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This was the last song that was written on the record. It nearly didn't make it
because of the tight recording schedule and budget.
But it did, and I'm glad.

During the record while expecting our little baby girl,
I thought about what it would be like to be a musician and dad at the same time.
Would I be able to travel, what would the home life would be having to work a lot of nights?
But then I thought, I'm going about this backwards a bit here, thinking about how I
might be affected by her life, instead of how I was to affect hers.
Then I sort of freaked.

Would I be able to bring her up safe and strong, could I protect her spirit,
and could I  keep my own life's disappointments out of hers while
sharing my own understanding of hope?

I thought about how I wanted to raise her in the way that she's already
naturally inclined or bent as it says in Proverbs.
It's a tall order indeed.

And so it's been, she's 8 months old now. I'm a family guy first, musician second.
I never thought I'd be here in this place, but here we are doing the best that we can.

There really is no city that resembles anything like the city of Venice. The train made it's transition from land to water, and as we were approaching the city, it felt as though for a brief moment, the train was flying on top of the water. As you exit the train station, it felt like you had arrived to a place that shouldn't be real.

As we spent the day taking pictures of the spectacle, I remember thinking that my recollection of the entire day would be like that of a dream.

As we walked around, I had random memories playing through my head. Venice is that kind of city where you could seriously get lost for awhile because of it's overwhelming beauty and grandeur. You also had the feeling that one day it wouldn't be there any longer because everything would have finally disappeared under the water.

And that's how our memories play tricks on us. Sometimes we remember things as they really occured, sometimes we mix in how we'd like to remember the story.

The city left me weird for a few days. Now all I remember is buying journals from a famous journal maker. But the pictures tell me otherwise.

From what I've heard and read there are parents who force their children to beg for money out in the busy streets where tourists frequent day after day. Some have ailments, some are forced too act as though they do, and most are malnourished and disheveled to look more impoverished. Sometimes the kids run up to you and put there hands into your pockets while looking up and pleading with you to give them something.

Slavery exists in so many places, you wouldn't even have to travel outside our country to find it, nor would this even be close to the most awful of cases, but to me it was still jarring.

I am not well traveled, (I didn't even have a passport until 2 years ago) but it was one of the first things I saw firsthand when we arrived in Rome.

There are moments we each remember that invade our life's comfortable existence in such a way that they become a catalyst for growth. I will be the first to admit that when I saw the children lined up on the streets, I ashamedly looked away. I did not want their realities converging with mine. But the thoughts kept persisting. First came anger and outrage, then it progressed into sadness and helplessness, and then it landed to a place where I could be grieved as well as emboldened to not let the thoughts pass into complacency.

So there began verse 1 where I wrote, "your tears will fall over my best defenses, I've never left this." There are many things that are so incomprehensible that they leave you no choice but to ask yourself difficult questions, and make forthright decisions with how you perceive the world around you. Lines get drawn in and your world view fills in piece by piece. It is overwhelming at times to learn of the great suffering people silently endure, with no hope or change. With no one on their behalf fighting what should be fought.

I think in some cases, anger is a natural reaction, and our outrage becomes short lived or misdirected as a statement or badge of honor, but I hope for something more steadfast in our compassion, and especially in the way we govern ourselves in the day to day.

I didn't write grace falls to be a statement or indictment. I didn't hope for something epic, it just was more of a song that reflected what I hope to trust in.

There is a town in Italy named Fiesole. From Florence you could take a short bus ride into the surrounding hills and experience an entirely different lifestyle. It was quiet, rustic, and the people were unhurried. It seemed like the entire countryside was purely dedicated to growing grapes and olives.

One day Helen and I were a little troubled because we realized we were slowly running out of money. We were doing out best to be more prudent with what we had left but it was beginning to get tougher and tougher. Throughout our trip I had been secretly been saving our loose change and small bills into a little rainy day fund. So on this particular day, though there was no rain, I thought it would be nice to spend the afternoon outside the city walking around and eating a nice meal.

During the afternoons, all the shops close, and it seemed like the further you went into the countryside, the longer this afternoon break would be.

Having so much time before dinner, we sat on a bench overlooking the hills and vineyards. We also found ourselves walking through what seemed to be deserted streets and village squares. It felt like we had the town to ourselves.

Strange but enjoyable because the company was right.

Looking back, our financial situation hasn't changed, perhaps they are even tighter since the baby came and because Helen is going back to school. But we do it month after month, and I'm always thankful that our marriage hasn't swayed back and forth with the size of our bank account.

Even now we still find ourselves having quiet afternoons such as this one and it is always grand.

A few years ago, I lived with a good friend of mine who had an extra room in his house. For him it was like having a musician for a pet. Feed it, house it, watch it grow.

I had a sleeping mat/bag and some recording equipment. It's fun to remember those days now. The window of my room faced our neighbor's house and in that house lived our neighbor Brady.
Like many fine folks I know, Brady enjoyed having a few drinks in his backyard while listening to music.

But while doing so, he would practice throwing his rambo knife into a tree stump target. And he would do so while wearing his pet boa constrictor around his neck. It was something to see. Beer in one hand, knife in the other, Boa around the neck.

Anyhow, sometimes he would come over for a friendly pow wow, and we would hang out in the garage. Our garage had a couch, darts, ping pong table, chairs, basically everything but a car. For Brady to sit down, he would have to take off at least ten knives that he had strapped to him in some form or another. Thats how he rolled. Intimidating if you didn't know him I suppose. I won't lie, I freaked out the first time he came over.
Like many pow wow participants, we had a little ritual, I would prepare our pow wow and he would open his back pack's contents. Out would roll his beer/snack buffet. Chips, candy, fruit roll ups, soda, everything half full, but neatly folded to lock in the freshness.

Sometimes in between our shenanigans we'd get to talking about his life, work, and things that would be going on with his family. Things were tough at the time for him, he had some work stuff falling apart and he was also in the middle of a custody battle for his daughter. Things beyond anything I had experienced in my life. I tried my best to hear him out, and offer him what I could, but it was difficult. I thought, we all of such high hopes, no matter what state you're in. I thought about hope for a long time and how it looks so different for so many people.

So this is the story of Airport Ranger.

What's funny is that some nights, the recording equipment would get so hot I would have to open the window for ventilation. And Brady would be outside completely pissed at 3 am, and would yell requests for which song he'd like to hear next while walking to the tree stump to pull out his throwing knife. Hard to argue with someone who looks like a giant while standing next to you.

-Dave's Son