After a month of rehab following hand surgery (replacement of knuckle joints due to rheumatoid arthritis which hit me when I was 37), I functioned well-enough to do some simple two-handed tasks. I hit a stretch of high demand at Aire Born (large workload recording studio I manage), and had weaned myself to 2 daily Darvocette when a therapy session turned hostile with the discovery of a wayward joint. The next day found me back in the hospital where my hand was sliced open yet again and the offending artificial joint put in its place. So it's one-hand pecking for another week or so.

Do you remember Roger Williams, the chart topping pianist of 60's and 70's pop music ( Autumn Leaves)? My surgeon, perhaps feeling sad about my second scalpeling, grabbed me before going to the operating room and lead me down to Roger William"s recovery cube to say "hello." Williams flew from L.A. to Indianapolis to have Dr. S. operate on his thumb joint. Roger and I, we looked like school cooks in our elastic gauze bonnets. I wonder how he's doing now?

In music, long careers are revered. A fickle public may think it sad when an artist tumbles from the charts; most often the artist himself knows how lucky he was to get there in the first place. Even one modestly successful album is something an artist can build on for a lifetime, providing a initial financial leg-up that will allow for a continued career in music at some level. And that's a good thing - if you think listening to music is a high, you should try creating it! Pure joy, whether the music is simply conceived or masterfully orchestrated. Things go moldy, as in all careers, when others get their fingers in the pie - we all know how hard it is to dodge sticky fingered creeps. The musician can slip away to an occasional joy too few of us can find.