5/2/13 - Bob Dylan and Wet Feet
Blogger's Note: I've known Jeremy Roberts since I was about 13 years old. Our relationship for the last 25+ years has varied somewhere between "good friends" and "very good friends." At times, he was the closest friend I had. I could fill several blog posts describing some of our exploits, all-night philosophical discussions, or any one of our unforgettable adventures. But this post isn't about Jeremy...
Stumbling through our teenage years together, I spent a lot of time at Jeremy's house. We would get some pizza and Doritos and stay up all night playing Nintendo or drawing comic books or watching a marathon of science fiction movies. His house was often the hub that attracted any teenage boy interested in skateboarding, role playing games, or rock 'n' roll. His parents somehow managed to tolerate all of this teenage angst like few parents could.
John and Debbie Roberts are their names. They are two of the most respectable people I know - active in the church and in the community. John once took myself and Jeremy out and taught us both to drive a manual transmission. They took us water skiing many times, to Current River, to Six Flags once. One shameful night, they were called to the Pope County Sheriff's Office where Jeremy and I had been taken after being caught with a case of beer at a cabin where we had been camping (we were only 16 and 17 - wish I could erase that night). I could fill a page listing the things they had done for us as we were growing up. The point is simply that they feel more like family than friends to me.
John Roberts is one of the best musicians that I personally know. Going to visit Jeremy growing up, it was never an unusual sight to see John with a guitar (or a mandolin or a banjo or etc....) and a harmonica neck rack playing some Beatles, or Paul Simon, or...well, it was no secret that John was a huge fan of Mr. Tambourine Man himself: Bob Dylan. (All bands, by the way, that I, too, really like).
When DJ called to inform me that Bob Dylan was going to be in Murray, I knew I'd be going as seeing Bob Dylan has been on my "bucket list" for quite some time. And the first person I thought of was John Roberts. So I shot Debbie a message on Facebook that he would be there on April 27. She went on to tell me that April 27, as fate would have it, would be the date of their 40th anniversary and that she was going to surprise John by getting tickets, but not telling him for as long as she could.
It had been a really bad week. I had been picking up a lot of shifts at work because we've had several people at the buffet unable to work due to vacations or injuries or illnesses. The entire community was going crazy with the usual hustle and bustle that comes with Quilter's Week. Many of these out-of-towner's would end up going to the casino for a bit of entertainment at night, and this extra business was all that our short-handed staff could handle. It was beginning to seem like I had no time off, no time to spend with Roman, no time to prepare for Amelia, and, dare I say it? No "me" time. I always cringe a little when I see that in a Facebook status update. It makes me think that what a person really means is no lazy time, because isn't that what "me" time really is?
I was physically exhausted, mentally spent, and spiritually empty. And, out-of-gas, the whole damn thing came to a head on one of my very precious days off.
Joanna and I decided for lunch we'd eat at this new Chinese place in Lone Oak: New Asia. The instant we get inside, Roman starts being a toddler (can you believe that?) and wants to play with this little, oriental cat that has one paw waving from his station next to the cash register. He throws an absolute fit and won't sit still. I tell Joanna to order the "Dinner for Two", and I'd take him to see Mr. Wavy Cat. At the cat, Roman is still restless; and, I can hear Joanna tell the waitress (after she finally makes it through the lunch rush and to our table) that she doesn't know what we want yet.
Now -- here's the point that the Psycho music starts playing:
I walk back to our table with Roman in my arms, and I tell Joanna we're going. Roman is acting up, Joanna missed our small window of ordering-opportunity, and I have ZERO patience. Joanna pleas that I just chill out, but I had reached that proverbial limit. I calmly walked to the car and waited until Joanna joined me and we left. We're arguing about how stupid all of that was: that I didn't have any more patience than that, that she couldn't just order a "DINNER FOR TWO!", and that Roman can't act any better than that in public. And, somewhere amid all that anxiety or arguing, I look back and as I'm about to scold Roman for acting the way he had, I see that look of nervous angst on his face and realize.. yeah, I gotta get away right now..
Joanna drops me off at the house; she and Roman continue on to a restaurant and shopping without me. I go inside and try to chill out.
A few days pass, and while I'm not in any better state of mind, at least I stay introverted for the next few days, mindful of how I act around my wife and son. At least until Saturday, April 27. The day of the concert.
I had put in for that day off, and I got it. Joanna took Roman to mom's. I slept in, ate lunch, and then slept some more. At 4, my friend Chad picked me up to take me to Murray and to the concert.
The drive there was a TORRENTIAL downpour! It was raining like crazy, and my stupid ass had worn the least water-proof shoes I own. We parked across campus where we met up with Chad's son (a student) and his friends. We walked quite a ways through the monstrous tempest; I spent a lot of time trying to skip over the puddles of water.. at least until I realized my feet were soaking wet, and, well hell, what's the point? No longer worried about avoiding the water, I embraced my wet feet and socks (I mean, hell, at least they were warm) and just walked right through any standing water with (would you believe it?) a real smile on my face.
Once we got inside and found our seats, I was greeted by an older lady that was sitting (shoulder-to-shoulder) next to me. She was just full of vigor and wit. Next to her was her cross-eyed friend that also said a lot, but I could never hear her over the crowd so I just nodded and smiled periodically. When this giant fellow sat in front of us and eclipsed our entire view of the stage, we just looked at each other and grimaced. So, I decided that, before the concert would start, that I'd try to find John and Debbie. I knew about where they'd be sitting, so off I went...
When I found them, I could tell that John was really excited. Debbie informed me that John had never found out that Bob Dylan was going to be in concert, she had told him that they were going to Murray to look at some antiques for their anniversary. When they entered the auditorium, John knew something was up, but he still didn't know who would be getting on stage. Finally, just minutes before I showed up, John joked that 'this certainly wouldn't be a Bob Dylan concert; not in Murray.' And then Debbie made the reveal. Well, let me tell you, that's one heck of a story; I hope someday Joanna and I will have a story like that for our 40th wedding anniversary. And John's excitement was contagious. I was already pretty excited, but now I had reached the realization that I was about to see Bob Dylan perform live. Debbie asked me to take their picture, and, of course, I did...
Shortly after that, the lights began to go dim. I made my way back to my seat to watch the opening act of the Wild Feathers (great band of vocal harmonies that might be described as a cross between the Eagles and Mumford & Sons).
After the opening act, the lights came back on for the intermission; and, the giant fellow in front of us got up. Miss Wit beside me joked (and hoped) that maybe he had found another seat. She asked me how long the intermission was, because she wanted to go smoke quickly. I said I wasn't sure, but I guessed about twenty minutes. She said it had better not be any longer than that or she'd kick my ass when she got back.
When she came back a few minutes later, the lights were still on (whew). And she was just a plethora of conversation. "Where you from? What's your name? Got any kids?" To which, I replied, "two sons and the first little girl in our family is on her way." And that lit up the Conversational Point light.
"Oh yeah? You know, I had seven brothers and I was the only girl," she began. "My dad and I were best friends. We'd go everywhere together. Fishing, camping... ..I went hunting with him when I was seven-months pregnant..."
She rambled on and part of me was listening; the other part was thinking, 'what the hell is she talking about? We're at a Bob Dylan concert for crying out loud...' Then, her eyes got distant...
"I didn't know it at the time, but my brothers put me on suicide watch when he passed away. They thought I'd just say the hell with it all, but, of course, I didn't. That's not what Daddy woulda wanted..."
and that jerked my attention strings. "You know," she began as she turned to make eye contact, "you're in for it, buddy boy. That little girl is going to be the apple of your eye; it'll change you."
With that, the lights started dimming. Mr. Giant in front of us was returning to his seat carrying a heaping pile of nachos complete with sour cream, jalapenos, melted cheese, and more.
"Well..." Miss Wit proclaimed (rather loudly), "now that's all we need. This fella's gonna sit here and get bigger..." The fella in front of us didn't say anything or turn around, and I know it was inappropriate for me to chuckle. But I did. To myself. And for longer than I should have. I guess I just felt giddy.
Bob Dylan walked on stage to the cheers and shouts of the audience-come-alive. I enjoyed the remainder of the show, sitting and standing along with the crowd... listening to Dylan's nasal narrative and poetic enunciation as he attempted to sing. I loved every bit of it and forgot all about my wet feet.
Now, I don't know if it was the extra rest I got that Saturday, or just getting away for a little while, maybe just not being at work, or maybe Bob Dylan somehow rejuvenated my soul with some of his insightful proclamations (although I doubt that was it, because he was difficult to understand).. ..or maybe it was the words of wisdom from Miss Wit (the nameless stranger).. but, my tank was filled again. I left that auditorium feeling ready for any of the challenges that might fall in my path.
Since that night, I've gone bike riding; I've played with Roman a lot (teaching him to throw a frisbee); and, I've turned down the "anxiety knob" in my mind. Apparently, sometimes, I do need a little "me" time.. or maybe just some Bob Dylan...
Blogger's Note: I've known Jeremy Roberts since I was about 13 years old. Our relationship for the last 25+ years has varied somewhere between "good friends" and "very good friends." At times, he was the closest friend I had. I could fill several blog posts describing some of our exploits, all-night philosophical discussions, or any one of our unforgettable adventures. But this post isn't about Jeremy...
John and Debbie Roberts are their names. They are two of the most respectable people I know - active in the church and in the community. John once took myself and Jeremy out and taught us both to drive a manual transmission. They took us water skiing many times, to Current River, to Six Flags once. One shameful night, they were called to the Pope County Sheriff's Office where Jeremy and I had been taken after being caught with a case of beer at a cabin where we had been camping (we were only 16 and 17 - wish I could erase that night). I could fill a page listing the things they had done for us as we were growing up. The point is simply that they feel more like family than friends to me.
John Roberts is one of the best musicians that I personally know. Going to visit Jeremy growing up, it was never an unusual sight to see John with a guitar (or a mandolin or a banjo or etc....) and a harmonica neck rack playing some Beatles, or Paul Simon, or...well, it was no secret that John was a huge fan of Mr. Tambourine Man himself: Bob Dylan. (All bands, by the way, that I, too, really like).
When DJ called to inform me that Bob Dylan was going to be in Murray, I knew I'd be going as seeing Bob Dylan has been on my "bucket list" for quite some time. And the first person I thought of was John Roberts. So I shot Debbie a message on Facebook that he would be there on April 27. She went on to tell me that April 27, as fate would have it, would be the date of their 40th anniversary and that she was going to surprise John by getting tickets, but not telling him for as long as she could.
Now, I don't want to make this little blog of mine too gimmicky, but won't you tap play here? I promise not to make a habit of this; but, I thought this might add some appropriate musical ambiance for you to listen to while you finish the remainder of this week's post.
It had been a really bad week. I had been picking up a lot of shifts at work because we've had several people at the buffet unable to work due to vacations or injuries or illnesses. The entire community was going crazy with the usual hustle and bustle that comes with Quilter's Week. Many of these out-of-towner's would end up going to the casino for a bit of entertainment at night, and this extra business was all that our short-handed staff could handle. It was beginning to seem like I had no time off, no time to spend with Roman, no time to prepare for Amelia, and, dare I say it? No "me" time. I always cringe a little when I see that in a Facebook status update. It makes me think that what a person really means is no lazy time, because isn't that what "me" time really is?
I was physically exhausted, mentally spent, and spiritually empty. And, out-of-gas, the whole damn thing came to a head on one of my very precious days off.
Joanna and I decided for lunch we'd eat at this new Chinese place in Lone Oak: New Asia. The instant we get inside, Roman starts being a toddler (can you believe that?) and wants to play with this little, oriental cat that has one paw waving from his station next to the cash register. He throws an absolute fit and won't sit still. I tell Joanna to order the "Dinner for Two", and I'd take him to see Mr. Wavy Cat. At the cat, Roman is still restless; and, I can hear Joanna tell the waitress (after she finally makes it through the lunch rush and to our table) that she doesn't know what we want yet.
Now -- here's the point that the Psycho music starts playing:
I walk back to our table with Roman in my arms, and I tell Joanna we're going. Roman is acting up, Joanna missed our small window of ordering-opportunity, and I have ZERO patience. Joanna pleas that I just chill out, but I had reached that proverbial limit. I calmly walked to the car and waited until Joanna joined me and we left. We're arguing about how stupid all of that was: that I didn't have any more patience than that, that she couldn't just order a "DINNER FOR TWO!", and that Roman can't act any better than that in public. And, somewhere amid all that anxiety or arguing, I look back and as I'm about to scold Roman for acting the way he had, I see that look of nervous angst on his face and realize.. yeah, I gotta get away right now..
Joanna drops me off at the house; she and Roman continue on to a restaurant and shopping without me. I go inside and try to chill out.
A few days pass, and while I'm not in any better state of mind, at least I stay introverted for the next few days, mindful of how I act around my wife and son. At least until Saturday, April 27. The day of the concert.
I had put in for that day off, and I got it. Joanna took Roman to mom's. I slept in, ate lunch, and then slept some more. At 4, my friend Chad picked me up to take me to Murray and to the concert.
The drive there was a TORRENTIAL downpour! It was raining like crazy, and my stupid ass had worn the least water-proof shoes I own. We parked across campus where we met up with Chad's son (a student) and his friends. We walked quite a ways through the monstrous tempest; I spent a lot of time trying to skip over the puddles of water.. at least until I realized my feet were soaking wet, and, well hell, what's the point? No longer worried about avoiding the water, I embraced my wet feet and socks (I mean, hell, at least they were warm) and just walked right through any standing water with (would you believe it?) a real smile on my face.
Once we got inside and found our seats, I was greeted by an older lady that was sitting (shoulder-to-shoulder) next to me. She was just full of vigor and wit. Next to her was her cross-eyed friend that also said a lot, but I could never hear her over the crowd so I just nodded and smiled periodically. When this giant fellow sat in front of us and eclipsed our entire view of the stage, we just looked at each other and grimaced. So, I decided that, before the concert would start, that I'd try to find John and Debbie. I knew about where they'd be sitting, so off I went...
When I found them, I could tell that John was really excited. Debbie informed me that John had never found out that Bob Dylan was going to be in concert, she had told him that they were going to Murray to look at some antiques for their anniversary. When they entered the auditorium, John knew something was up, but he still didn't know who would be getting on stage. Finally, just minutes before I showed up, John joked that 'this certainly wouldn't be a Bob Dylan concert; not in Murray.' And then Debbie made the reveal. Well, let me tell you, that's one heck of a story; I hope someday Joanna and I will have a story like that for our 40th wedding anniversary. And John's excitement was contagious. I was already pretty excited, but now I had reached the realization that I was about to see Bob Dylan perform live. Debbie asked me to take their picture, and, of course, I did...
Shortly after that, the lights began to go dim. I made my way back to my seat to watch the opening act of the Wild Feathers (great band of vocal harmonies that might be described as a cross between the Eagles and Mumford & Sons).
After the opening act, the lights came back on for the intermission; and, the giant fellow in front of us got up. Miss Wit beside me joked (and hoped) that maybe he had found another seat. She asked me how long the intermission was, because she wanted to go smoke quickly. I said I wasn't sure, but I guessed about twenty minutes. She said it had better not be any longer than that or she'd kick my ass when she got back.
When she came back a few minutes later, the lights were still on (whew). And she was just a plethora of conversation. "Where you from? What's your name? Got any kids?" To which, I replied, "two sons and the first little girl in our family is on her way." And that lit up the Conversational Point light.
"Oh yeah? You know, I had seven brothers and I was the only girl," she began. "My dad and I were best friends. We'd go everywhere together. Fishing, camping... ..I went hunting with him when I was seven-months pregnant..."
She rambled on and part of me was listening; the other part was thinking, 'what the hell is she talking about? We're at a Bob Dylan concert for crying out loud...' Then, her eyes got distant...
"I didn't know it at the time, but my brothers put me on suicide watch when he passed away. They thought I'd just say the hell with it all, but, of course, I didn't. That's not what Daddy woulda wanted..."
and that jerked my attention strings. "You know," she began as she turned to make eye contact, "you're in for it, buddy boy. That little girl is going to be the apple of your eye; it'll change you."
With that, the lights started dimming. Mr. Giant in front of us was returning to his seat carrying a heaping pile of nachos complete with sour cream, jalapenos, melted cheese, and more.
"Well..." Miss Wit proclaimed (rather loudly), "now that's all we need. This fella's gonna sit here and get bigger..." The fella in front of us didn't say anything or turn around, and I know it was inappropriate for me to chuckle. But I did. To myself. And for longer than I should have. I guess I just felt giddy.
Bob Dylan walked on stage to the cheers and shouts of the audience-come-alive. I enjoyed the remainder of the show, sitting and standing along with the crowd... listening to Dylan's nasal narrative and poetic enunciation as he attempted to sing. I loved every bit of it and forgot all about my wet feet.
Now, I don't know if it was the extra rest I got that Saturday, or just getting away for a little while, maybe just not being at work, or maybe Bob Dylan somehow rejuvenated my soul with some of his insightful proclamations (although I doubt that was it, because he was difficult to understand).. ..or maybe it was the words of wisdom from Miss Wit (the nameless stranger).. but, my tank was filled again. I left that auditorium feeling ready for any of the challenges that might fall in my path.
Since that night, I've gone bike riding; I've played with Roman a lot (teaching him to throw a frisbee); and, I've turned down the "anxiety knob" in my mind. Apparently, sometimes, I do need a little "me" time.. or maybe just some Bob Dylan...
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