Last Sunday afternoon the Hope Mountain Blues made their debut at the Green Door coffee shop in Garfield Bay.
We’d practiced for countless hours.
We prayed we’d remember the words to fourteen songs, the chords, the notes, the solo breaks, the harmonies, the beginnings and the endings.
We vowed to have a good time. And we did. And we think the folks who came out to hear us had a good time, too!
Wow!
Our internet signal bounces off a mountain, across the lake and into the dish in our yard.
Sometimes that can be a slow process. A very slow process.
But thanks to the tech help from the internet provider, I am now able to access the blog and maybe even post something on it!
I know you’re anxious to hear about Hope Mountain Blue’s first gig. I’ve managed to upload photos, so maybe–keep your fingers crossed–I’ll be able to show them to you today!
This is where the internet comes from, I think. Maybe. I’m pretty sure something is bouncing off that distant mountain right now.
We had company from Hawaii this past week. They own coffee bean and macadamia nut farms, so we learned a lot about Kona coffee and the market for “mac nuts”. Fascinating stuff!
Of course now we want to go to Hawaii and harvest coffee beans and bag nuts and see it all for ourselves!
Thank you, Paul and Marybelle, for the gifts from your home. And come back to Idaho soon!
Here is Banjo Man, the Water Witch.
He is a man of many talents. He has magic powers. He is truly awesome. He wields his coat hanger rods and finds water where it is least expected.
This afternoon he is “up on the mountain” searching for water.
I wish he could find gold and diamonds, though. Or oil.
Or chocolate.
Do you know what kind of birds these are? The babies are getting bigger and here is Mama hanging on to the outside of the nest. We’re expecting thunderstorms, so she’s ready to keep the little ones safe from wind and rain.
Banjo Man is arriving at 11 tonight, so because the Big City is one hundred miles from the lake, a trip of this magnitude is never to be wasted by driving directly to the airport.
But first I stopped at the Peach Man to find out if the Alberta’s had arrived (they hadn’t). Then on to Coeur d’Alene to Kohl’s and Ulta and then to Best Buy, hoping to find a cord that would make my GPS work.
I’d counted on the GPS working in order to find the violin shop I’d located via the internet. Violin Works was in the Big City (aka Spokane) and I know nothing about anything in Spokane.
The car charger didn’t work–I still don’t know why–so I had to find the shop the old-fashioned way, by studying the directions I’d scribbled from mapquest. Stressful.
But worth it. I’d chosen this shop because it was small and owner-operated. The luthier would most likely be patient with someone who needed to try out several bows before purchasing one. I wanted to talk about strings. And rosin. And cases. I wanted to be in a quiet little store so I could take my time and listen and not feel rushed into buying something that didn’t feel or sound right.
Anything associated with violins is a purchase that cannot be rushed. Sound is everything, and it takes time to decide what strings, bow, etc. makes the best sound.
I love this about violins.
Anyway, the shop was perfect and its owner an experienced and kind man who immediately suggested another brand of steel strings and set out to install them, along with adjusting the sound post and pondering the bridge set up.
But first he disappeared for a moment and then returned to casually hand me a violin and a bow. “Try that,” he said, and went over to his work bench to ponder my fiddle and replace the strings.
The violin he handed me had a huge sound, big and round and vibrant. I looked to see what it was, and the luthier told me the name of the maker and said how old it was. He told me he let customers play it to give them something to do while he fixed their violins.
Later I would find out that it cost as much as a new, loaded Subaru Outback.
Oh, my.
With new strings and an adjusted sound post, my own violin sounded wonderful. It was time for a new bow.
A case of bows was brought out and set on the counter. Each one was tried and tried again and set aside or replaced in the box. I narrowed it down to two and bought the least expensive one, because there was no difference. It turned out they were both made in the same workshop.
Then another box was brought out, “just for fun”, he said. These bows cost more than some of Banjo Man’s used cars. One I loved, and thought it was shorter (which was lovely) and sure enough, when we measured it was 3/8″ shorter than the others. The sound and balance were remarkable.
Sadly, I didn’t buy it. Wisely, I didn’t buy it. Banjo Man would have had a breakdown. Which would not have been a pretty sight, believe me. Such a revelation would surely have spoiled my romantic reunion plans for the weekend.
I bought a new case, which I needed and didn’t want to order on-line, because supporting small music shops is IMPORTANT. That was exciting, too. We discussed rosin; the luthier made me a gift of some French rosin that is sure to be excellent. He showed me his collection of vintage rosin holders. Very cool.
Then it was time to head to the airport and find the hotel. This time I had no directions written down, so I went to a McDonalds and looked it up on my computer. Hurray for free WiFi.
I still got lost.
After having breakfast-for-dinner at Denny’s, conveniently located across the parking lot from the hotel, and having practiced (quietly) my violin, I am now waiting for Banjo Man.
I am going to make him go kayaking with me tomorrow. And then we are going to drink wine on the dock and watch the sunset. Banjo Man needs a little vacation.
Busy Tuesday up on the hill at band practice:
Retired Mountain Man, Mandolin Ann and Musical Advisor and Teacher Doug Bond.
Must get the sound right. Who knew five people would have so many cords?
We named the band!!!!! And ate doughnuts. It was a PARTY!!!!!
Meanwhile, back at the lake…
Hey, Sarge–
Do you remember this birthday?? We miss you!! Stay safe.
Love,
Mom
I tried so hard to win this at the auction, but…it went for more money than was in my Banjo Man Birthday Budget.
The 30th Annual Bodacious Barbeque was held last Saturday night to raise money to support the community center. A noble cause!
A good time was had by all.
Okay, you know I have a bird nest in the corner outside of my office window.
I can only see the nest by opening the window in the exercise room and hanging the upper half of my body out of it (not dangerous at all, really). I usually do this with my camera, but I still end up taking pictures through the window glass.
Why do I do I bother to take pictures of ordinary eggs in an ordinary nest of an ordinary bird? Because I have no television (which is fine, I’m not complaining). And talking to a maybe-sparrow was a nice diversion from working on the book revisions.
So, while I was writing the last few pages of the revisions last Wednesday, I saw Mrs. Maybe Sparrow suddenly fly past my window in a kind of birdie panic. I ran down the hall, around the corner, into the exercise room, opened the window and leaned out to see what was happening in the nest. I saw an orange-red blob (I’ve been too busy to get the new glasses I need), which meant ACTION IN THE NEST. So I ran back to my office, grabbed the camera, ran back to the exercise room window and took some pictures using the zoom.
Then I returned to the office and immediately uploaded the photos to the computer so I could see the new little baby birds on my giant monitor.
FLASHBACK #1: I am in junior high and my younger brother was, for some reason I don’t remember, hatching chicks in the hall closet. Eggs were in a box, with a special light on them. I came down the stairs one morning, the chicks were hatching, it was a weird, claustrophobic, icky event and I fainted. And I stopped eating eggs.
FLASHBACK #2: I am a senior in high school and one of my part time jobs was working 3 hours, 3 times a week, at the university’s biology lab. I cleaned test tubes, beakers, floors, counters, etc. One Saturday morning I walked into the empty lab and saw the carnage of baby chicks hatching all over the counters. These were not cute fluffy chicks, but deformed experiments that shouldn’t have been allowed to hatch. It looked like a horror movie. Some grad students had screwed up big time. It took me a long time to crack an egg–years, maybe?–and only after a friend explained that the supermarket eggs were “candled” and therefore safe.
FLASHBACK #3: I have been told I am pregnant with son #1. I faint in the doctor’s office, in the waiting room and at the drugstore. I don’t think this is a “hatching” issue, though. Maybe more “shock and awe”. Still…
PRESENT DAY IN FRONT OF THE COMPUTER MONITOR: What I saw in the nest looked like a bloody horror show (see flashback #2).
I got queasy. I decided not to eat lunch. I felt sorry for Mrs. Maybe Sparrow. So sorry. The photos would not go on the blog, there would be no cute baby birdies pics, no chirping little cuties outside my window. Instead there was carnage, just like the summer of ’69. I wished I’d never picked up the “watching nature” habit (damn you, Jeremy Wade and your River Monsters!!!).
Before I went to bed that night, I braved a look outside the window to see how Mrs. Maybe Sparrow had coped. SHE WAS SITTING ON THE NEST!!!.
“Really????” I said to her. “Are you kidding me???”
This is the look she gives me every time I open the window to check on her.
Mothers.
The next day I decided it was time to google sparrow eggs. Instead of pics of eggs, I saw an image of a hatching sparrow. It was orangy red, featherless and horrible. Just like what I’d seen the day before! Which meant…maybe the chick was normal???
I dared to peek. Sure enough, the nest was filled with red blobs. Hairless red blobs.
Yesterday they had a little fuzz.
Last night they had beaks.
Nice tonsils, Junior.
They are still horrible looking, but at least I don’t feel like fainting every time I see them.
No, that’s a lie. I do feel like fainting every time I see them. I’m feeling a little sick to my stomach just writing about them.
I volunteered to bring deviled eggs to the band practice potluck tomorrow night.
Bad timing.
Fourth of July
Glen the Banjo Man
LIVE at the Dump
