever. I am also grateful to this column for giving me the opportunity to have you all in my life, but am even more grateful to you all for choosing me to be a part of yours every week and for that I thank you.
I have been in a bit of a tizzy the last few weeks finishing and polishing up songs before my band goes into the studio next week - mostly because I thought they were pretty perfect before we went in there digging around the dirt. Writing a song is a bit like buying a new coat, putting it on and knowing it was made for you. It’s warm, it goes with everything, you feel like a warrior when you put it on and are more than a little sad when you have to take it off. You admire it as it hangs on its hook and wish you’d found it sooner, because it’s the one thing you can put on, that makes you happy. Then out of the blue, you get invited out for the evening, you show up and everyone is dressed to the nines, in suits, dresses and high heels, and there you stand in your winter jacket. Only it doesn’t seem as warm or as beautiful as it did the day before, in fact you can’t help but feel a little embarrassed by it, because all those times you loved it so much and never wanted to take it off, meant you wore it to the dinner table and inadvertently dunked your sleeve into your bowl of pea soup, which has dried into a pronounced crust. It also had a little tear peeking out from under the pocket where you hitched it on the fence when you went ice skating and because you never noticed it before, it has turned into a massive tear from armpit to waist and to top it off, it smells a little like a fire pit ( which was your single favorite smell until someone walked by and turned up their nose). So you take your jacket off, walk around the party and forget about it, you may even in fact admire someone else’s coat and ask where they bought it and wonder if they have any in your size. You have a great time, stay out too late, grab your jacket and put it under your arm planning on putting it on once you grab a cab, only to walk out into the street and find a blizzard waiting for you. The high heeled women with their flimsy wrap eyes your winter jacket like it’s the hope diamond, they’ve been waiting for over an hour in the snow and there are no cabs for miles. So you pick up your jacket, give it a little hug and say you’re sorry, put it on and wave goodbye. You are going to walk home in the blizzard, because you can.