May 14, 2008

11:51 a.m.

Better Day

Hard evening yesterday, better today. The band has rediscovered the agony and arduousness of recording. But plans for the big, double Semicentennial birthday bash proceed. I got a message from the Eggman yesterday that his alpha male (guinea hens, we're talking) died, apparently protecting the flock. I haven't had a chance to talk with him yet so I don't know what happened, but he knows these birds (40 or more) by name and personality and it was like losing a pet. Wes and I offered to go over and do a little memorial service for him last night, but we all played phone tag and the last message I got from him was that he was packing to go out early this morning for something and was rushed, and also too emotional to handle a gathering just yet. Maybe we'll do it next week or something.

Bless you, Big Red.

As we didn't hear from Eggy in time, Wes and I went out for a huge hike after dinner, until even MY dogs were barkin'. He laughed that last year he was on my case for not going to the gym enough -- that was in the first flush of romantic exercise love, when he first joined -- and now he says he hasn't been since December. But he just had a physical and things are looking very good with his health, though his doctor said he needs to exercise more. So he's re-motivated. I like this state forest; I think it'll become my new walking/running place. The other outside, woodsy road I used last year is a field trial area, so there are certain months when it's not a good idea to gad about there unless one is wearing lots of orange. The road we walked is packed dirt with a little layer of fine gravel, so it's soft enough for running but requires some work for the feet to get traction in the softer upper layer. Not as hard as running on a beach. And it's FLAT.

Wes told me a poignant story about when he was in his early 20s. He was living in Maine, renting an abandoned farmhouse with no running water for $20 a month. This was in the late 60s. He loved this place so much. It was on many acres and very private, with beautiful views of surrounding valleys. He said he could have bought this property then for $20,000. But he didn't have twenty grand, and he wanted to move to the city to make his musical fortune. So he and his partner did just that, and he always thought he would come back to Maine and buy that (or some similar) place and have this peaceful, bucolic life.

But fame came quickly to them. They got a record contract, Bruce Springsteen was opening for THEM, they were opening for Simon and Garfunkel, and there was money pouring down from heaven. "I snorted that farmhouse, and probably ten others," he said sadly, "before I woke up and said, 'What the hell am I doing?' " So he never bought his Maine house. And now it's so much more expensive and there isn't a nest egg to invest, and he's over 60. My heart broke for him, sitting there in the car at my house, waiting to go inside and having this last thread of conversation before parting. It's not out of the realm of possibility that he could still find his house. I want to believe that everyone can find their house. One thing this getting older is making me realize is that there isn't an age limit on achieving dreams. Thank goodness.