Rapture

Yesterday morning I awoke, at a ridiculously early hour (5:30AM), in Florida, preparing to travel home to NJ after a satisfying and wonderful visit with my parents. I hate to fly and really don’t take to it well at all. I packed, breakfasted, shaved, medicated, bid my folks a fond farewell, and met my childhood buddy for an early lunch at the airport. I relished the opportunity for a nap on the plane. Finding my car and driving home was a welcome “ordeal” because I so dislike air travel and so much prefer to be home. So boring! Unpacking is another welcome chore. Jami had some dinner for me, just some leftover chicken, but even home-made leftovers are welcome to me. By the time I got around to checking my e-mails, I was getting sleepy. I had awakened so early and traveling, even with a nap, takes a lot out of me. There on my computer was just what I needed to invigorate me. Billy’s e-mail informed me that he and some of my friends were playing at a local friendly joint. Shortly thereafter I found the original e-mail inviting me to show up.
Sleepy as I was, nothing excites me like playing the blues. That’s my one true love. I’m married (for 37 years), have two wonderful sons, but my harps and the thrill of performing is an overwhelming passion. Jami wondered out loud if I could even make it to the bar. I dragged myself out the door. Through the back roads of Hillsborough, I began my “trek”. The road I usually travel was closed, for another in an unending series of repairs, further confusing and frustrating my tired self. Finally, I could see my destination approaching. I parked and we entered. I saw my friends, Rich, Barless, BAM, Don and Billy. I slowly began to come alive. The hum of the amplifiers and, the stray strings of tuning guitars, the shuffle of drums, the crash of cymbals and the pleasant tinkle of the keyboards teased me to consciousness. The band played their sets and I waited impatiently for my turn. I sometimes liken this to a lion pacing in his cage. BAM came up to me and asked: “Are you going to play?” What a question. I should have been in bed. Of course I was going to play, barring a nuclear attack.
My turn came; never soon enough. Billy turned to me and said: “Call the tune!” I did and the ride began. I hollered and sang and blew my harp, joining my friends in the band and, of course, Billy. First we did some rousing tunes, I sang, then Billy. There is a great comfort in my collaboration with Billy. Somehow, no matter how long it’s been since our last time together on stage, a familiarity informs a seamless and effortless blueswork. I call it the “slippery hole”. We just fall in, in perfect synchronicity. We finished with one of my favorites, on old slow number. I don’t know what force of nature carried my exhausted, travel-weary, big old man body through this blues exorcism, but I finished strong. As I left the stage, Bill asked me if I was going home, and I replied, sweat dripping off my face, that there was nothing left of me. That’s just how I like it. I left everything on that stage. The depletion of myself is like emptying a vessel, one that needs to be refilled and, once again, depleted.
Thanks guys for the ride and the company. Special thanks to my “brother in the blues”. Long Live the Blues!