Another party in the country.
My bandmate Bob had a party last weekend at the house he built, way out in the country. It's so far out that several people armed with maps from Yahoo, Google, and Mapquest - including at least one experienced road musician accustomed to navigating our nation's road system - actually drove more than an hour north, got into the general vicinity, and then gave up and went home.
Since I'm not so good at staying up late (which pretty much rules out all musician parties), I was happy Bob had this one in broad daylight. I got there early so I could see the house. He built it back in the 80s when we were still playing together (thanks to a brittle and downhearted truce), but this was the first time I'd ever seen it. He was quick to say, "Pratie Head money put the roof on this house."
There were a lot of people there I'd known decades ago; they look much older and much more relaxed. We were happy to see each other, still "above ground," still able to play some fine tunes!
I thought about saving this picture for Friday Cat Blogging, but since it's not my cat, I didn't feel entitled.
There was a contingent of eager, energetic whippersnappers at the party, all singer-songwriters armed with guitars, who had been sent by their guitar teacher to sit at the feet of the master (guess that was Bob). They brought their cds and talked about their "careers" and sang their long, angsty ballads of self-revelation and generally displayed a kind of anxious, driving ambition I haven't been exposed to for a long time.
This one revealed the staggering level of good luck he's evidently wallowed in across his scant score of years when he said, "The first two months of constructing my dreads (dreadlocks) were the hardest two months of my life."
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