I made one other life-changing decision before Orange Idiot Disease exploded on the world scene: time to get serious about the book I’m writing. It’s a work of non-fiction, one that’s been percolating in my noggin for several years. The subject is trauma traveling down the branches of a family, morphing and evolving as it plays out from one generation to the next. Trauma, and the possibility of healing. It is the story I need to tell at this moment in my life. I’ve written songs about it. I’m co-authoring a musical about it. I recently wrote an article steeped in this theme, too, a loving profile of composer Richard Rodgers from a grandson’s perspective, that ran in The Dramatist. Now, finally, it’s time for the book.