I hope you are well as you read this blog post.

Thank you for stopping by.

I wrote this song several years ago when I was camping at the North of Highland campground in North Truro, MA, on Cape Cod .

It is a heavenly place.

For over twenty five years I camped there every summer with my sweetheart and his extended family.

And then COVID — and a new baby — entered our lives, and we all decided to rent a house together at the opposite end of the state (in Pittsfield) with a big, fenced-in backyard instead.

Ahh, change…

Deep breath in.

Deep breath out.

When I look at photos on the campground’s website or re-read a blog post I once wrote about camping there, I am filled with a poignant sadness that we no longer gather in this idyllic spot.

And that is what this song is all about.

Life is an ebb and then a flow — and it just keeps on ebbing and flowing…

We can embrace that fact — at times sadly, at times gratefully, at times contentedly, at times joyfully.

Or we can fight it.

When I was looking at Dalai Lama quotations for my last blog post, I found one which fit this theme perfectly:

“Old friends pass away, new friends appear.

It is just like the days.

An old day passes.

A new one arrives.

The important thing is to make it meaningful: a meaningful friend — or a meaningful day.”

Another deep breath in.

And deep breath out.

This song was inspired by a couple who rented a campsite at the other end of the little valley at North Of Highland campground where we had a perennial campsite.

I don’t remember exactly how we reached out and introduced ourselves, but I am pretty sure I showed them the wild blueberry bushes which were bearing fruit all around our little valley.

And they invited us over for an informal cocktail hour one evening, which was very pleasant.

And then we discovered that the guy was a swimmer who, like me, loved to do laps along the ocean shoreline — although this was becoming more and more risky because the increasingly abundant population of seals in North Truro had been attracting more and more great white sharks…

So we hit it off with these two friendly people and became well-acquainted over the course of a few days.

Then, to my surprise (because I had assumed incorrectly that they had a week-long rental) they packed up their tent and — with warm goodbyes — drove away.

And I found myself feeling surprisingly sad.

Yet another deep breath in.

And deep breath out.

I have been very aware of — and sensitive to — the realities of love and loss ever since I was young.

In fact, I have been told that my parents used to sing “Good Night Irene” to me when I was a very small child just to see me well up with tears.

Deep sigh…

I have written in previous blog posts about the challenges of working professionally as a child and teenager. One of an actor’s most important skills is developing a sense of connectedness — first with the receptionist who checked you in at each audition, then with the casting agents, with the clients, and with any actors who were part of the initial audition and subsequent callbacks.

And if I got a job — whether for an hour doing a voiceover, for a day on the set of a TV commercial, for a couple of weeks filming a TV pilot, for a few months doing a movie, or for a year doing a musical — I needed to nurture ongoing, positive working relationships with my fellow cast and crew members.

I needed to show up on time.

I needed to know my lines.

I needed not to complain about anything.

I needed to behave as if I was a small, manipulable adult.

No fidgeting.

No fooling around.

When a job was done, I remember how awkward and sad I felt as all of the camaraderie, friendship, affection and even love which had developed among members of the crew and cast would evaporate and disappear.

That was very confusing.

Was any of the camaraderie, friendship, affection and love I had experienced real?

Or was everyone just acting?

Another deep breath in.

And deep breath out.

On a vaguely related note, our planet’s relentlessly-marketed fossil fuels — along with the cars, trains, busses, ocean liners, planes, motorcycles, etc. which need them to run — have allowed most of us human beings to become much more mobile and much less rooted in one neighborhood, one town, one city, one state, one country.

The postal service and the internet have also given us extraordinary options for meeting and becoming acquainted with other humans.

How do we make sense of — and peace with — all of the beings who come and go in our lives?

Deep breath in.

Deep breath out.

I tried to make a little bit of sense out of the ebb and flow of relationships by strumming a ukulele in my tent and then jotting lyric and chord ideas in one of my songs-in-process notebooks.

Eventually “The Crazy Touch And Go Of Our Lives” emerged.

I performed it by myself — playing a ukulele — at some open mics.

Then a few years ago my friend Molly Ruggles (who sings, plays piano and writes songs herself) created a lovely harmony part for her and our friend Carole Bundy to sing.

The three of us performed it at a bunch of porchfests and then recorded it with Molly playing piano last summer at Doug Hammer’s studio north of Boston.

Another deep breath in.

And deep breath out.

As I write this blog post, I am reminded of the Dalai Lama’s words about making each day — and, each friend — meaningful.

That is certainly what has happened with me and Carole and Molly.

We first collaborated when I was invited to sing during a service at the UU church in Medford where they were both members and where Molly was also the music director.

And this musical collaboration has deepened and widened over many years — and many delicious dinners — to become meaningful friendships.

We sing and harmonize and rehearse and perform and bear witness to the twists and turns of each other’s lives.

Deep breath of gratitude in.

Deep breath of gratitude out.

I will end this post with my customary thank yous plus a bunch of beautiful images from Pixabay that somehow reminded me of this song.

Thank you to all of the folks who have kept North of Highland campground going for many decades. I miss being there each summer!!!

Thank you to the couple who camped for a few days across the little valley from us at North of Highland campground.

Thank you to the Dalai Lama for his wisdom.

Thank you to my sweetheart and his — now our — family for letting me sit in my tent at the campground all day long, working on new songs.

Thank you to my dear ukuleles, to my “tent of creativity,” and to the various pencils, pens, notebooks, rhyming dictionaries, and laptops which help me to write songs.

Thank you to Molly and Carole for our years of interactions.

Thank you to the UU church in Medford for bringing me and Carole and Molly together as a musical unit and as friends.

Thank you to Doug Hammer for engineering and then mixing/mastering our recordings with us.

Thank you to the grasses and bushes and seaweeds and crabs and sea birds and seals and sharks and fish who make the Head Of The Meadow beach — a short and beautiful walk from the North Of Highland campground — so interesting to visit.

Thank you to the ocean and the sun and the moon and the tides which sweep the beach clean twice a day.

Thank you to everyone who has been listening to my songs via Pandora, YouTube, Spotify, Apple Music, and any/all of the other streaming platforms.

Each stream, each like, and each addition to a playlist is noted by that streaming service’s algorithms — and encourages it to share the song with other listeners.

You can click here to listen to “The Crazy Touch and Go of Our Lives” on many different streaming platforms.

And a final thank you to the wonderful photographers at Pixabay, whose beautiful images grace almost all of my blog posts

I will end with a few more of my favorites Cape Cod-related photos from Pixabay.

Together they capture some of the magical essence of the outer Cape.

What are YOUR experiences with the crazy touch and go oof our lives?