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and then one day this giant transition made itself more apparent by lasting longer than the decade it took me to notice. Mid life raced by in it's iMobile laughing at my suitcases and suitcases of hard, soft, and dusty drives waiting to be unpacked and reformatted into melodic little scrapbooks that would remind me of the fleeting moment I shook fifteen minutes worth of Andy Warhol's hand. Art, illusion, melody, and blueberries would all collide in a smorgasbord of experience and adventure. A button here, a postcard there, and a palm print to measure moonbeams and the distance between your rhubarb pie plate and mine.