 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
|  |
October 2001
Friends: Well, just three weeks ago, although it seems an eternity now, I had prepared for your enjoyment (or birdcage lining) my usual letter full of various cheap stabs at humor, the self-obsessed babbling I am occasionally allowed to get away with, and what in my case occasionally passes for wit. All of it was rendered utterly pointless, and a little sad in retrospect, on the morning of September 11th. Now, with this second attempt at a letter to you, I realize that I haven't really got what it takes to put what happened that day into words and make any sense of it – let alone bring any comfort to anyone. All I can say is that I hope you and those you love are all ok.In the last two weeks, I have continued to travel around the country and get on stage and sing and play. At first it seemed a horribly misguided, disrespectful thing to do. Yet as I attempted to gracefully bow out of various performance obligations, I was convinced by all involved that I'd be a far more useful American if I was making music than if I was cowering in my apartment, watching CNN. So I played. I'm glad I did. People came, people listened, people laughed and danced. They needed to hear music more than ever. And I found out that I needed to play music more than ever. I also found out that if there's any way I can do my part in helping people feel better right now, it's to get up there behind that piano and do my job. Until I see you again, take care of yourselves, and be good to each other. Love, Bob
|
|
||||||||||||||||||||||
