Standing on this empty road, where nothin' moves but the wind

I heard my first live music in quite some time tonight: a guy with an acoustic guitar in the Market Cafe section at Wegman's.

He regaled a totally disinterested crowd with Dylan and James Taylor songs and the like.

As my Southern friends would say: "bless his heart." This poor guy made "Tangled Up in Blue," "California Dreaming" and "Piano Man" all sound indistinguishable from each other.

He was a trooper, and I felt terrible for him. As each song would end, I would wince and pray that someone besides me would clap, even politely.

No one did.

I felt guilty leaving in the middle of his set, because very soon I am sure he was playing to an empty room, save for the old woman cleaning up.

But leave I did, and I couldn't even look him in the eyes as I walked past him heading for the door.

I think it was "Heard in a Love Song" that pushed me over the edge.

I need to get out more.

Heard your sister's voice calling us home

Clarity arrives in the strangest of places.

Yesterday, I watched the UNC game at Wegmans. Yes, most people go to a sports bar; "Mr. Fun" (my kids nickname for me) goes to an upscale grocery store with a cafe. It was just me and a few customers, along with the guy who sweeps the floor.

A commercial came on. I sat staring, not paying attention while thinking about nothing and everything, when I heard a little girl's voice behind me say "daddy, daddy." I could have sworn it was Ruby. I turned around and saw a girl about 4 or 5 in her Sunday finest, who had stopped with her family for lunch after church. This made me smile.

And profoundly sad. Both at the same time.

A full day later, I can still hear that little girl's voice, over and over, calling me to places I'd rather be.