First Blog Entry for 2009

Tempus Fugit

2008 Pittman Facts:

1) Number of books I read in 2008 – 44.

2) Number of book signings, musical performances, libraries, and school programs, Jan. (10), Feb. (14) March (16) April (20) May (11) June (5) July (6) August (5) Sept. (10) Oct. (14) Nov. (8) Dec. (5) TOTAL NUMBER OF PRESENTATIONS IS 124!

Not a bad number, considering I was also teaching college the entire time as well. The number does not include the days I spent driving, traveling when I would be making personal sales or meeting people to set up future programs. Though the writing life is often a brutal life—physically, emotionally and economically—I am totally committed to this nomadic existence.  The business of writing has changed so much. If you’re not willing to work hard on the business end (unless you’re  born with money, just lucky, or have the right “connections”) you won’t make it as an author or musician.


1. To write creatively every day.

2. To create two CD’s of songs and stories. One of Civil War content and the other of Scots-Irish.

3. To travel and see new places for research and experience. The past two years I’ve seen so many new places. Most are listed on my blog, and though there too many to list now, my favorites were Gaylord Hotel at Christmas, Catalina Island, and the desert in California, the Texas Civil War Museum.

4. I have a more personal wish-list of items I need and want for my programs and accomplish physically, but I’ll need to mull over those before I publish them.


As I rose with thoughts of making inventory of my past year, I thought of the lyrics of this song by Kate Rusby that I sometimes perform in my Scots-Irish music program.  Kate Rusby is the beautiful Celtic singer with the beautiful voice I discovered a few years ago.  Her website is here: The song is called “Old Man Time.”  If you want the chords, write me and I’ll send them to you.

Old Man Time is a rare old man
For a young man he’ll ever remain.
With his long grey beard and his clothes so plain,
Oh, Old Man Time is his name.
As one flower dies, the old man he cries,
The young man he plants the seeds again.
With a careful hand, he tends the sand,
Oh, Old Man Time is his name.

This old man has an hourglass,
For every soul on the land.
Oh, Old Man Time, I have seen mine,
It’s the one with the fastest sand.
No sooner is it turned,
back through the glass it’s churned,
I’m wishing I could have each hour again.
With a careful hand, he tends the sand,
Oh, Old Man Time is his name.

To me, Old Man, your time is rare.
Did God not give you all my sand?
Or maybe mine I had to share,
Or is there some left in your hand?
They tell me time is gold, well maybe it’s been sold.
Or was it simply washed away in rain?
With a careful hand, he tends the sand,
Oh, Old Man Time is his name.

If I brought him a sack,
Do you think he’d put some back?
I know one day across my path he’ll come,
But as for now, I can’t say how,
I know the old man’s work is far from done.
For, Old Man Time has just begun.