My friend Ronnie and I always joke about that expression "pull yourself up by the bootstraps." It's really annoying if you're in a funk. 

Ronnie always puts it in perspective and says, "I wish I had some boots, Jo."

Sometimes I feel like my boots are still made for walking. Some days, I'm pulling and pulling and I swear I'm hooking the straps over my ears I've stretched them out so far. And they still won't hold.

One thing I treasured from this June's visit to SQUAM ART WORKSHOPS was the plaque on the dining hall wall with all the fishing records of summers long gone. There's A.W. Kimbell with his/her 5 pound 2 ounce 20 inch bass. There's Philip E. Bourne weighing in with his 4 pound 20 inch bass. Even Marguerite Davenport caught a fish. But best of all? 1948, Thomas B. McAdams - FOR TRYING.

Now, I've never gone fishing. Yup, never caught a fish, and I don't know that I have the patience, (I suppose I could knit AND hold the rod) but I just love that little Tommy Mc A. got his name on the plaque anyway for getting out there with the rest of them and sitting on that dock, waiting and waiting for the bass that never bit.

So I'm struggling today with a song that just won't behave. All I can do is go back to basics. Try every angle, every color. Keep baiting the hook. (and mixing metaphors!)

Then I summon my girl power pals and remember I'm not alone.

Then I face the door, the wall, the page, the mandolin, the wurlitzer

They don't call it woodshedding for nothing.

At the end of the day. Maybe I can at least put my name on the wall FOR TRYING.