As soon as I finish writing this book, which will be any day now if my brain continues to function, I am going to buy a new hat and a brown umbrella.
And I may or may not wear underwear.
Just thought I’d warn you. This is what the future is going to look like.
I can’t wait.
This morning (Friday) there was this:
March 6, 2015
And this morning (Friday) there was this:
Jeff is studying the next song.
Guess which one I like better.
Jeff comes over on Fridays at 9 AM and we play music together until noon.
Doesn’t that sound **great**???!!!!??
It is.
He has taught me many new songs this winter. And he made covers for our “Jeff and More Pie” music books. They have red cowboy boots and lap steel guitars on them.
Jeff sings and plays the guitar and the mandolin.
I back him up with the dobro. I get to try out “hammer on’s” and “pull offs”. I get to memorize where the minor chords are. I get to play harmony and slide into some really cool chords.
And sometimes we eat pie.
Friday is the best day of the week.
Banjo Man is home safely from his trip, I’m packing for Texas, and by the time I return home again all of the snow in the above photo will have disappeared!
Another nasty, snowy winter will have come to an end.
Life is good.
When did New England turn into Alaska?
It has been snowing again. All last night. All day today.
Constantly.
I pray it stops by Saturday morning so I can get on a plane and head to Texas.
My grandson called this afternoon and wanted to know when I was arriving.
He wanted to know the plan.
Grandma doesn’t need a plan. Grandma just wants to take off her snow boots and put on her cowboy boots.
That’s Grandma’s plan.
P.S. I told him we would go out to breakfast at the Magnolia Cafe and then walk down the street to buy cupcakes! That seemed to be a good plan as far as a four-year old was concerned.
Banjo Man went on a road trip without me yesterday.
That was a little sad for me, because instead of sitting in the heated passenger seat and giving directions while drinking coffee and punching out songs from the I-pod, I stayed home, at my desk, to work.
I don’t like to stay home and work.
This is the very last time.
Banjo Man bought himself a brand new 2015 large-print road map. He doesn’t trust my Garmin GPS device, especially not after the Road Through Chicago Debacle of last October, when I trusted the GPS directions and Banjo Man woke up from his nap to discover we were driving to O’Hare airport.
He didn’t even want the Garmin in the car. He dumped it on a chair in the workroom before he left. I’ll rescue it for June, though. Because when it works I love it.
I know I can find Idaho in here somewhere.
He called to say he’d arrived safely, but reluctantly admitted he’d passed two exits before realizing he’d missed his turn.
See? He needed me to scream, “Here! Turn here! I told you, TURN HERE!!!!”
I’ll bet Banjo Man wished I was there.
I wish I was here.
Retired Mountain Man loves music.
Retired Mountain Man sent an email last week with this video.
3000 miles away, in the midst of a record-breaking historic winter misery, I was inspired.
So I put the ice clamps on my boots and braved the light snow that would turn into 6″ by the time it was over, I went to the grocery store and bought some daffodil stalks.
Yes, stalks. Only two were maybe a tiny bit open, showing just a peek of yellow.
But this morning? They’re looking very promising.
Thanks, RMM, for the nudge into Spring.
We went down the street to Jeff and Angela’s for dinner Saturday night.
I was so excited I tried to smoke the appetizer.
I don’t know what came over me.
There might be tequila in that drink.
We played dominoes. Angela won, dammit. I was in the lead for the first half hour and then I crashed. I think the asparagus kicked in.
Angela tells Banjo Man he needs to play faster.
Jeff and his Mini-Me.
Angela’s Tar Heel Pie.
I counted 1437 calories.
And then the next day it snowed 8″.
No dinner parties happening here anytime soon.
Wow! Banjo Man and I were on the edge of our seats–our big comfy seats on the big comfy couch, that is–watching this movie last night.
This is one of those movies where you DO NOT KNOW what is going to happen next.
You may think it’s going to be one of those “genius kid drummer meets mean-but-means-well teacher”, but it’s not.
We have some flawed characters here, people. And an absolutely perfect screenplay. Start to finish, this is one really good movie.
You don’t have to be a musician to like this movie. You don’t have to be a teacher, though I would like to watch it with a teacher and see his/her reaction. You don’t have to be a cocky and scared 19 year old boy. You don’t even have to like drums. Or jazz.
But if you’ve ever wondered how some people are the best at what they do, and what it takes to be “great”, then you’re gonna love this.
Do you think this is true?
(I don’t.)
This is not good ice.
My father spent his winters looking for “good ice”. He loved to play hockey, loved to be on ice skates, and enjoyed hauling us from pond to pond in his quest for “good ice”. He would come home from work and announce that he’d driven by such-and-such pond and he’d seen people skating on it and…off we’d go. Nothing would make my father stop a car faster than seeing people ice skating.
I still look for good ice, out of habit, gawking out the car window to see if various local ponds have frozen over. Good ice is a pond that has frozen like glass, does not have frozen ripples from the wind or snow melted into it destroying the surface, and is not covered with a ton of snow. Though some snow is not an issue, if it is covering good ice. A couple of snow shovels and some boys who want to play hockey can clean off a large section of ice in no time.
Sometimes my father would try out a local outdoor rink, but those places were usually too crowded. He preferred the local ponds or the rivers surrounded by woods and out of the wind. While he and my brother and the neighborhood kids played hockey, I practiced my Peggy Fleming moves and attempted to dance to the music in my head. I was skinny and quiet and I loved to skate. He would always skate with me, too. Arm and arm we’d go for a dance around the pond, with him singing happily to give us a beat to follow. There might be a fire and the roasting of hot dogs, too, if it was a weekend day and the ice was so good that no one wanted to go home until dark.
When I was in high school, the popular boys would call our house on Sunday morning and ask to speak to my father. They knew who to call when they found “good ice” somewhere and wanted a pick up hockey game.
But there is good ice and bad ice and as you see from the photo, nothing is going to skate on here except our car and the UPS truck.
And no one is dancing to the music.
Fourth of July
Glen the Banjo Man
LIVE at the Dump
