I try to organize my life so as to not think about stuff too much. Ben is in that unhappy phase of life when he has to think too much and such consequences resulted that I felt compelled to give the advice that Oldie Olsons always give. But here in the moment when there are ribs basted enough for now, one kid having the nap he needed and the other of to learn another smidge about the piano there is that moment to think. And what do I think about? The high cost of banjos, that’s what. I go looking for a decent one to buy for a fella and we are looking at $600 price tags. Dear oh dear. How is the world going to be moved to take on the plunkity-plunk as its own universal voice of peace if we are looking at $600 bucks a pop when there are decent enough $125 start-up models to be had for the wise internationalist shopper. So I will defer again and buy south. And why not when the currency exchange is going in the right direction.
After I thought about that for a while, I realized I have mislaid my copy of Lew Bryson’s New York Breweries. I hate that, not having a work of that importance right at hand just when I was going to make a pithy observation about it in my review of A Good Beer Guide To New England, as important a work of art as I have come across in these few years the Lord has spared for me. Worst of all, Lew knows I have read it so I can’t hit him up for a review copy. Dang nab it. Cornered myself. By the way, each of you really ought to go buy these books.
So then I was done thinking about that and had a nap and then basted the ribs again and I was pretty much done thinking and I was checking out blogs I like and I noted that Junk Store Cowgirl, my favorite Rochesterian read, is truly down for the count – sad I thought…unless it is not sad, unless packing it in was good. Maybe she was able to see something ahead that Ben can’t yet see for him. And then I thought about the ribs again. Fine looking ribs.
So what do you do with all this? I say build upon it. I’ve been in places where you find an end or a corner but I much prefer the times I find a foundation of the next thing. Something is going to come of those ribs and something is going to come of that beer review. I’ll likely find that copy of Lew’s book as well. Maybe even something’ll come of the banjo. Yesterday or the day before, driving in rain and listening to American Routes I heard a jug band recording that featured not only a banjo but a trombone and banjo – maybe it was “Bring It With You When You Come” by Cannon’s Jug Stompers now that I check the playlist. Worse ways to head towards the mid-forties as we pass on though the mid-decade than to build on those two new things plus the ribs and the beer…though a mute for the trombone might be in order.
Ok, Ok. More from Cooperstown. I really only took photos of the crowd as the Canon PowerShot A410 is not exactly a big lense job but it did a pretty good job picking out Bucky Dent. For the record, while I remember, two cool things were watching Adam Dunn jack the ball over our heads as opposed to the left field fence and also watching two Pirates outfielders warm up by playing a game of catch from the corner of left field all the way to the corner of right. I wouldn’t have been able to through half the distance when I was that age. And it would have landed twelve feet to the right and Fish would have said “man, you suck.” And I would have sucked.
