The artist in me had been quite industrious. I forged a beautiful pair of cast iron wings. I had been the blacksmith, the hammer, and the anvil. My days in this book weigh a ton. To write it is to lift all the memories, the conversations, the moments missed, the people passed and past, in one grunting, knee-buckling deadlift. And now it's time to set it all down. On these pages. And explore.