Bluegrass Nirvana

Well, another weekend shot gone, and a glorious weekend it was, too! I'll start with my youngest son's appearance in "The Wizard of Oz" at John T. Lambert Middle School, a place which some folks refer to as JTHell, after the many teachers and administrators who “practice” excessively there. I'm sure that dealing with 7th graders is no walk in the park, but hey! Do you really have to treat them and their parents like there were complete idiots?

My wife's not an idiot, generally. Maybe on one day at one moment, but 23 years later I can honestly say she is still the girl I fell in love with. And although the general consensus is that I am an idiot frequently, occcasionally I do some right thing that messes up an otherwize perfect record of idiocy.

But! Back to the past!

I watched 80 middle school kids run sound, lights and crew stage, act, sing and generally act up a storm of wonderfulness. So right there you could say that not all my kid's teachers are buttheads. In fact Mercy Shemansky should get some kind of award. Maybe I'll make up some awards in woodshop today instead of working out.

So after bawling because Aaron is almost a man and he is the last of the line and I will never again watch a musical at JTHell, Neil and I went to Linda's Hide-away in East Burg, which was the site of International Night. Turns out the guy that owns Doughboys is Bulgarian, so we yakked and drank I learned how to say "hi" in Bulgarian, which goes something like "Bzyxzxwi"*

Saturday was my law class, which wasn't too bad, and then we played downtown with Coleman Smith, and we were a study in perfection. You couldn't buy a better band for a thousand bucks, and the weather and the listeners were themselves perfect. Yeah. I love springtime.
Then yesterday we were out at Peters Valley with John Skehan from Railroad Earth,a newgrass band that's gonna be famous soon, and he was crushing! I seriously think he's a better mando player (just as good? Gooder? in the same league?) as Grisman or Bush. I swear, as Neil said, he didn't play the same lick twice all afternoon.

And he made me laugh, too, just like Coleman.

Peter's Valley, once called "Bevans"* is a craft village the nazi scum Park Service expropriated from honest and powerless Americans. The village of Bevans is no more, but at least the village now boasts some incredible artists who create things of beauty, which, as the man said, are a joy forever.

If I might wax lyric for a moment, imagine sunshine in a beautify country dale, furniture that is radiant with light, paintings of fruit that are gorgeous enough to eat, the music a perfect compliment to the people creating and the good-looking people who come out to buy. THis is N.W. Jersey at its best; there are the good old boys from the fire company**, and lots of she-she girls with sun dresses and very nice attributes. All that was lacking was cold beer, but I had a few on the long ride back to the Elks, and then many more at the Depot, which was a blissful way to end the weekend.

And all the glory and wonder of the weekend made me think of my summer of Bluegrass Nirvana, which was one where I did not teach but instead made

every

single

festival

possible!

Yeah--Bucky's gathering, then Newfoundland, Harry Grant's Windgap festival, GREY FOX!!!!!!!! (we were hired as a camping group's private band, for goodness sakes!) OATS, HIckory Fest! (GOd! What a great festival!) AFBA WindGap and SullyFest. All in 12 weeks.

Here's how it would go: pull in on a Sunday, beer bottles and coffee cups spilling out in the garage, go inside, kiss the wife, shower up and crash, wake up MOmnday and clean the car out and sort through the camping stuff, catch up on the news and mow the grass, thinking all the while of cool summer evenings and ice-cold beer, grilled venison and smoked trout, friends as far as the eye can see--RAmbler Nation!--Tuesday on the phone to nail down personel, Wednesday smooze and snooze around the house, to blast off again on Thursday for another festival.

And if you get to play with Skehan and Smith simulateously, you are indeed blessed!

That will happen, btw, at the AFBA august festival, and I swear by my father's boots that we will be the hottest local band there, with the possible exception of Scotty's group. Not to brag, but those two guys are really geniuses!

Okay, so that's the end of this rant. Next weekend is Chris's graduation from Duke U. and his marriage is in a month.
I met two new friends at Peters Valley, and life is good.
I think of Fred and I am sad, but as I thought to myself this past weekend, a long time ago God breathed out, and someday he (or she, if you like) will breath back in, and all the pain and death and beauty, the faces, lithe young bodies, lust, love, ferocity, gentleness, all matter and all souls will return to godhead. Perhaps that is what people really are, the breath of God. Soon he will breath me in, I suppose, and I am hopeful that the next adventure will be like a perpetual bluegrass Nirvana!




*Pronounced "Bee-vans", I was told.
**(Remind me to tell you about a drunken biker/fireman wedding where they almost burned the firehouse down hehe)