A bass in the living room

Everything was in place tonight for the Salem Old Time Jam. Our new restaurant host, Howling Wolf, seemed to be pleased with us two weeks ago and had welcomed our return for this evening's session. I had sent out an email to our group, reminding them of the day and time. I had asked a strong player to choose and lead a "tune of the week" and had sent out a recording so that members could practice it. Half an hour before the jam began, a friend stopped by my house to pick up a fiddle bow she had left behind earlier and mentioned that Howling Wolf looked a little dark. I jumped in my car, raced over to investigate, and found a scribbled sign on the door: "Closed for renovations." As luck would have it, my upstairs neighbor is away on vacation, so I figured I could get away with an impromptu jam session at home. I taped a note to the door of Howling Wolf, stating that the session had moved to my home, and darted back to pick up the living room in the hopes of accommodating our growing jam in my small condo. Maintaining a healthy sense of priorities, I also stopped on the way to procure some white wine, of the cheap boxed variety.

Seven folks gathered in my living room and the jam went on as usual. The instruments ranged from mandolin to stand up bass, which we somehow squeezed between my piano and coffee table, and the snacks ranged from stale animal crackers to caramel popcorn. Sadly, I realize that others did not see the note on Howling Wolf's door or could not find my home and I feel terrible for the inconvenience.

Now, I enjoy journaling and from time to time. Sometimes I read over my old entries and am always intrigued to see what I wrote in years gone by. Recently I read something that I wrote four years ago, when I had just moved to Salem. I had tried some sort of cheesy exercise where you are supposed to imagine things that you wish you had in your life, no matter how outlandish they seem, and list them freely. Just writing about them, the author had assured, is the first step to manifesting your dreams. Right. The hidden dream that revealed itself upon my page that day was a vision of a room full of all sorts of acoustic instruments, knowing how to play them, and having tons of people to playing with me. At the time I played classical piano and had no plans to pick up another instrument or learn traditional folk music.

So thank you members of Salem Old Time Jam, and thank you to the Howling Wolf managers for planning renovations without informing us, for a lesson in flexibility and for filling my home with all sorts of acoustic instruments and the beautiful people to play them.