In the first year that my kids were in school in New Hampshire
I found that I could work from there. That solved a lot of
problems as I was able to contribute to their day-to-day
lives by helping with homework, schlepping them to violin
lessons and swim practice, and whatnot. It took some of the
heat off their mom, who was up to her eyeballs in her duties
teaching and being a dorm adviser at the school. I settled
into a routine of being there for a couple of weeks, coming
home long enough to water the plants and check on the cats,
and going back to New Hampshire.
I found that I really enjoyed it. We had a place on campus,
right in the middle of everything. Meals three times a day,
restaurant quality, plus all the leftovers we could smuggle
out of the dining hall. On top of that, the company at the
faculty dining tables was always stimulating. I found myself
running back to the apartment after nearly every meal, just
to read up on whatever the conversation topic du jour had
been.
As the second school year began I was, uh, volunteered to
play for a dance for the school community. I took the
opportunity to get in touch with my old pal Gordon Peery,
who lives in nearby Nelson. When I lived in New Hampshire
he and I traveled and played together quite a bit. I had
hardly seen him any since that time, nearly twenty years ago!
Gordon was unavailable for the date but we stayed in touch.
A few weeks after that dance Gordon asked me if I would be
around in April, maybe we could play the Nelson dance that
month. I arranged my schedule accordingly and started
practicing.
As the date of the dance approached I tried, unsuccessfully,
to pin Gordon down for some rehearsal time but his plate was
pretty full. The week of the dance he said "come on over
Saturday afternoon, we'll run throught some tunes, have
dinner, and head down to the dance hall when it is time."
I found my way over to Gordon's on Saturday afternoon. We
had not seen each other since I had moved all those years
ago! We had some catching up to do. Then he let on that he
had invited some people over to have dinner before the dance.
Which was great, but you have to understand that I haven't
seen this guy since 1993, let alone played music with him.
And I had not been playing for dances, to speak of, for about
ten years. And we had a whole evening of dance music to
prepare. But we didn't. We had a nice dinner and some coffee.
Gordon makes really good coffee, so we had that going for
us.
We walked up the steps and into the historic Nelson Town
Hall, stone cold.
The current town hall is "new" since 1846 but they have had
dances in Nelson since colonial times. When I lived in New
Hampshire I used to go to the Monday dance in Nelson whenever
I could and I always enjoyed it. It was open stage so you
never knew who might drop in and play a couple of tunes for
you.
But on this night I was nervous. I was worried about remembering
enough tunes to get through the night. And worried about
simply being able to play that many notes over that amount
of time (do the math: you play a lot of notes over the course
of an evening of dances).
That anxiety lasted until we started playing. It was as if,
all of a sudden, everything was okay. I remember that at
one point I closed my eyes and it was as though I was in
every dance hall I'd ever been in and all those dances from
all those years were all happening again, right that minute.
It was like being in a time machine or something. It didn't
help (or did help, I reckon) that many of the people on the
dance floor were the same ones who had been there last time
I'd played there, circa 1992. A little grayer, maybe, but
still kicking. I think one guy was even wearing the same
t-shirt. Pretty sure I recognized the gravy stains on it.
Anyhow, we had a ball. Totally kicked ass. And when it was
all over and we were getting up from our seats, Gordon leaned
over to me and said "I guess it's a good thing we didn't
waste any time practicing."
And lo, about a year later, I found this video. It's short,
but it's proof that I was not dreaming, that something
happened.
True story.
"Video or it didn't happen!"
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.
Full Moon Over Peterborough
In which Bob shows the dancers what he's made of.
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.