Endings and beginnings

Rick playing at Nordica Auditorium - University of Maine, Farmington, 2010

It’s extremely calm out tonight.  We’re expecting Hurricane Irene (my sweet, amazing mother’s middle name was Irene and her birthday would have been yesterday.  Much love to you, mother.)  The hurricane’s been reported up the east coast, yada yada. . .  but tonight you could see a few stars and after battening down the hatches I was drawn outside.

I was sitting out on our lakeside deck, listening to the loons and thinking about the summer we seem to be quickly leaving behind.  I was brought back to the night Rick and I spent at Cobscook Bay State Park in Downeast Maine back in July.  We had arrived mid afternoon and set up the camper fairly easily though it was our very first outing without the camper experts from The NitPickers Band.  We looked at the map of the park and decided to go for a hike.  Nice shady trail with interesting sites described in the park map.  Got to the top where there were vistas of what I’m guessing were Canadian seas.  Saw a couple of kayakers; the water looked pretty calm.  Note to self: I think Rick and I would have been fine in them without a guide had we brought the kayaks.   

We hiked back to camp and made a dinner of Thai noodles w/chicken and a bottle of Clos du Bois.  We dined outside at the picnic table and later Rick pulled out his guitar and played and sang sweetly . . . heartbreakingly . . .  Townes Van Zandt, Kevin Welch, his own originals.  It was one of those perfect summer nights.  There’s no other place I would have wanted to be.  I couldn’t stop smiling all night long, even in my sleep, I’m sure. 

Anyway, here I am sitting out on our deck reflecting how that had probably been my favorite night of the summer. I noticed I’d run out of wine so went inside to make a drink of some sort (when I refilled the liquor cabinet after having the new floor installed (see previous post) I put all the almost empty bottles of liquor on the top shelf with the intention of using those up before hitting the lower shelves.) 

When I got inside I heard Rick upstairs playing the guitar!  Baby!! I was just thinking about you doing exactly that!! . . . Come on outside on the deck and keep doing what you’re doing. . . and he did.  J    I found the makings of White Russians on the top shelf.  Made up a shaker; offered some to Rick who declined after having drank the other half of our bottle of wine.  This was one of those nights where a half a bottle of wine equaled just getting started for me  . . . with help from the caffeinated soda I’d had earlier. 

It struck me that this Rick, playing the guitar on this night, was the Rick who wrote those blogs.  The one who might quote Alexander Graham Bell saying “when one door closes, another door opens” or more likely a Kerouac quote that conveys the same message. 

Anyway, he came out.  I enjoyed the loons . . . crickets . . .  peepers . . .  and Rick’s lovely guitar and vocals, bestowed upon just himself and me, and the loons, which made it all the more special.  Especially on this particular day when he made the momentous decision to quit playing banjo after 33 years with various bands in Pennsylvania and Maine.  A very tough decision attributed to focal dystonia – a long story – but basically a loss of up to 90% of his former ability.  It was just frustrating and unfulfilling for him to play so he decided to walk away from the banjo . . . leave the band . . . .  The timing was right in that the band doesn’t have a gig for a few weeks and the rest of the band is at a bluegrass festival – the best place to recruit a new banjo player, with a second festival coming up next weekend. 

But on the guitar . . . an instrument that asks for finger movements different from the all too familiar forward reverse rolls on the banjo, he sounds competent, comfortable and happy, if not yet expert.  He played several Townes Van Zandt pieces.  My favorite – To Live is to Fly – brought tears to my eyes.  Some Kevin Welch . . . candles burning on a warm sultry August evening . . .  420 . . . impending storm.   

Simplicity and presence, a little melancholy, perhaps a slice of excitement and anticipation, helped it to be one of the premier nights of 2011. 

Later . . .  was just icing on the cake.  J     And here I sit, listening to Bonnie Raitt radio on Pandora . . . the rain is pounding . . .Irene has arrived . . .

my cup runneth over. . .

               this 27^th day of August, 2011 . . .