Doug had the opening to his show, Fiddlesticks, at Wisdom Tea House last night. We weren’t sure what kind of turnout to expect, but even in our dreams we couldn’t have predicted last night’s. So many friends from our little town came out to support Doug, as well as some folks we didn’t know.
He sold fifteen original pieces of art, which quite honestly, is huge for an opening. At least in our experience.
One of Frank’s friends, who is an artist himself, came and talked to Doug for at least a half an hour. Actually, he listened to Doug for at least a half an hour. And if you know Doug, you know he isn’t a big talker. At one point I overheard him tell someone, “I’m doing some mentoring.”
The economy has been especially hard on artists, as you can imagine. The phrase starving artist is based on fact.
As his biggest supporter, number-one fan, etc., I was thrilled to see him in his element, surrounded by people who care about me, yes, but also care about him. He is not as social as I am, and sometimes forgets how many friends he has, and how well-liked and respected he is.
I write often about how much I love this community. We’ve lived here for almost eight years, but it seems much longer.
Frank and I went to the Elizabeth Stampede last Saturday for the first time. As far as rodeos go, it’s one of the best I’ve ever been to. Next year I’ll plan to spend more time looking at the vendor booths (and bring more cash with me).
My friend Mollie and her family came with us, and that made it even more fun. Because we had to pick up two extra tickets, we didn’t all sit together, but at least we were in the same section, just a few rows apart. Frank and Mollie’s daughter, Emma, went and sat in the lower seats and I joined them.
There was a man sitting next to me who appeared to be in his seventies, maybe older. He had a program and hurriedly made notes on it during each event. The two people sitting behind him were asking him questions about the rodeo, his life, etc., and I overheard part of their conversation.
As it turned out, I was sitting next to John Jolly, who was in his rodeo hey day in 1937. He was an all-around cowboy, and competed in every event except barrel racing because, as he told me, he “couldn’t pass the physical.” That night, his granddaughter, Katie, was competing in barrel racing so, “at least they let someone in the family in.” She knocked one can over, so her score wasn’t great, but her ride was.
Mr. Jolly talked about his life and rodeo experiences the entire night, but always paused when something was happening in the arena so we could watch, and he could take down his notes, which were extensive.
At one point Mr. Jolly turned to me and said, “I can tell you love this, the evening has been made much better for talking with you.” I told him I did love it, and in fact, I wrote books in which the characters have been barrel racers and bronc riders and even bull riders. “I didn’t do too well as a bull rider,” he told me. “Damn things always bucked me off.”
The couple behind me asked about my books and whether they were written for children. “Uh no,” Frank answered for me. We talked more, the woman asked for the name of my books, and after a minute or two, she showed me her phone and she ordered And Then You Fall while we were sitting there.
If you’ve never been to the Elizabeth Stampede, I highly recommend you go if you have the chance. It is a great rodeo, one that PRCA has named Best Small Town Rodeo, several years. The town of Elizabeth is one I want to explore more.
I hope when we go next year, I run into Mr. Jolly again. When I write the next book in the Crested Butte series, I’ll write someone just like him into the storyline.
We went to see the Mowglis at the Black Sheep last night. It’s the second time we’ve seen them. They’re a great band to see live, and based on the three new songs they played last night, their new album is going to equal their first.
It seemed as though there were a couple band members missing since the last time we saw them, but their energy level was as high, the music as good (or better), and judging by the crowd, the show was as much or more fun than the first we saw last year.
I am typically among the oldest people at these types of shows, however, I do not sit off on the side on the benches (or in last night’s case, stand on the benches). I’m right in there with Frank, or whoever I go to concerts with, dancing and singing my face off.
One benefit of being my age (over 21 that is), at these shows is there is often no line at the bar, and sometimes if you get really lucky, one of the band members is standing there getting a drink the same time you are, and you're the only one who recognizes them. If the timing is right, I offer to buy them a drink, which usually ends with a photo or two with them, along with a very nice conversation, and much appreciation. Because, quite honestly, I’m probably one of the few who does recognize them AND is over 21, so someone buying them a drink doesn’t happen that often. Also, these types of bands, playing small venues, often aren’t raking in the dough. So again, someone buying them a drink is appreciated from that perspective as well.
This is a big week for us for concerts. Tomorrow night is John Butler Trio at Red Rocks. I’m still on the fence about that one. Saturday is rodeo (not a concert but . . .), Sunday is the Fray at Red Rocks, and next Saturday we have VIP tickets to see OAR at Red Rocks, which means a meet and greet. I’m exhausted thinking about it, only because I didn’t get much sleep last night. By tomorrow, I’m sure I’ll be rarin’ to go again. Frank and I judge the success of a concert by whether or not we have a voice at the end of the night, and whether or not we danced our faces off . . . and I’m sure the next few concerts will be among the best we’ve ever seen.
Saying my son “used to love to read,” is difficult, particularly considering I’m a writer. I’ve had conversations with people about this. Frank loved to read until he entered whatever grade it was that Lit Logs were introduced. Reading went from something he did for himself, to homework. When he was required to read for a half hour every night and record the pages he read, he stopped reading for an hour or two when he felt like it, and instead, fulfilled the requirement.
You may be able to ascertain I am not a proponent of Lit Logs. The premise is it will turn our children into people who love to read. I don’t love much of anything I’m required to do. When you take the choice away, sometimes the fun goes with it too. I can tell you, his teachers may not appreciate this, but I am not forcing Beckett to read. He reads because he loves it. And if he happens to read a half an hour every night (he reads far more than that), and happens to fill out his log, great. If not, I’ll deal with whatever the repercussions are.
Last week Frank and I reviewed his summer requirements for AP Euro. He has to read one book from the suggested reading list and answer six journal questions about the book. Each question requires a two-page answer. He went to the library to reserve his top two choices, and found he was on the waiting list for both, and he was twelfth in line. I told him instead I would download the books and he could read them on his iPad. I set up a Kindle account for him with a lingering hope that once he started reading electronically, he may be more open to finding books he’s interested in reading.
While we were in Santa Fe, Doug and I went out for dinner one of the nights by ourselves. When we came back to the hotel room, Frank said, “Uh, mom, I downloaded a couple books, I hope that’s okay.” Inside I was jumping for joy. Outside, I simply said, “Of course it’s okay.”
One of the books he downloaded was the Fault in Our Stars. He started it Sunday night, and finished it last night. Yesterday afternoon when I came home from a few hours at the academy, he hadn’t done the two or three simple chores he has to do each day. I asked him to do them, and then we ran a couple of errands. When we got home he seemed agitated. When I asked what was up he said, “M-o-o-o-m, I just want to be done so I can READ.” More jumping for joy on the inside.
Within minutes he was released from his servitude and disappeared until dinner time. When he came up to eat he said “I’m so mad. This book is so sad.” Yes, I thought, books can be like that. They’ll stir up emotions you don’t necessarily want them to, and if he’s anything like me, he’ll get so immersed in it that he’ll feel it for hours, maybe even days.
After dinner he disappeared again only to return an hour or so later. “It was so sad,” he said over and over, rubbing his face. It was clear he’d been crying but was trying very hard not to let on he had been. He went into the laundry room and discovered that I had put his favorite new shirt in the dryer, and ruined it. He came back out, put it on and it had shrunk to to the point it would no longer fit him. He chastised me for it, I apologized. A few minutes later I got up to see where he’d gone and found him stretched out on the floor in the hallway, face buried in his crossed arms.
“It’s just too much,” he said. “The book, the shirt it’s just too much.” Yes, I thought again. And isn’t that the beauty of reading? Being so powerfully moved by a book that all you can do is bury your head in your hands and absorb it, and it is so impactful that it heightens your emotions in regard to other things happening in your life. It’s magic, when a book can do that to you. Magic.
Today I opened the second book in the East Aurora series, which I haven’t looked at in months. Reading through a couple of random pages, I remembered how this book makes me feel. Not just the book, but the series. It’s magic. I’m thankful every day that I allowed myself, forced myself, to sit down and write. Hard to believe the anniversary of that day is approaching the second year mark. In that time I’ve written four books, with two more very close to being finished. I have four more ready to write.
Yesterday afternoon I had a conversation with someone about the third book in the Crested Butte series, And Then You Kiss. When I asked her about a specific part of the book, she started to cry. “It was moving,” she said through her tears. And I started to cry too, remembering how I felt when I wrote it. Magic, for me and for her, that days, weeks, and sometimes months later, recalling a particular scene in a book can bring you back to the tears, back to the emotion. Magic.
I haven’t posted anything here since mid-March, and there are many reasons I haven’t, lack of something to say hasn’t been one of them.
Transition is the main reason. Taking on the contract at the Air Force Academy has been a challenge to get used to. Fitting in the classes and events, trying to feel my way around a program that was developed by someone else, who left none of their materials when their contract ended, even though they were bound to by the terms of the contract. It has been a good and bad thing. Bad in that I had to fly by the seat of my pants; good that some of the materials I had written for the previous contractor, and also, this is my field, it isn’t as though I haven’t been teaching this subject for the two years I was away from the academy.
There have been other transitions. I haven’t been able, or haven’t had the desire to commit myself to an organization on whose board I serve. My interest and belief in the leadership of the organization has continued to wain to the point where I knew I had to resign. Unfortunately, my timing sucked, but that is water under the bridge at this point. Sometimes it needs to be dramatic in order to stick. It was painful getting there, but now that I am, I know it is the right decision for me.
Doug, the boys and I went to Santa Fe this weekend. It wasn’t a trip we planned, but at the last minute, we were able to use rooms that had been reserved for a girls’ trip that didn’t happen. As a result, it was an inexpensive two-day getaway for us. One we didn’t know we needed until we were in the midst of it.
I’ve heard others say that being in Santa Fe changes their perspective. I agree. The timing couldn’t have been better, and being away from my usual routine meant that I immediately hit the reset button, didn’t question my decision at all, and was able to move forward without the usual second-guessing.
This morning marks the first Tuesday that I’ll join my friend Cathy for our weekly kayak excursion on Monument lake, another thing that grounds me like nothing else except going for a long ride on a fast horse does. That will come later. I’ve been too long gone from that as well . . . which I can blame on the weather without too much of a stretch.
I’d like to think I’ll be back now, writing here on a regular basis. There are a lot of wonderful memories I miss journaling about when I am not committed to this blog. In the event I don’t get back here regularly, the thing I want to remind myself the most, is how much I love my life. Life is good. Damn good. I could ask for little more.
