People waved and smiled and generally had a nice time.
That’s my uncle up there, Bubba. He’s the one that played the piano in Willy Nelson’s band way back in the day. He plays by ear, and nothing entertained my sister and me more than making requests and listening to him play any and everything on their old upright piano. I can still hear it…just like in a saloon…. What a character.
I, on the other hand, do not play by ear. I need music and study time and practice. Lots and lots of practice. Practice that, even though I now have the piano I learned to play on (and that my mama learned on and that started out in the house it’s ended right back up in) right in my living room, I don’t get. And why don’t I get it? Because every time I sit on the bench with an inkling to do something, my girl comes running, hops up, and wants to play, too. Which means she does NOT want me to play.
“No, just me.”
So that’s why I’m not practicing. But if I were, I’d have to intermittently stop and play something I already know, to remind myself that yes; you do know how to play the piano. The lessons that ran from 1st grade to junior high were not a waste.
I don’t guess.
I haven’t been asked to play in any saloons or anything yet, but I’m expecting a call any day now.
Speaking of saloons….
Husband took some time out during the party to play pool with the kids. I wonder who was teaching who?
But my word…ain’t he good lookin’?
He looks happy and relaxed, and that makes me happy and relaxed.
Although no one was happier and more relaxed at the party than a certain grandma in attendance. She wasn’t my grandma or Brady’s, but she was someone’s, and that someone is lucky and havin’ a good time and laughin’ right now. I’m sure of it.
She had a can of beer in her hand the entire time, and she had hands that looked like they could move a house.
She spoke with a thick, homeland accent that was often hard to understand, but incredibly fun to listen to. I want her to come and talk to me at work, to keep me smiling.
She told stories about trying to drive giant tractors and combines by herself and rolling them and getting stuck upside down in the mud and having to walk miles back to her house. She’s wrestled cows and calves and rode horses and anything any man has ever done on a farm or ranch. And she tells you all about it, peppered artfully with curse words and loud guffaws. Or maybe they were chortles. I couldn’t tell for sure.
And maybe they were coming from me, now that you mention it.
I often get nervous at the thought of having to go somewhere around people I’ve never met before, where I don’t know what to expect. That day, I felt the same way. I didn’t know what or who to expect, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to even go, but we did.
If we hadn’t gone, I’d have missed listening to that woman talk, and that would have been a crying shame.