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Vance’sMondayNightAcousticPajamaParty#38 - Cold War and Teardrops


When: Monday Nite, December 7th 7:30PM EDT (“doors” open at 7 for community hang) -

Who gets 10%: protects 38,000+ acres throughout Massachusetts, saving birds and other wildlife, making nature accessible to all. Mass’ largest nature conservation nonprofit, with 1/2 milion visitors a year to our wildlife sanctuaries and 20 nature centers. From inspiring hilltop views to breathtaking coastal landscapes, serene woods, and working farms, they protect our state’s natural treasures for wildlife and for us all—a vision shared in 1896 by two extraordinary Boston women.

$$$: or or
a check to VanceFunder P.O. Box 17, Arlington, MA 02476 for this web-groovery.
Pay or not. It’s up to you. Let’s just stay connected.

This week’s pajamas: My new aviation sweatpants and hoodie

I coach voice, songwriting, performance. Contact me. I have some open spots

Good Good Man - the CD - streaming all platforms, even get it from me...



When that old retired guy from Virginia and his wife moved into that freshly facelifted house about 8 years ago, rumor had it that they were up here because they wanted to be closer to their children and grandchildren. And so there they were, with their black SUV and their big black pickup truck they never used to pick anything up. Always a new fence being put up. Always some new reconstruction going on inside. Him, a skinny 6 feet plus, slightly hunched over, with his small lawn bag, reaching grabber stick, and eternally dangling cigarette, walking a slow grid of his lawn picking up acorns and dropping them into the bag. Him and his riding mower for that tiny lawn. Going back over that lawn with that stick picking up oak leaves. Him delineating a clear line between his yard and his neighbor’s, straightedge datum line leaf and seed drawn.

“Lord, that man needed to keep his job”, I’d mutter to myself. “Dude, join Kiwanis or Rotary or something” I’d whisper out of whichever side of my mouth faced away from his house depending on which direction I was walking past. “Honestly, I ought to anonymously drop a model plane kit at the door complete with glue and paint, with a card saying 'Trade in the acorn stick for this...’” I’d quietly opine. All of that usually preceded by or followed with a “damn, bro...”

Yet when I see him he always give a very subtle wave and head nod. “Good Morning” I’d chirp. Him? Wave. Nod.

Yesterday, coming back from a long run, Elvis Costello in my earbuds, right side of my mouth to his yard, there he looked up from his bag and acorn stick, waved, and nodded, and motioned as if he was to speak. Jesus in a juniper I didn’t know what to do, me with no model kit or Kiwanis membership form on my person. I clicked Elvis off.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what has happened to that fine white dog you used to have?”

“We lost Roscoe in August 2019 after 14 years. He was a good boy”

"Yes he was”, he continued. “He was so stately when he pranced by. So regal. What a fine animal he was”.

“Thank you, yes he was. And we’ll never be the same”.

And I thanked him again and continued to my house around the corner. I had clicked Elvis Costello back on but I don’t recall what played after that. Probably one of his typical sarcastic reels poking the listener in the chest with a finger full of inculpation and reexamination.