One night, this last July, I found a message hidden in a sheaf of requests from my Raven Gallery audience. Printed on a napkin in purple felt pen, it looked like a ransom note. "You owe us a record: we come to see you/follow your trips through life. But what will happen to this part of our lives when you are gone? We will no longer be able to share this, is that fair?" No. Not fair. Feeling suddenly old, and tired, and nearly at the end of my string, I marshaled my energies, called upon old friends, and we recorded this album. It was the least I could do.