Thomas II

“Are you all done with the water filter already?’
Yeah, the thing took about 15 minutes, went exactly according to plan this time.
“What are you doing now?”
Finally getting to the second half of that piece at the falls.
“You’ll be careful? I don’t want any of that spilling over and manifesting in the plumbing you just finished.”
Good point. It’s cool though, we’re leaving the park at this point and going into town.
“Leaving? I thought it had just gotten good.”
I don’t make the news, I just report it -- Hey! What do you mean, “just gotten good”?
“Oh stop it, you know perfectly well what I mean. I’m going to go get a drink of water from the new filter, you want anything?”
Not right now, I gotta get this thing down while I’ve got a bit of time.

We almost miss the town. That is we saw the sign, and drove down the street thinking there had to be more of it than that. Got to the other side of town within a few blocks. Still hadn’t seen the place, so we turned around and headed back on the other street, finally spotting the sign at the end. We circle around the entire town again, and 3 minutes later we’re parking at the far end of the street the place is on. The town has seen better days -- most of the shops seem shuttered. There is one woodshop with big windows in the front so you can see in to the works in progress.
Wow. Look at that. And smell that? Mmm, sawdust.
“If I could get that scent in a bottle…”
I’d be all yours, baby.
“But then would you be tempted to work on me?”
Is there something about me that doesn’t work now?
“You. You’re a silver-tongued one you are.”
See, now this is the kind of place I’m gonna have when I retire. Nice little shop, fully equipped, take a few jobs now and again… only without the big windows. Sometimes I’m just gonna close the door, put on a recording of power tools running, and see what I’ve got left in the mini-fridge. Then it'd be: Don’t come in just yet dear, it’s dangerous in here right now.
“Dangerous, right, sounds dangerous. So, what are you waiting for?”
What do you mean?
“You like doing that handyman stuff, why not use your current workshop and take on a few small jobs now? Why wait for retirement? You could find as much work as you could handle, maybe even make some money at it, use it to build toward that dream workshop of yours.”
I don’t know, I guess that’s just the way I started thinking about it… that’s a good idea, yeah, I might just start doing that.
(“Plus, then you’ll be ready to do things like put in water filters for me.”
See, you were way ahead of me on that one. I guess now I’ll have to come up with something else to do in my retirement. I’ve got a little time, the way my investments are working out I should be ready to retire when I’m about 100.
“I’ve got other ideas for what you’ll do in your retirement. If you get stuck, let me know.”)
I’m getting hungry, let’s get down there so we have plenty of time to eat before the show.

The Purple Fiddle used to be the town’s general store. The walls are still decorated with things that were useful once. Half of the inside has tables and chairs, booths in the middle up against the central posts, and a deli counter. The other half has rows of benches and stairs facing a stage. The entrance to the bathroom is behind the stage, and a waist high banister separates the hall way from the back of the stage.
There aren’t many people here tonight, the staff outnumbers the patrons by about 2 to 1.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.
“Well, let’s a least get something to eat while we’re here, and we’ll see what happens.”
The menu is unexpected, it’s not just ham sandwich and barbecue. You get the sesame chicken wrap and water, I get the Beau Thai Chicken wrap, though I was within an inch of trying the smoked trout sushi, and a Rogue Honey Cream Ale. We go have a seat in a booth while our wraps are getting made. You look puzzled and a little concerned when yours shows up with an empty Mason canning jar.
It’s for your water. Go fill it at the cooler there with the big (that’s gotta be what, 10 gallons?) glass water bottle. Actually here, I’ll go get it, I’m gonna get one for myself too. I better hydrate before I start on that beer, gotta drive back tonight still.
When I go up to the counter, the woman behind it smiles at me and offers me a couple slices of lemon for the jars, which I accept. Thanks.
/”Sure, you let me know if you guys need anything else”/
When I get back with the waters, you’ve been playing with the wooden peg puzzle at the table. You’ve also been looking at the brochures.
“We don’t have to drive back tonight. They have a bed-n-breakfast here.”
I know, I checked it out already when I was planning this. It’s all full up tonight.
“Oh, sorry, maybe next time? I can do some of the driving.”
Okay. We’ll see how it goes.
The band is setting up and warming up. The place is starting to get crowded. The two of us having a booth all to ourselves is getting more and more conspicuous. By the time we’re through eating the place is packed. The whole town must be here, and another whole town’s worth has driven in. Hospitable hosts and hostesses, and gracious appreciative guests. When I get back from the counter with an ice cream to split for dessert, you have a question on your face.
“I hope this is okay, but I did something.”
I’m sure it’s okay, what is it?
You point to the couple with a small child across the rail from us in the performance section. The three of them have only been able to find two seats.
“I asked them if they’d want to swap those two seats up front for our booth. They didn’t look very comfortable like that.”
That sounds like a great idea. It’ll be fun to sit near the front too. And nobody has to worry about my standing up and blocking their view, my legs are tired.
The band is simple: stand-up bass, acoustic guitar, and a percussionist with an accessorized washboard and deep pockets (kazoo, harmonica, bike bell, toy cymbal, wood block, cowbell, spoons,…). The lead’s got a steady deep voice that he occasionally allows to crack or climb into a squeezed higher pitch. It’s a musical trip through Appalachia and through time, roots blues and updated Americana classics.
“We will with patience bide the time, with blood, brick, and wine.”
There’s an occasional joke or gimmick in most of the songs, that you can catch if you’re paying attention. Each one is good for a laugh. They try to offer them deadpan, but they’re having too much fun and occasionally a grin forces out at their own joke.
“Blue drag, you got my soul on fire. Oh I’ll never tire of that slow drag.”
The place is really rockin’, or hootin’, or ananny’n, or whatever the term would be. I’ll bet it’s kicking up the sawdust down the street. The Wiyos are giving it all and working up a sweat. The waitresses have all lined up along the rail behind the stage, arms draped over each other’s shoulders, swaying and dancing and smiling as one (there’s a melancholy in their joy though, I wonder if the end of the summer doesn’t mean some of them leaving for school, maybe not coming back). The crowd claps to the up beat though, and gets it right, and keeps it tight, and the band races in the spaces singing about Strawberry Wine (if it was on the menu, I’m sure it’d sell out). You bump me to get my attention, bringing up thumb and finger tips pinched together to gesture. Yeah, I have a pen, and some bits of note card, here.
At the end of the show, we make our way out to the door, waiting for everyone else who was sitting behind us. Didn’t manage to get a disc – one of the disadvantages to sitting up front is that sometimes they’re all sold out by the time you get to the table. The bands you’d most want to sit up front for are the ones most likely to be sold out when you get to the door. I’m going to have to come up with a better plan for that. It had gotten so warm inside with everybody packed in; it really makes it a shock to find how cold its gotten outside. I put my arm around you on the way to the car, wishing we’d parked closer.
“You’re always so warm.”
…Check it and see, I got a fever of a hundred and three, come on baby you can do more than dance,…
“Awful, just awful.”
Alright, I’ll scratch that one off the list then.
The car’s kept some heat in it. After I let you in, I go to the trunk and get out my sweatshirt for you. The windows start to fog up on the inside.
“Too bad about the B-n-B, you sure you’re going to be okay? How many beers did you have?”
Two, thanks for asking. I’m okay, a little tired, but I think I’ll make it. If I start to fade, I’ll ask you to drive. I look for something peppy to put on to keep us alert, and decide on my Best Of CD of Brett and his Old 97’s. At one point, it occurs to me that the road we’re on must be called Oppenheimer. Any coffee left in that thermos?
“A little, you want me to pour it for you?”
Bitter!
“Please what?”
No, not bitte, bitter
“It’s hard to tell the difference with your Northern Virginia accent.”
The coffee turns out to not be enough to keep me awake enough. I’d better pull over.
“Smooth. Too tired? We’ll have to pull over here. Maybe the car won’t start again and we’ll have to huddle together against the cold.”
No, really, you stay in here and stay warm, I just gotta breathe in some cold air and move around a bit and wake up.
You still get out, and look up, “Totally clear sky, crisp air, aren’t you going to point out any stars or constellations or nothing? It’s cold though, even in your sweatshirt, why don’t you come sit on the hood with me and wrap me up?”
Now who’s the smooth one? What? No, I’m not complaining. Hey! What? Truck pulling over right behind us. Dude, you could at least put your lights off, have a little understanding. Fine (“That was a good one, I think you’re starting to get the hang of it.” Thanks, I study with a master of the art.), if that’s how they’re going to be, let’s get going again.
About a half an hour later, there’s a sign for an overlook at the top of the next crest. We pull over again. It’s still going to be cold out.
“I’m counting on it – you’ll make sure I’m okay.”
I can’t believe it, another truck. Or is it the same truck? You didn’t used to date a trucker did you?
“Are we gonna start prying into who’s dated whom?”
Um ,no, probably not. Maybe we look like we’re trying to read. Everyone seems to think shining a light on us is necessary. This is ridiculous, let’s just keep going. They’re not following are they?
Here, this was to be the place, a little pull off from the road, a small dirt road. Pull along a few dozen feet and park at the base of a tree. Try again?
“Yeah, let’s”
Getting out this time, I reach across the roof to grab on and let myself stretch. I can see my breath. I press my forehead against the cold roof to try to relieve the dryness of my eyes. Another late night. Turn around to lean back over the edge of the roof and crack my upper back. You come aroung the car to stand next to me and lean back also.
“Thought you weren’t supposed to crack it like that?”
Who said that?
“I think I read it somewhere.”
It’s okay, I know what I’m doing.
You do, do you? Then why park under a tree for stargazing?”
Thought we might walk around a bit first, stretching my legs might help.
“It’s cold though, you want the sweatshirt back?”
I want to be cold, maybe even catch a shiver or two, shake me awake.
“It’s too cold to walk though, plus, here’s another truck to shine it’s brights on us.”
This is stupid, I’m gonna go talk to this driver.
“No, you’re not, let’s just get in and drive. We can come back out here again to see the stars.”
You’re right, if we go straight through from here, we should get back at about 2.
“Maybe I could set the coffee pot back again, you’d have time to come up and chat for a while.”
That’s a plan that just might fly, if I can keep this story together until then. I’m getting sleepy, and it’s starting to get a little choppy (“and repetitive, and surreal, what’s the thing with the trucks?” I don’t know, they just keep showing up.).
“I’m sorry the stargazing didn’t work out, I like doing that with you.”
Hmmm, Early AM, first Sunday of September, heading south, I might be able to conjure up a consolation or two.
About a half hour later, there they are. Unlit highway, dark sky, and the Aurigids (or are they the September Perseids?) streaking across the sky behind the windshield. Those are good for a wish. We get a good half hour of viewing as we continue heading in, getting more suburban and lit until we can’t tell which are meteors and which are glints from the streetlights. In Manassas, I almost run a red light, and pull over.
I can’t keep going any longer. Struggling to even keep my head up. Eyelids impossibly heavy. You better take over from here. I can’t finish, tried to fit in too much in one day.
“Not coming up then.”
Maybe next time (“You gonna give me that pen before you fall asleep? I can take it from here.” Okay, here you go, let’s see what you got.), or maybe I’ll dream it presently. (Hey, nice one. “Thanks, now lean up against the passenger window and drop off to sleep. I’ll take care of a few dreams for you, make sure I leave the pen with you after you drop off. Okay? Ulysses? Oh,…”)