is there any more pie?

Banjo Man is back in town.

And yes, he was holding forth on the dock tonight.

About Nebraska football, circa 1963.

I left the house at 8 AM today.  I remembered my violin, library books, music, camera, phone and purse.  But forgot coffee.  And breakfast.

No problem.  I stopped 90 minutes later for one of those evil sausage biscuits and coffee with real caffeine.  I needed the boost to drive the rest of the 100 miles to the airport.  Picked up Banjo Man, who was starving.  In fact, he was so hungry he wanted to go to one of those fast-food taco places.  He ate four tacos while I memorized the words to “The Blues Come Around” and drank Diet Coke.

Back home again, I had a short music lesson with Doug (the mandolin and guitar teacher who also helps our Chick Band arrange music) and learned some new fiddle riffs.  Then I met with Fiddlin’ Fred for a few minutes and he played some ragtime guitar for me.  Very impressive.  Tomorrow night is band practice, so I need to spend a few hours away from peach-pie-making to learn the new techniques.

While we were in town, we went to the grocery store and the library, and then I had my vision checked with “Dr. Julie”, an opthamologist with quilts hanging all over her offices.  They were gorgeous.  And I might need new glasses.

Then we headed home to the lake, where J&A (remember our newly engaged couple about to be married in a few weeks?) waited.  Jeff (he said I could use his real name) and I worked up a few songs between the fiddle and the guitar, and then Banjo Man joined us with his you-know-what.  Angela (she also said I could use her real name) pretended to enjoy it.  She’s a good sport.  🙂

Angela likes brownies, Woods’ sausages and breakfast at the Pack River Store.  She has a killer competitive streak when she plays dominoes and takes no nonsense from Banjo Man.

I hope she comes back again next year.

The four of us packed up wine, goat cheese, Wheat Thins and potato chips tonight and sat on the dock for an hour or so to enjoy the sunset.  Then it was back up the hill for beef stew, leftover enchiladas, pie and brownies.

Oh, and three rounds of Mexican Train dominoes.  Banjo Man won, and he will never let us forget it.  Angela intends to destroy him.   Round 2 tomorrow, after band practice and strawberry cake.

I love August.

Here on the lake we are so depressed.  We can’t wait for winter and all those piles of lovely snow to shovel.  We miss the icy paths to our 4-wheel drive vehicles.  We crave those long, dark evenings that begin at 4 PM.

We have grown tired of flowers and fresh berries and all this darn sunshine.

And the lake?  Well, how many sunsets can you admire without getting bored?

So one of our friends and neighbors decided to cheer us up by having a party.

She decorated her dock.

And her lawn.

And…her friends.  Check out the skirt.

There were margaritas, of course.  Enjoyed by all.

Why, there’s More Pie, drowning her sorrows in tequila!

There was dessert.  We ate every bit of it.  Then someone licked the pie plate.

Wave goodbye, ladies.  And try to smile.  You’ll be back on your snowmobiles before you know it.

I’m sure you’ve grown weary of sunset pictures, but tonight was different.  The lake was very quiet, and the last glow of sunlight behind the mountains was disappearing when I heard a trumpet.

Someone somewhere along the bay played “Taps”.  And it was beautiful.

Thank you, whoever you are.  That was an unexpected gift at the end of an intense day.

I drove to Montana bright and early this morning for a memorial service and Mass.  Children, grandchildren, great grandchildren gathered to say goodbye to their mother.  As is typical whenever this large family is together, there was music.  And enormous amounts of food.   And friends were welcomed with open arms.  The service took place outside on the lawn facing the river, amidst the gardens and the little pond with the waterfall.  It was beautiful.

There were many shared memories.  And, of course, the underlying sadness that comes with the reality of knowing that nothing will ever be the same again and there’s not a damn thing you can do to change it.

As I drove away, back onto the highway to head west to town, I put a New Orleans Dixieland Jazz cd in the player and turned the volume way up.  It’s hard to cry when Dixieland is blasting in your ears.  An hour later I was in town, doing errands and checking things off my lists (yep, I had 3 lists, don’t know why).

I joined Dancing Mandolin Player (who brought me raspberries on ice in a cooler!!!) and Retired Mountain Lady for music lessons.  We sang a lot.

It sure felt good.  Our teacher suggested this song for us because the harmonies sounded like something we could do.  Here’s Wanda Jackson’s version, in case you’re curious.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=40NouppHMz4

Banjo Man, Sons 1 & 2 and I saw Wanda two years ago in Texas and she was quite a character.  In her late 70’s, wearing a red sequined Western outfit that made me drool with envy, she told stories about life on the road when an unknown singer named Elvis Presley opened for her.  She flashed the huge diamond ring he’d given her and sang the Rockabilly songs that made her famous.  I worked my way to the front of the crowd so I wouldn’t miss anything.

When the show was over and Wanda triumphantly wobbled off the stage, my eldest son–who had been very skeptical about my late-in-life plan to become a musician–turned to me and chuckled. “Well, Mom, if she can get up there and do that, I guess you can, too.”

I’ve wanted a pair of red cowboy boots ever since.

Oh, how I love rockabilly and honky tonk.  And sequined skirts.

Montana mornings.  Friends who hug.  Sunsets accompanied by “Taps”.

Good night, everyone.

Do something you love tomorrow.

I think I’ll make a raspberry pie.  What about you?

day is done

gone the sun

from the lake, from the hill, from the sky

all is well

safely rest

God is nigh