Last night, performing at Red Shedman in Olney, MD, had it’s ups and downs but we had a good time. Cold day, beautiful drive, noisy room that we eventually OWNED. The staff, as always (staff either Loves us or hates us, there is NO middle ground), Loved us and were visibly excited that we were the music for the night. One of the staff had shuffled his schedule around to catch us. There were three large dogs (no pig this time around) that were snuggly and joyous and I never DID get the sound solid, but we made some new fans and kept the old ones happy.
So – not a bad way to wrap out a 20th anniversary week. I just wish there was a picture of me and the dogs – because they were wondrous fuzzy. I was a rob floating on a pile of grims.
Though I didn’t notice it, I must’ve come home smelling of dog because Prince drops EVERYTHING (figuratively) and presses his nose to my jeans and extracts every informative iota of oderant from every nook and cranny available to him.
This DOES eventually become quite awkward.
This morning is one of these oft-remarked-upon silent Sunday mornings in Catonsville. Not quite as quiet as some weeks, perhaps. The neighbour’s kids went romping down the alley a and as they faded out, a LOUD bird went chirruping through the back yard, and just as THOSE gaRONKS fade away, the traffic on 695 seems to rise up like a wave with the sound of some drag race or another… I hear a low-flying plane banking slowly over the neighbourhood, and Kristen’s beginning to rise, creaking floors above me, doors opening and closing… so slowly my world returns to it’s normal buzz, though I guess by 10.30am it is welcome to do so.
For a week that should’ve been celebratory, there’s been SO much whirling around in my brain that I’ve been resorting to a little more artificial sleep chemicalia, a little more comfort food in the reading diet. The inevitable disappointment of the Kyle Rittenhouse verdict, worries over health insurance and car inspections, the Games Workshop’s statements that they are “not aspirational”. Concerns about my career and Life. Climate change and COVID. Fatigue, malaise, computer battles. All of these things are rising and falling in my mind so consistently that it’s a constant burr of melancholy and anxiety.
I absolutely remember what “normal” felt like, but between the rising tides, both literal and figurative, I don’t know how we ever return to it.
And so it is, with conscious WILL I push them back, at least in my head, to reclaim a quiet Sunday morning.
Kristen comes down the stairs, Prince following faithfully behind. Crunch of cat food, rustle of bags. The freezer door opens, the freezer door closes. Microwave and toaster oven and a hopeful mew.
Ah, to be a cat. Where all things come down to soft spots to lie and the unending hope that whatever is being sniffed, this time… THIS TIME… it will have turned into chicken.
The beest is an eternal optimist and I could learn a lot from him.