Sunday night band practice has become an important—very, very important—part of the weekly routine here in the mountains.

Banjo Man and I had heard about Sunday night band practices.  So twenty-one hours after we landed in Spokane, we (including Steel Guitar Man, also known as GL) were loading up our instruments and bowls of Black Bean Salad (with avocado lime dressing, recipe from Whole Foods, btw, but it really needs a lot more lime juice and cilantro) and music and microphone cord and amplifier and heading up the hill.

It was an event. The room was rockin’. Horns, mandolins, steel guitar, bass guitar, snare drum, recorder, keyboard, washboard, harmonica and accordion!!!

After we played for two or three or sixteen hours, we’d worked up an appetite.  So we ate chicken and homemade pizza and garlic bread, brussel sprouts, black bean salad and whatever else the band members and Retired Mountain Lady/Keyboard Player put in front of us.

Retired Mountain Lady makes wine.   Peach wine.    PEACH WINE.
We drank some.   It was so good I wanted to lick the bottle.   I could have blamed my behavior on jet lag, but no one in this crowd would have believed me.

Dancing Mandolin Player brought desserts.  Desserts, plural.   Strawberry rhubarb pie and a fruit tart.

As my father used to say, “Life is good.”