Full Moon Over Peterborough
It was December. My first winter in New Hampshire. And it
was bone-chilling cold that month. Record low temperatures
if memory serves. Welcome to New England.
But I did not care. I had a date to play the Peterborough
contra dance with Bob McQuillen! The dance is in the historic
town hall, a cavernous room with a full balcony, high ceilings,
wood and plaster construction. Great sound and a large wooden
dance floor. A floor that would surely be packed.
It snowed all afternoon and into the evening that Saturday
but we hardy New Englanders (Hey, I lived there too!) didn't
care. There was a lot of snow on the ground by the time the
dance started. And here's the thing about cavernous rooms
with high ceilings: It's not easy heating them. Even a floor
packed with active dancers couldn't do the job. All night
long Bob complained about being cold.
Bob and I played, Mary DesRosiers called, the dancers danced,
and it was all a lot of fun. Then about 11PM in between dances
Bob didn't so much ask as he commanded:
"This next one will be the last set, right?"
Mary was perplexed, "The dance goes until midnight, Bob, we
can probably do three more sets."
I'm not sure how much of the following exchange was audible
to the dancers but probably most of it was.
"No, this is the last set."
"Why?"
"Because I'm freezing my ass off!"
Mary's next move was, shall we say, poorly thought out:
"Why don't you show us?"
And ... Bob ... did. He stood up from the piano bench, faced
upstage (I was right there, arm's length from him) and ...
Dropped trou.
Being face to face with him meant that I had either the worst
or the best vantage point in the house. Depending on how
you think about it. I can tell you the people on the dance
floor had quite a view.
True story.
Maybe this will cleanse the mental image...
Bob at the piano and a cast of dozens
play one of his best-known tunes, "Amelia."
Watch him wink at the camera at 4:36. That's Bob.
Suggested reading:
My First Time at Greenfield
In which I find a new home. Metaphorically speaking.
I Can Quit Whenever I Want To
In which I kick the coffee habit. Until about lunch time.
Perhaps Samuel Butler was right
In which I learn that "on the job training" is not always the best choice.
Friends, Romans, Countrymen... Grab yer partners!
Caller Bernie Chalk came not to bury Caesar but to do-si-do with him.
Some experience required.
You never forget your first time.
Time Travel!
Return to those days of yesteryear
The $20 Fiddle Tune
We're not in it for the money, but neither do we turn it down.
Is That Guy Okay?
A case of mistaken identity.
Every Fiddle Has a Story...
... but they can't talk.
Mmm, Ham...
In which Pete and I rely on the kindness of strangers.
Not Sure Who Won But I Can Tell You Who Lost
In which I wind up with farm fresh historically accurate Colonial-era egg on my face.
Happy New Year
In which the New Year creeps in on little cat feet.