It’s funny, I can’t remember the last time I woke up and saw some slanting beam of sun illuminating the dance of dust. Perhaps I’m simply not inhabiting dusty enough rooms, but some how that brownian shimmering has become something lost with childhood.
I’m fortunate enough to have time to myself for the second time in a month and I’ve been sitting curled around a Harry Potter book stroking a tiny snoozing dog. It’s been a beautiful, relaxed day here in Reno, Nevada and I’ve avoided work and responsibility. We haven’t traveled anywhere and I had the best blackened chicken sandwich I’ve ever had in my Life.
I’m not looking forward to tomorrow’s drive. A good nine hours to Eugene, Oregon where our planning is a little bit lacking. I’m disappointed in myself for not nailing things down a little tighter, but I typed something in wrong and we’d planned to sightseeing amongst redwoods for the whole weekend. Getting them in on Thursday was both a stroke of luck and also an upset of schedule that’s probably for the best, but it I’ve been growing a little rigid in my approach to timelines and some of my sensibilities don’t like the alterations.
We got into Reno on Friday after a pretty lengthy drive through the mountains of north-eastern California. What should’ve been a short, relaxed drive got pretty arduous through the intrusion of traffic and when we finally made it to Walden’s Coffeehouse, we were a little edgy and a little tired.
The coffeehouse itself is in a very posh little group of shops in which we got a really amazing dinner of fish burritos before going over to the open mic where we were featuring. Walden’s itself is one of those rare breed of coffeehouses that’s actually set up for musicians, with really nice Carvin speakers hanging from all corners of the ceiling and a fairly decent monitor system. After a number of eclectic performances we get up and play a pretty heavy set, cleansing all the tension and making back a lot of our past couple of days worth of Californian expenditures. (yes, I know the structure of that last sentence was fundamentally fucked).
We were also relieved to find a fellow singer/songwriter who was willing to put us up for the night. He even offered to let us stay an extra night which led to this luxurious day of leisure…
Justin has a rough and ready voice and seems to have Lived more in his 25 years than i’ve managed to pack into my 32, and he’s got a tiny hidden house with a tiny eager dog named Daisy. We traded stories all last night, Heather and Justin talked books long after my brain had simply shut off, and then got up today and traded songs and licks and played guitar in the Nevadan sun.
Heather and Justin have gone back to the coffeehouse to watch another couple of bands, leaving me to my own devices for a couple of hours. I’m halfway through The Order Of The Phoenix and might even be able to finish it before we leave for Oregon.
That would almost make up for the lack of sweet-smelling dust.