Fire In Crisfield

Our house burned down last week. All of my instruments and gear were either destroyed or damaged from heat, smoke, water, and then freezing cold.

We have insurance. I will not accept any form of fundraising effort because, unlike the rest of the world, I am not a victim.

The house and our belongings are toast. Everybody in town is amazed we are still alive. Two of the cats made it. Pooka died, but was somehow revived. Cats are tough, and kind of spooky.

I am retiring. The instruments will not be replaced. All YouTube videos and workshops have been deleted. The rest of my online data will be taken down as time allows. Even the books.

Working on the house today, I had a serious epileptic seizure. I was alone and passed out on the cold ground. The seizures continued for almost an hour as neighbors either tried to help or prayed over me. I was thrashing, convulsing, and barfing as people cradled me in their arms. It was awful but somehow wonderful. Unlike the rest of the world, I am cared for in Crisfield. The house and its contents were not my home. Crisfield is my home.

Now, I am sitting in my motel room aware that I have nothing left for the online world to take away and waste. Heck, I don’t even have a change of clothes. I just want to take up a new instrument, rebuild my home, and make the most of the warm weather ahead. I want peace and harmony in my little town. I want to spend time with my dad free of the pressure of this pointless and futile job.

I have taught in an open-source context since 1997. For my work I have been scourged by losers who can’t even outplay my crippled ass. The Internet has taken enough from me, and now I have nothing but my dad. Even my banjo is such a mess that I had to hold it together for my very last video.

On to better and happier things.