It's all just a blur now. Two loud, boisterous, very full, days of music interrupted only occasionally by a hamburger or a hot dog. It's interesting how I find some bitter-sweetness in experiencing the "morning after". Same is true after the festival in Winfield. There's something attractive about the contrast from one day to the next. The lobby of the hotel was brimming with life and music for hours on end for 2 days straight. Then Sunday morning comes with the quiet lobby echoing only the faint hushed tones of a few people moving their baggage and instruments to their cars. A single conversation is heard, though not distinctly, from across the lobby whereas the day before you could scarcely hear the jam that was happening just a couple of feet away. Like a hundred yard dash. No pacing, just pushing yourself as hard as you can for those few seconds then coming to a stop just a few feet past the finish line. I dared to don my 12 string on this morning. It seemed to be the most appropriate instrument for the occasion. I sat in a corner of the lobby for the first few songs. Finger picking and singing softly through Boy From The Country, How Great Is Our God, and a couple of other songs. Then a group of folks gathered in my vicinity, though not to listen, but rather to talk of their time there. I quietly exited to a vacant hallway where I could resume my tired, melancholy music. After some time there with just a person or two moving down the hallway a young man and woman emerged from around the corner. The lady pulled a chair over near mine and helped the young blind man sit down in it. She said she would be right back and disappeared around the same corner from which they had come. Tyler was this kid's name, and we visited a bit before I began playing some more music. Eventually, I helped them get out to the front of the hotel so a friend could pick up Tyler and take him where he needed to go. I remembered Tyler from the night before. He was jamming with some folks by the pillar just ahead of the confluence of one of the several hallways and the lobby. He was playing his guitar and singing with great enthusiasm. He is in a band back in Johnson City, TN and the young lady performs with him as well. As we sat in the hall we talked about music and bands etc. He commented on how he really has trouble warming up to a singer who is not engaged in the lyrics of the song. He said it was important to feel like you have something to say. I mentioned how hard it is to make a living at music and he agreed. However, he said that if you are doing something you enjoy then the money isn't that important. I mentioned what a friend had told me once about our hopes as relating to our children. We tend to want them to be "successful" without really examining what that means. We tend to default to our cultural definition of success requiring a substantial salary etc. When what we should hope for our children is that they are happy. You have to pay some bills but beyond that if you're happy at what you spend your life doing then that seems to be the important thing. I bid Tyler goodbye and encouraged him to keep playing and singing. This day was turning into an enjoyable event although it started out a little iffy. My head was pounding all morning. Ibuprofen didn't help and I was looking at the prospect of becoming sick to my stomach if things went as they often do with these headaches. I suspect the long drive and two long, though enjoyable days, were catching up with my old and aging body. I laid down across the chairs at the back of the room while the Gospel groups were performing. This did not help either. I decided to head for Kansas so around noon I took off and bid Nashville adieu. When I was well on my way up I-24 heading toward St. Louis I stopped at a convenience store. Parked around to the side of the store I set my seat back and took a nap. A long nap. It was at least an hour though I didn't note the time when I started. When I awoke I felt measurably better and my headache was all but vanquished. My new-found strength eventually took me all the way home through some rain and snow both. I was amazed at how well I felt on the trip after having such a sickly start to the day. Some light snow met me just west of Columbia, MO and accompanied me the rest of the way home. The snow's intensity increased as I approached Emporia where I would enter the Kansas Turnpike for the final leg of my journey. By the time I hit Cassoday, about 30 miles So. of Emporia and 50 from Wichita, the snow was collecting on the roadway. About 20 miles later I was moving around 40 mph and that would be the speed that would take me on into Wichita. Boy was I glad to be home. Two quick trips from the car to the house to deposit my gym bag and instruments on the couch and I was headed to bed. The heater probably ran 11 or 12 minutes out of the 14 hour trip so a warm bed was just what the doctor ordered.
Home sweet home!
