
Sweetheart and I like to hear Bluegrass music.
Actually, we like lots of different kinds of music. It just so happened that there was a Bluegrass festival in our vicinity last weekend, so we went to hear the bands play.
It always amazes me to see and hear the talent they display. Some instrumentalists can fill in from one group to another, seamlessly, if one band member is not available. Many members can play more than one instrument—and do. And I have never seen anybody use a sheet of music or computer prompt.
Yes, I admire the musical ability those people have. In fact, I admire anybody with musical ability. My dad had it. He played violin—classical music as well as polkas at the Austrian Club on Saturday nights.
After he passed away, I wanted to follow in his footsteps, so my mother bought me a violin and I started taking lessons from the music teacher at the high school. Even though the teacher thought I had some promise, I gave it up when I was practicing at home and Mom couldn’t identify the song I was playing—even after three or four guesses.
Well, these festivals, when they are held indoors, are usually located in a hotel or motel, because that is just about the only facility with an area large enough to accommodate the hundreds of people who attend. Learning to navigate the building can sometimes be like going through a maze.
For instance, last Saturday I left my seat in the ballroom to get a cup of coffee from one of the vendors. I had to make my way through the restaurant area to the courtyard, where the vendors were set up. I didn’t see the coffee man there, so I asked one of the other vendors where he could be. He directed me through the courtyard, out of the door to the coffee man, who had his truck set up outside.
When I got there, I discovered that he had a wide variety of coffees from which to choose and spicy chai, as well. I really wanted to get a latte, but I didn’t think Sweetheart would like it. But, since I know he likes spicy chai, I got that. Then I began my trek back to my seat.
Everywhere I went, in every nook and cranny, little groups of musicians had gathered to do some “jammin.’” In one group I saw seven people on fiddle, one on guitar, one on mandolin and one on bass viola play, “Turkey in the Straw.”
While I was out, I decided I might as well use the restroom and save myself a trip later. When I got there, I discovered one of the stalls had no T.P. on either roll and the rolls in the stall I used were almost empty. Since I am a strong advocate of “See something, say something,” I made my way to the front desk to report it.
There was no one at the front desk when I arrived, so I decided to avail myself of the free coffee that was offered to guests. One thermos had only hot water in it and the other was empty. In the meantime, I had a short conversation with a friend who had just come in the door.
On my way back to the music area, I made a wrong turn and ended up in the residential section of the motel. I quickly reoriented myself and got back on the right path. As I walked into the music room, I saw Sweetheart looking toward the doorway with an anxious look on his face. I said I would tell him the whole story on the drive home.
It made good entertainment on the drive home, too. The funny thing, though, is that later in the evening, Sweetheart went out for coffee, came back to the seat within minutes—with a latte.
And, maybe, my talent isn’t music. Maybe its storytelling.
Dorothy is the author of two books—“Miles and Miracles” and “Getting It All Together “. You can purchase a book or send a comment by emailing her at dorothybutzknight@gmail.com
Comentarios