I woke up yesterday morning in St. Paul by the north end of the Mississippi, went for a brief walk before catching my flight home to Montreal. Prairie Home companion was joyful, as ever, but intense with the awareness of disaster in the gulf states. I am ever more grateful to be able to return home these brief moments between tours. Not everyone is so lucky. We shared the stage with the Dirty Dozen Brass Band from New Orleans, bonded with Efrem the trumpet player who is trying to figure out his next steps, going home not an option right now. The PHC crew of musicians gave a heartfelt tribute, gorgeous sad songs referencing broken levys and floods of the past in that region. I kept my head tilted back for that set. Mascara runs donǃ