The Key
I took my old friend, the ‘65 Gibson, out for a spin last night, new strings and all. A picker’s circle, which has to be one of the best inventions of all time. A group of people sitting in a circle singing songs, one after another, for friends who listen and applaud. There may be better ways to spend an evening, but I’m hard pressed to think of one. My friend seemed to enjoy it, too; the old, warm wood gave off some good vibrations.
In addition to the music, we ate and drank and had lots of convivial conversation. It reminded me once again how nice it is to have new friends flow into your life to keep the heart beating with anticipation and pleasure. And luckily friends are not a zero-sum game, the old friends are still there, and they sometimes hook up with the new friends, and the music flows, and the laughter and smiles wash over you, and life just feels really fine.
Of course, there’s still the tiny buzzkill of going home to an empty house, but I put it off for a bit last night by staying with our hosts and driving home in the daylight. At some point, I imagine I’ll get used to it, the long. lonely drive, but that seems a far piece down the road and as long as I have friends generous enough to offer me a spare bed, I see no need to press the issue. That seems the key to healing, all in good time.