Well, it’s been a quiet month

out here in the woods of California

as we gather round the fire....

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The weather has finally turned and we are embracing the cold, enjoying the smell of fires from chimneys, loving the cardigans that have been tucked away in storage.

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It's been a time of remembrance as we listen again to the great voice of Kevin Sousa on our Christmas Album. We lost a dear friend and the world lost a true rock star this year. Kevin passed after a battle with cancer. He was beloved by all who came in contact with him and will be dearly missed.

 

Trevor and Curt have been reciting Shakespeare and listening to Modern Major General on repeat. They have something up their sleeves. 

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Dave's leg still hurts.

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Vaughn has been in his books, coming out of his cabin to ask obscure questions about “the appaling strangeness of the mercy of god.” We're letting him be.

 

The woke police came after Brahm. When they came to his door he told them “it was the neighbors, babycakes.”

“So babycakes is your neighbor?”

“No, it was my neighbor, babycakes”

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Emma is off singing in strange and wonderful parts of the world.

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Borgo is busy raising sprouts, digging his hands into midwest soil.

Jake is gunning for paradiddle land-speed records and Frankie Powers is taking his amateur boxing career to the great of Texas, so... Texas Ferever.

 

And thus we lean into the wind, engaged in the endless human struggle to keep moving forward in the face of certain cataclysm.

 

But we show up on time, we dress dress like gentlemen, we shake your mothers hand and look your father in the eye, and as always….

 

We Thrash Responsibly