In the dog days of August I am often reminded of my days playing drums in a legendary honkytonk in The Old Pueblo. Six nights a week, bug infested neon and straining airpad coolers gave way to off key harmonies and a pedal steel.
A couple years ago I did a scratchboard of my memory of playing in The Hayloft, utilizing my son, Thomas Charles, as the model:
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggWGEhdwuL3zcYo1E5V2C9m1-ggs29czZkORXZ4Pg3GI0ODGsyLpPypofwYAxcwT2V48lEFM3poPcdcSAe0-gQ3BoE2RVK6_QKyGM1QoDmzgQbfi_a1OoHxnr6LDt0vafEVAk1/s400/mfdrummer.jpg)
Those were lost years and remind me of an old saying:
"No matter how far you have gone down the wrong road, turn back."
—Old Vaquero Saying
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