Little Sun Little Banjo

Wow. What a great weekend it's been. Yesterday, I woke up fairly early and drank my coffee while secretly thanking the heavens for the beautiful weather and cool morning air. I slowly got ready, and with some help from the darling Sophie dog, who sits on my balcony like a bitchy Juliet, I put on my cowboy boots and a white summer dress to go pick up C for the music festival. C and I drove to Driftwood, Texas, about a half hour outside of Austin, enjoying the sun and unmistakable fall breeze whipping our smiling cheeks.

When we arrived in Driftwood (after I passed our destination first, naturally) we were greeted with big grins from festival volunteers in worn jeans and t-shirts with banjos on them. I knew instantly it would be a good day. Since the music hadn't officially started, C and I decided to get lunch across the street at a famous BBQ joint called the Salt Lick. Now, I know what you're thinking, what in the world would Kristen even eat there? But they actually have a 'veggie' plate that includes a thick potato salad that sticks to your gums, coleslaw, and a nice helping of baked beans with, you guessed it, bits of bacon. And, to top it all off, a piece of big fluffy German bread to coat your already bulging stomach with. C got some actual meat, which at least helped make us not look like such hippies, and then we sat at over-sized picnic tables positioned under the most lovely Pecan trees you've ever seen. Their knobby, dark wood twisted and turned above our heads as we kicked back beers and talked about school, men and everything in between (which isn't much, because those two things are pretty potent elements to good convo).

I can't say I think about weddings too much, even though it is a hot topic in my house, but I have to say that the Salt Lick in Driftwood would be perfect. There are dangling white lights, an old wooden stage, and I can just picture myself in a beautiful white dress and my cowboy boots, looking around at everyone I love in this world holding up mason jars filled with beer to toast with. So, after we ate more than was sufficient, we made it back to the music festival in time to catch a jam session. Now, picture a lot of banjos, guitars, fiddles and mandolins all playing together in a euphoric harmony, while the shade lingers around you and the sun only peaks in to bring all of the music to a very magical glow. And the people, some in overalls, but mostly over 40 with such happiness spread over them that you know they look forward to this event all year. People are hugging old friends, reminiscing about last year's festival, and holding their instruments as though they are beloved toddlers straddling their hips.

And, the music, I simply can't describe. I think that the juiciest things in life are not properly portrayed in any form of communication, and music is one of them. I don't know what it is about the banjo, and folk/bluegrass in general, but hearing those porch-tapping beats brings my mind to its most simplistic, beautiful state. All I want to think of are the wildness of flowers, the luminescence of a sunrise, and the joy that comes with friends and American dreaming. I would say that if my happiness were some kind of recipe, I would need more than a pinch of folk music in order to get the flavor just right. It affects me in a way I am scared to think about, because the happiness comes at me so quickly, so sharply, that it's almost scary. I wonder sometimes if I heard a lot of it as a kid, or perhaps I acquired the taste, like I did with beer, but whatever the reason it is indeed my most true and dearest genre, and it inevitably makes me think of open spaces and all my dearest ones back home.

The creativity and rhythms of all the bands were sensational, that I will say, and while sitting in a foldable chair and sipping a beer, somehow hours slipped by and C and I grew so relaxed we both were at risk of drifting into a lullaby.

My favorite band yesterday was the Lost Pines. They were just awkward enough to be funny when they talked, and just passionate enough to blend into one true force of music while they played. They were truly magical in their playing, and even my lazy foot was coerced into a constant movement to try and be a part of it. It was also special to see my banjo teacher, though, strumming and picking away on his instrument in a band I didn't even know he was part of.

And now, what do I get to do tonight? I get to experience the magic of the Avett Brothers, at the most popular music venue in Austin, with two of my dear friends, D and H. So, has this weekend rocked? Yes, indeed it has.

I think if I met October on the street, I would hug her, because so far she has been the reason my spirits are high and my life is glimmering :-)

Just sitting, just living

From the aftermath of my last post, perhaps I might seem to be in a gloomy state. But, as the weather shifts, so does my mood. Now, I have the most beautiful day laid out in front of me, with a cool breeze and that blissful excitement of having a tall iced coffee in front of me, dripping delicate drops of perspiration. I have just added a new gruesome detail to my book and am anxious to get started. But before I do that.......

It has been a strange, busy week. We started last Sunday with a trip to the emergency room for Z, after he heckled our dear Sophie and she came out the obvious victor. There was blood everywhere. I held his lip with a paper towel that cruelly stuck to the injury like dried glue. We spent most of the day Sunday recovering from the escapade and lamenting that Z had to spend his 27th birthday unable to eat or drink anything. But, from there, the week trudged on, as it does. Monday is always my longest working day, where I am thrilled if I get out of there before 7. Then, Tuesday was fairly relaxing, as we knew Wednesday would hold a double round of kickball. It was fun, though, getting out and being social, though the grass felt like knives on my kneecaps and the air was thicker than peanut butter. We won our first game and man, I haven't felt that competitive and jubilant over a sporting activity in a long time. We were also all getting better, which is sort of hilarious, since we are honing the absolute most vestigial sporting skill of being good at playing KICKBALL! And naturally, it isn't just any kickball, it's kickball with a big ass ball.

So.......skip to Thursday and my roommates leave and I have the house all to myself. All I can think of all day is how lovely it will be to read and take a bath without anyone at all. N kept asking me all last week, "What will you do, being alone for four whole days?" It was as though she positively could not imagine that I may enjoy myself, which is putting it lightly! I am absolutely soaking in the pleasure that is solitude. Other than the obvious locking of my bedroom door, then putting the hamper against the door, and perhaps racing through the hallway so as not to be stabbed routine, I find myself cozying up to being alone quite nicely.

Doesn't N know the joy I felt as I traveled through Ireland alone, staring out streaked freezing windows on long bus rides throughout that incandescent green country? That I walked into pubs and ate alone, slightly fearful, but knowing that getting to know myself was the only thing in the world that I had to let matter? And how when I returned to Prague after that trip, I had a glow about me, that my other roommates, that had clumped together through Venice like a vine of heavy grapes, were perhaps even jealous of?

Perhaps this should worry me. Maybe I should be more like N, thinking it sad to be without constant human contact and friends. I should ponder and then disapprove that I woke up this morning with a grin ear to ear, squeezing my pillow affectionately and nearly pranced down the stairs. Perhaps. Perhaps I won't ever meet someone because I usually can get pretty damned weepy and fulfilled by devouring a good book alone. I don't really know. All I know is that it is 10:41 on Saturday and everything feels as though it is poised and radiant just for my pleasure. Sure, I will go out with friends tonight and leave my state of solitude briefly, but then I will race back home and curl up in my bed without the smallest concern for the empty house surrounding me.

But I do like humans, don't get me wrong. In fact, last night, I chaperoned the school dance, 7th and 8th grade. It was a long day, not leaving school until after 9pm, but I can't deny that the interaction with my fellow-teachers was lovely. Seeing even my businesslike AP question, even for a second, if he actually would line dance, and my friend D trying to the Cupid Shuffle were memories I refuse to let age or apathy extract from me. And oh, those awkward, awkward kids that looked around helplessly to find someone they recognized, and how they all jumped in when I taught them my favorite line dance. I can honestly remember that desperation. In middle school, I was in a constant state of panic that I would be found somewhere alone, and that I would have to eat my french loaf of french bread and ranch in a bathroom stall or something. But that was a long time ago, more than ten years, and I find myself wondering what the kids I teach now will turn into when they grow up. I hope that they will get an opportunity to knock on the sky and hear an answer.

I think that what the dance did for me, being that perfect mix of ridiculous and awesomeness that it was, is it let me know I can never truly be a recluse, because, if nothing else, I like seeing bad dancing too much.

To wrap this diatribe up, I will say, with unequivocal confidence, that I have no clue what will happen in my life. But. that doesn't mean that things aren't exactly as they are meant to be, right now, in this very corner of my most divine living.