I pottered down to the Jig and Reel to sit alone and transcribe strings parts. Not the most exquisite of evenings, I know, but I enjoy the work, even if it's tedious. I knew a couple friends of mine would be playing, and I planned to pop in on them and listen to a song or two. Wednesday nights aren't known for being outlandish, so I hunkered in an armchair by the door with my effects spread out around me looking like the semi-mobile office of a mad composer.
About forty-five minutes in - or, refusing to save face, thirty - I felt the mighty need to procrastinate, so I happily hopped up from my seat to answer it. Tim and Jodi were on stage, wailing away at old folk standards to the delight of a pair of full tables in the room, and in between songs, Tim asked me to come up on stage. Of course, having no idea what we would play together, I attempted to refuse, but the table full of ladies would none of it. They hollered me up onto the stage, where Jodi handed me her mandolin and took the bass. We ended up playing three songs, in between which I shared a small conversation with Tim and Jodi about my friends' work in Dundee and my efforts on their behalf. I wasn't even sure the dialogue got picked up by the mics. Heaven knows I didn't try to advertise. I was just answering Tim's question when he asked, "What are you into?" Then, after I walked off the stage from someone else's gig, the table full of ladies, who were all from Ohio if that makes a difference, began rooting through their purses and handing me cash for Bruce, Andy, and Sarah and their work in Dundee.
I didn't go to play a show, much less a benefit show, but I ended up playing both. It is said that the Lord works in mysterious ways. I might amend that he's also funny. All the best jokes, like all the best stories, are real.
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