You Like Me, Josie Moraine. You Just

I Wasn't Certain Of Anything Anymore, Except That New Orleans Was A Faithless Friend And I Wanted To Leave Her.

What Was Life Asking Of Me? How Could I Respond When I Didn't Know The Question?

One Day When I Was Fourteen, I Told Charlie That I Hated Mother. “don’t Hate Her, Jo,” He Told Me. “feel Sorry For Her. She’s Not Near As Smart As You. She Wasn’t Born With Your Compass, So She Wanders Around, Bumping Into All Sorts Of Walls. That’s Sad.” I Understood What He Meant, And It Made Me See Mother Differently. But Wasn’t There Some Sort Of Rule That Said Parents Had To Be Smarter Than Their Kids? It Didn’t Seem Fair.

Somehow I Had To Turn The Salted Peanuts In The Cigar Box Into Petits Fours.

It Amazed Me How Some People Could Touch An Instrument And Create Something So Beautiful, And When Others Tried, Like Me, It Just Sounded Like Mangled Noise.