Does it play in Peroia?

Wednesday, Dan Fogelberg's birthday, dawned a beautiful midwestern summer day. An uncommon day for August, the morning was cool, the breeze was gentle, and I was filled with the freedom that a weekday off work on a such brilliant morning provides. Guitar, CD's and coffee in hand, I headed North to Peoria. Why? Who knows. It seemed fitting. Decades had passed since I last saw Peoria in 1982. While everything around it has changed, the Illinois River remains a constant, just like the Mississippi of my childhood.

Having had enough of tall buildings and concrete, I escaped to a park outside of town, spread my blanket under a comfy tree, played to the river and did some thinking. What do I value? What makes me whole? What is it I am waiting for? Why? Why...... The answers held more truth than I was accustomed to hearing from myself, but in its very speaking, part of the weight I'd been carrying for so long was lifted from my shoulders. I needed to believe.

With that moment of catharsis, I headed off to a local winery for a late lunch. Red wine, cheese and bread, then playing more music on the patio. No one minded, no one knew or cared that I had not really played out in years. They hummed along, some sang with the older tunes. We did indeed drink a toast to innocence, to Dan, to time. Then at 5:30 (6:30 EST) I played the song I'd been saving all day, "The Reach". Someone whispered, "I love this song." Harmony ascended and as if on que, the golden late afternoon sun kissed the arbor, setting everything aglow. It was magic.

Back on the road, I took the long way home. It was a sunset to savor, a day to relish. Unbeknownst to him, Dan gave me a lot of gifts in his lifetime. Now even from beyond, he gave me one more. Thank you, Dan. Happy Birthday.

4th of July

Sometime between work, drive, and Woodyfest, there was the 4th of July. Amazingly, the 'fireworks' setting on my little Optio W30 really does work when you use a beach chair umbrella as a monopod. The fireworks at my friends' party out in the country were pretty astounding. They couldn't even fit the booty in a wheelbarrow to get it down the road to shoot off.... no, it was such a cache that they had to take the pickup. It was better than many of the fireworks displays put on by my hometown when I was a kid.

Bethalto used to have a "homecoming" fair on Labor Day weekend and a some-other-kind of fair over 4th of July. I guess it still does. Midway, games, mud, wood chips, funnel cakes, contests, etc. Our church always had this big food and beer booth (Catholic, of course) and ladies from the 140 Club would fry up about a million of their famous chickens to serve. Parishioners were expected to donate either their first fresh tomatoes to sell as sides or their first born children to serve and clean. Like bingo slave duty and mandatory fashion show babysitting, I mostly got out of having to help, being the precociously mouthed wild card that I was. Unfortunately, the tomatoes were sacrificed for our Lord's luncheon sales. This left me time to ride the tilt-a-whirl and play skee ball until my money was gone, then sneak off to the arboretum to hang out under my favorite trees and read, write or sketch until it was time for the fireworks. Poor little fireworks. A few roman candles and about eight sky-worthy shells; maybe a few peonys and if we were lucky a couple of spiders. But it was what we had and we ooooo-ed and aaaaaahhh-ed like it was New Years in Chinatown. Sometimes, I guess it's okay not to know any better, if only to preserve what's left of the magic.

It was a train station once

The paper had a story today about how Olin is possibly laying off 100 people from the munitions line in East Alton, IL. Like any industry town that's lost its base, East Alton has its share of dilapidated structures. Sooner or later they will get around to tearing this one down. It was a train station once upon a time. The platform in back remains, as do the tracks. Not much else. Even a quick crawl inside showed that the railroad or vandals had stripped it bare to the walls. Poor, sad, little station. Poor, sad, lonely town.

Me & My Sigma

Back in 1981, I bought my first new guitar. It had been kickin' around the showroom at Halpin's Music in Alton, IL for a little under a year, but no one seemed to want it coz is was not a "real" Martin. It was a considered a knock-off, just a Sigma. When I played it, I fell in love. Hey, if it's made to Martin specs, plays like a Martin, sounds like a Martin, then guess what? So I wrote the check and took my new baby home. A beautiful solid mahogany body dreadnought with solid spruce top, rosewood fretboard and bridge, Sigma logo, "Anniversary" and snowflake/diamond fret markers like a D-28 in mother of pearl, and it was all mine. Over the years I have always loved this instrument. There are others, a fine Ovation and a Fender 12-string that fight for my attention, but the Sigma gets more time. The thing is just a pleasure to play. Then came the internet. Now I know that there were only 100 of the Sigma 10th Anniversary models made. Quite a bit of Googling seems to reveal that very few are still with their original owners. Who knew I'd own a piece guitar history? I just wanted to play.