Some of you have been wondering. "Where've you been all Summer?"

Some of you have asked me that very question when you've seen me at various shows in the past months, forgetting, for a moment, that I was indeed standing right in front of you.

Hair-splitting aside, though, I've come to regard Summer 2000 as a work-study program sent straight from the fiery maw of ornery hellbeasts, both challenging and uphill-graded in all it's unmanageability, but also rocket-launching fun, in the "mang, what now!?!" department.

These are the first days of the last weeks of a hot, hectic and wholly healing summer, filled with many fallen stars, and as many mended woes. My own irresolute issues hung heavy like a concrete sling over my prism of possibilities, for a while back there. The walls can sometimes close in like so much claustrophobic clay, walling out the needle-thin streams of light pursuing the seemingly impenetrable.

However, I'd like to thank you all who kept coming back, even though it seemed I was gone, and not surely returning. I'd like to say I *have* returned, and my Summer Vacation will be lovingly recounted in next month's issue. And, as always, I look forward to recalling the months and encounters to come, with faith renewed. Thanks as always to the insistent Muse, Dean Budnick and all of yous, and most importantly, the undying desire to serve the scions of light, in return for this jewel-heaped gift they call Life.

See you soon, and of course...don't forget to write.

Carol A. Wade is a writer, artist, musician, and student of Being. Newly outfitted with a Macintosh G3 PowerBook, she is once again readily available at carol@jambands.com, and apologizes for her oftentimes inexplicable absence.

Webmaster's Note: While waiting for Carol's column, I wrote a little story to make sure that this page would not give an error when you clicked on it. With Dean's permission, I will leave it up for your reading pleasure. Enjoy. - David

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Carol. To the outsider, Carol would seem to have the perfect life - smart, funny, a good writer, an excellent bass player. But the teeming crowds observing her were unaware of something. Carol had a problem. Once again the 15th of a month had rolled by, and her Jambands column was not yet written. Whatever was she to do?

As she walked the streets of Manhattan, she said aloud, "I wish I could figure out a way to get my columns done." Suddenly smoke appeared from a grate in the sidewalk. Out came a genie. "You have freed me! I was trapped in this grate for all eternity. Only if someone came along and made a wish while walking across it would I be freed. In gratitude, I will grant your wish.

"You want to figure out a way to get your columns done? There is a way, but it's not easy. You must go across the ocean. Once across you must cross the vast plains. When you get across the plains, you will see a desert. At the end of the desert, there is a mountain. At the top of that mountain, there will be a cave. Inside the cave, you will find a ring. Put on the ring, and your request will be granted."

"Umm thanks," Carol replied, "but couldn't you just have it get written for me?"

"I'm sorry, but I can only grant the actual wish. You wished that you could figure out a way to get them done. This will give you a way. Please hurry by the way. I will not be free until you actually return."

Feeling compelled by the genie's pleas to actually follow these steps, Carol walked to the docks. She went to the boats to try to get passage. Alas, the fares were much too steep for her. Carol was stymied. However, it's not for nothing that the outside observers mentioned in the first paragraph called her smart. Finding some bamboo shoots and some rope, she quickly built herself a raft. She cut some cardboard into the shape of a paddle and had it laminated to make it waterproof. After checking to make sure there were no cops around, she pushed off and off she went.

The trip across the ocean was long and arduous. She quickly learned how to raid cruise ships for their food and water. Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months until, finally, she saw land. Exhausted, she collapsed on the beach.

When she woke up the next morning, she looked out across the beach. There were the plains she was told about. While the terrain was flat, the going was rough. She was attacked by prairie dogs. One morning she woke up and saw snakes slithering up to her. Still she pushed on.

Her reserves were already running low, when a huge thunderstorm rolled in. As she was getting soaked, she finally decided that she had had enough. She did her best to fulfill her obligation, now it was time to go home. With resolve, she stood up, as lightning illuminated the sky. In the light she could see the desert. She had almost made it. She filled up some buckets with rain water. She was going to need it.

When she got to the town at the edge of the desert, she knew she had a problem. Carol had no local currency. How would she be able to rent the camel that she needed. An idea came to her though. She unpacked her bass and started playing. The people in the town had never heard music like that before. Soon her case was filled with coins and she went to buy her camel.

On the fifth day, she could start to see the mountain in the distance. She used that as a guide as she continued to travel east. By the ninth day she was in the foothills. The next morning led her to the base of the mountain, and another quandary. Carol was a city girl. How would she scale the mountain.

As she was pondering this, she saw some signs with arrows on them. How could it hurt to follow them? It couldn't at all. This mountain, it turned out, was a regional ski resort. The signs led to a ski lift. She rode it to the top. It led her directly to the cave.

The cave was dark. Her flashlight barely penetrated the gloom. She shone it around the inside, hoping that she wouldn't have to go in too deep. As she moved it around, she saw a glint. There it was! She ran to the ring and put it on her finger.

Things began to get blurry. She saw herself flying down the mountain. She was flying across the desert. She was flying across the plain. Over the ocean she soared. Flying flying... until she was back home.

She looked at the calendar. It was the day that she left. She found in her outbox, this very report that you are reading. She also found a Thinkwriter. Put it over your head and it will turn your thoughts into prose. It would read as good on paper as you thought it would.

Carol sat down and sighed happily. She would never be late with a column again.

The end