Comeback

It may sound strange to hear that I am beginning my prep for winter, but I am. The last one was terrible. Well, not the whole thing, just January and most of February. Enough, huh?

I float along on the remainder of the holiday season for a week into January. Then it hits: cold, dark, very little shaking. So, in the past years, I’ve started in spring to plan for winter. Last year, it was just one or two notes. I already have about eight things lined out this year, and as I find more, I’ll add them. This is war.

Years ago, I didn’t have this problem. There was martial arts training several time a week, work, taking the kids on trips, and generally lots of family time. I’ve aged out of the martial arts, the kids are grown, and our work schedules seem out of whack. So let’s remember the Seven P’s – Prior Proper Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance. Yup, having a credible purpose-filled life needs prior proper planning!

So we are into the prior part of the planning process. When I started writing down this stuff last night, Charlie, my old guitar, let out a Twang from the wall. Charlie seemed to be saying, “Hey, jerk! What about me? Don’t I have a role in all this stuff?” For those of you who don’t know, I was, in antedeluvian times, the 1960s, a Pius Itinerant and folksinger. “OK, I’ll put down, play guitar. Are you happy?”

No, I don’t need an intervention. Talking to my guitar is nothing new. Remember, on the road Charlie was the only one I had to talk to, often. Charlie’s nickname is ” the Worried Man’s Companion.” There was another twang. So I grabbed a pile of music, Charlie, and started tuning. My God, I am bad…but there is potential. I’ve made a pact with Charlie – every night, practicing.

Then last night I woke up from a dream. There I was backstage in the green room getting ready for a gig – tuning, doing the weird little gargle routine, checking for the throat lozenges in my vest pocket, and doing my old stretch routine. I got up to the mirror, smiled, and went through a string of patter. I grabbed the old leather hat, smiled again, and snickered, “Show Time!”

Then I woke up. It’s good that my wife works nights, or I’d have woken her with the groan that escaped my lips. I got up went downstairs, looked at Charlie, and said, “No fucking way in Hell…you get it! No gigs. No drunks tossing baskets of beer nuts, no jerks getting mad because their ole’ ladies are measuring me up. And especially no road trips to obscure locations that aren’t on the map.

I swore that old guitar snickered, but he can only twang. Back to performing? Well maybe only for one night…yeah maybe for only one night…I can go through the old set lists and come up with stuff I can still do…but only for one night.