It was the middle of April here in Southwest Ohio and Joe was working in the garden, as was his typical pasttime. It had taken on even greater importance, now, with brain cancer. Not only was it giving him a sense of purpose in the moment, but it allowed for overriding the brain and to move into the heart and feeling center. I had broken ribs and a severely sprained left arm and the only instrument I could weild was the ukulele and I was playing it all the time, my form of physical therapy. I came into the kitchen the same moment Joe was coming through the back door, his knees covered with a fresh layer of spring dirt. He was happy in his element, in the garden, and he did always translate it over into simple philosophy and simple living. The inspiration of that sight, the exchange and his ever-present whistle and I had a song that morning. He loved the song. It reflected everything we loved about our life and how we were living in the face of mortality and adversity. I forgot I played it at his bedside three hours before his death until I saw it in the pictures for the Cincinnati Enquirer story. It was also heard in the video that is coupled with the print. It’s the song I was playing in the image that Jon Roket couldn’t shake, the song that was the impetus for us making a record.
In the studio, against the backdrop of ukulele and knee slaps, Al Moss delivers a pedal steel solo that makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time, a solo that perfectly captures the meaning of the song; we find the extraordinary in the everyday, in the present moment.