Saturday Afternoon Bloggishness...

I slept in kind of late this morning...my body was achy and it was saying "get out of bed" but I couldn't get my eyes to stay open. Rather a conflict, but eventually, I did crawl out of bed.

Michael and I are going to a family reunion this afternoon, at some point, at my Aunt Freda's house in Norton. This is a reunion of my mother's side of the family, brought about because cousin Pat and her husband Gerry are here from Saskatchewan. I'm looking forward to seeing everyone, but I must admit I am missing my mother acutely today as she will not be there. Ahhh...here I am again, back to accepting the things I cannot change. It will be lovely to see all the cousins again - we don't seem to get together too often, anymore.

Something scary happened at our house one morning this week - we were getting ready for work and listening to bluegrass music on the stereo in the living room. The CD was Dr. Ralph Stanley playing a duet with a bunch of different people, and Michael asked me if I noticed anything different about how the banjo sounded. "Yes", I said "It's being played in the Ralph Stanley style and sounds quite different from the Scruggs style". Michael was quite impressed that I could tell the difference. He was not the only one that was impressed.

Actually, the thought has occured to me a couple times that this shift in my thinking cannot be a good thing. Is it possible that I'm starting to like Bluegrass music? Is it reasonable to think that I, of all people, could actually notice the nuances in something as complicated as how one banjo style differs from another? Nawwwwwww...isn't possible.

How relieved was I, while we were driving home from the Fredericton hospital one night this week, when Michael told me that Montgomery Bell was Cluck Old Hen and I believed him? I was happy when his eyes rolled upward. Pardon my grammar, but I still don't got it. Yay! I will admit that I am still happy to be supportive in all things for Michael, and most especially all things musical, still happy to be surrounded by those that understand and do "got it", and happy that I can be a good sport and play the triangle in front of people.

Speaking of the triangle, we were at Mama Floyd's house last night having a visit when Michael's sister Tracey and her new husband Justin dropped in. They are home for a bit from Alberta. We had a stimulating conversation and it was nice to see them again. Miss you guys! Tracey was astounded when I said there is a video of my triangular debut while playing Petticoat Junction with the boys, and she even made me say 'honest'. Later we realized she thought it was on YouTube, but fortunately, it's not. Too much for the world to handle, I'm thinking. There was some good-natured digs about how much talent does it take to play the triangle, anyway? Well, I have to agree. Not much. I guess that's why I'm the one playing it :)

I'm supposed to be dusting and vacuuming and then getting ready to go to Norton, so I'll end this blog on this:

The things that matter the most in life are not things.

Bye for now...
Helen

Been a Long Time Coming…

It was pointed out to me last night, a couple times, that I have not blogged in a while. Since May 15th, to be precise. And we do seem to be all about being precise, some of us. Anyway, it’s not that I’ve not had anything to blog about; simply more that time does fly. Hardly seems possible that I had that first triangle lesson and the jam at our house that started it all (for me) two whole months ago. A lot has transpired since that eventful night.

Let me see…where to start. I think I will start at the end, actually. Last night Michael and I had the very great pleasure of having friends to our home for a summer party in our lovely back-yard. I say ‘lovely’ when referring to our back yard because I am quite delighted with it. Michael has put a huge amount of energy into taking what was an over-grown, rocky, miserable mess and turned it into a very pretty retreat. With help from our good friend Kenny, he built a deck last summer, and the idea of sitting on the deck on our swing and listening to the birds and squirrels fills me with peace and contentment. We were both very excited at the prospect of having our good friends for this party and delighted that so many could come.

Michael’s brother Steven arrived just in time to do some cooking, allowing Michael to continue banging away on the Bass Fiddle. I fully expected some neighbours to stop over, but no one showed up. No doubt they were scared away by all those William of the Mountains (aka hillbillies) smack dab in the middle of Pine Avenue.

I was remarking to Steven, as I was looking at our good friends, that other than he and our daughter, Mallory, Michael and I didn’t know the rest of the people two years ago. We truly are blessed in our friends. Thanks for coming up to the house, everyone.

Two months… seems like a long time… On June 2nd we started up the Monday night Bluegrass Jams again. There had been an eleven month hiatus, but the time had come to resume. There was a good turn out that night, and Michael had organized a huge birthday cake in honour of my birthday the next day. That was very nice, I thought. I personally had a lot of fun that night since I made my Triangular debut on stage. I would like to point out that along with playing the triangle in non-perfect time, I was also burdened with the responsibility of Harvey’s train whistle. Rather a lot of musical stress, I thought, for someone that had not played anything in public prior to that night. I use the term ‘played’ loosely. The amount of talent required was virtually nil. Mostly I just needed some air in my lungs, the ability to open my mouth (never a problem), and the memory of which end of the triangle stick thing to hold on to. Actually, I’m fairly certain the sound coming off that hunk of metal would be the same no matter which end of the stick I used. But again, we’re all about precision. I was stressed out by trying to remember to blow or ding at the appropriate time, and which instrument should be stuck in my armpit.

The entire experience was rather humiliating, along with being fun. I’m not sure it’s something I can put on my resume, unless I am looking for a job where I act like a fool. Becky recorded the session, and a CD of me making a fool out of myself in non-perfect time, complete with Lola’s booming laugh in the background, can be purchased for a mere $10.00. Or, I can lend you my copy for free. You will note that each time I put the train whistle in my mouth, and my cheeks puffed out in readiness, the laughing hit a new high.

Ed had told me a while ago that when musicians are getting ready for a song to close, they lift one leg. I thought he was joking but I have seen Ed and Harvey both lifting a leg while they were on stage at the jam, and since it looks so silly I couldn’t imagine them doing it just to string me along. Last night several of the girls stuck one leg up in the air when it was approaching midnight, signifying that they wanted to go home, and yet, the music continued on. One over-tired woman even stuck both into the air, and still, the music played on. I think I have it figured out – if the man lifts a leg, the song will stop. The women – nothing. Well, a laugh maybe. I don’t get that.

I am typing this blog on the way to and from Fredericton as my Dad is back in the hospital. Michael brought along his laptop and left me with absolutely no excuse not to put my thoughts on paper; scant though they may be. I’m at the point now that I’m struggling to recall what else has happened in this past couple months. As soon as I close this blog off I’m going to yet again launch into the pros for Michael going to the Thomas Point Beach Bluegrass Festival over the long weekend in September. I find it difficult to type and nag at the same time.

I hope you’re all having a blessed and peaceful summer. One thing that helps me is this prayer:

“God, if I can’t have what I want, please let me want what I have.”

Helen

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