Last night was my last regular class of the semester. Tomorrow that’ll start sinking in. Or, perhaps, next Wednesday or so. And that feeling will be moved right out by the impending need to fixate on the spring term. Continual relaxation will be allowed for approximately 48 seconds on Wednesday morning, sometime between the hours of 3 and 4 a.m.
Monday I will be in a classroom, but only to help. No lecture offered. And finals begin on Wednesday. Grading will be done, roughly, between now and the next notable shift in continental drift.
But, hey, no lecture notes to write. No slides to change or create. Few things to monitor online. Eventually.
Today’s part in the celebration of all of this was to do chores around the house this morning, wade through some grading around midday, and go on a bike ride this afternoon.
It seemed a pleasant enough afternoon to hit the road, and so I did. Long tights over bib shorts, wind vest over long sleeve shirt. Real gloves, ear muffs. You can almost dress warmly if you put enough on.
I went about 12 miles to the county seat and got, I think, all of the markers along that road. This is the intersection of the historic district and the modern downtown. In fact, they are the same thing. In that two-block area I got, I think, 14 markers today. (So I have, now, enough on hand to get through the real cold when I’ll be riding indoors, but need material for the Wednesday feature.) There are about 19 more in that town. The rest I’ll probably find in the spring or next summer. And, somehow along the way, I hope the math of it all makes sense. Supposedly there are 115 markers in the county. I have shared 37 of them with you, I just mentioned another 23. I don’t see how there are 75 still out there. Some have been removed, so it’s really not 115, but the rest … well, I’ve surely miscounted. Badly. And more than once.
But you don’t think about that while you’re out there. The being there is what takes time. It’s all about trying to get across the road safely, being efficient, getting a good shot of the location, maybe notice something that isn’t always seen. Sometimes people want to talk. Today a woman asked me if I was sightseeing. Then she asked me for five dollars. Inflation has hit panhandlers, too, I suppose.
Getting to a location is easy. Getting back is fast — if you don’t take a wrong turn, which I often do. This impacts getting back home before the darkness falls.
I failed at that today, even though I only missed one road today. I was sprinting for the last stop sign on the way back in, about two miles or so to go, when I gave in and turned on my headlight. I was sure it would be dark. It was. I was sure it would be cold. Almost. I was sure I would be late. I was not.
Got cleaned up. We had dinner, and then we headed out for a show.
When bands you love come within 30 miles of you, you’re duty-bound to go to the show. And so we got out the map and headed to a place called the Scottish Rite Auditorium, which was having a wedding downstairs, and a folk rock ‘n’ roll show upstairs, simultaneously.
Be Steadwell opened for Emily and Amy. Creative, nice voice, quite funny. Steadwell said, a few times, how thrilling it was to open for the Indigo Girls. And then they brought her back on stage later. Amy complimented her for the audience participation part of this song, and for the song itself. It was a simple and sincere and sweet comment about that funny little love song. It was a “I know exactly what you meant. I’ve been there, too,” comment. You could hear the admiration and the understanding that came with it.
Something going on at the wedding was giving some feedback in their ear monitors, and the suggestion was made that all 1,000 of us or so go downstairs and wish the happy copy well, with two singers from Georgia. This would have been a good time, but the concert was better.
And then the tour dog stole the show.
All of that is in here, but mostly this is a quick Lyris Hung video, because I never show off her violin enough, and one of the things this particular audience was caught up in was her string work. So there’s a real fine solo in here. And then the dog part takes place at 5:45, if you’re interested.
It started because of a conversation about the band’s road crew digressed into a discussion about the dog’s genetic makeup. They had a friendly wager, tested the DNA and everyone was wrong. But, Amy said, the money they put in the pot all went to an animal clinic. And so, later, someone brought out the dog, because stage shows, it turns out, need pets.
Look at this dog.
They’re missing an opportunity here. They should do this for every show. At the merch tables, they should be selling whatever sweater the dog was wearing. It’d be a popular product.
It was a mild audience. The Friday-night-just-out-of-work crowd, maybe. But the performances were good, we had a great time, and we left singing about picking the best greens in the garden.
Oh, and The Yankee realized she’d been singing the lyrics to an Indigo Girls song incorrectly. It only took her the better part of 30 years and a dozen or so shows to notice. But that’s a different story.
