Jana and Dan

Several months ago I was introduced to the director of an art center by email. The director, Jana and I corresponded by email to plan out an exhibit and even by email I knew I liked her energy. 

 A few weeks later I met Jana for the first time in person. I drove to Public Works Art Center just before the state mask mandates were lifted and talked to her about the gallery while we both tried to read body language through our masks. She was very positive and easy to like. 

 When I arrived to start my installation a few weeks later, the masks were gone and it was easier to read Jana’s smiling face. She was so pleasant and easy to work with and she was a source of positive feedback that really helped keep me working hard through the long days and nights. The bonus was meeting her husband Dan while I was working one night. Dan came in to do some work and we talked a little in the gallery while I vandalized the walls. He was also easy to like and it was clear that everyone in town adored him. 

 That exhibit dovetailed into a cool little concert set up by Dan, followed immediately by the super-intense weekend installation of a permanent mural in a stairwell. Dan was instrumental in helping set up the scaffolding and Jana continued to be a source of helpful pep talks. Our conversations helped provide some insight into their lives and I learned that the light they give off outwardly was just a part of who they are on the inside. Both are wonderful humans. 

 We all connected through Instagram and stayed in contact a bit over the next few months. There would be a text message from time to time and one day in class I got a message from Jana asking if I’d be interested in showing at Redux Contemporary Art Center in Charleston. A friend had contacted her asking for artist suggestions and Jana was kind enough to throw out my name. By noon that day it was official and about 30 seconds after I officially agreed to the solo show, panic set in when I realized I had sold several of the drawings that were in the original show. I started counting in my head. Another wave of panic rolled over me as I realized there were several more sculptures and drawings I wouldn’t be able to use because they were in other exhibits. A tiny bead of sweat rolled down my forehead. My plans for the next 4 weeks immediately changed to work, work, and work. 

 I started turning out new drawings as fast as my Sharpies could draw. I set aside full days to make new sculptures and those also just seemed to flow out of me. Soon I had 7 new drawings and 4 new sculptures but even that wasn’t going to be enough. I needed one more large sculpture. 

 There’s this one sculpture that has plagued me for about 15 years. I’ve never been happy with it and I keep cutting off parts of it and trying to turn those into other sculptures. A part of that sculpture became a gun sculpture about 2 years ago but my interest in that one fizzled before I was able to solve it. I saw it sitting in my studio and decided I had to figure it out for this show. For the next several days I focused on that sculpture in my head. I knew vaguely what it was about but I didn’t know exactly what story it was going to tell. 

 One morning I got to my office early enough to run to the campus Starbucks. Kayana let me have one of the giant ceramic mugs for my coffee so I sat down and gathered myself before class. I drew a little in my sketchbook and then pulled out my phone. Jana had just posted some things to her story and I sat there watching her videos that explained what a traumatic day she and Dan had experienced. The meat of the story is this: Their car was stolen from their driveway with some important belongings inside. While the police were no help, Jana and Dan were able to use the internet to track the location of the car to a nearby town and they had a police officer meet them where the stolen car was now parked. 

 That part was easy to sympathize with. I felt terrible for them. Such good people having a tough thing happen to them. But then this happened… The police officer got someone to the door of the house. A young lady with visible tattoos denied being the car thief, but with a stolen car in your driveway, you’re pretty screwed. The car and the belongings were returned safely to Jana and Dan and the police officer asked them to press charges so the lady could be arrested. 

 It’s easy to see what would happen next. Charges would be brought against the lady and she’d be jailed. She’d be angry and would have some financial problems associated with being arrested, jailed, and put on trial. This is where we tend to think that the judicial system “works” by being oppressive towards people who break the law, causing them to come to the epiphany that they should change their ways. That somehow the financial needs they had that steered them toward theft would be magically transformed after some time in jail and they’d return to society corrected and ready to become productive members of the community. I imagine it would also feel sort of “just” to have someone arrested who stole your car from your driveway. A little revenge high knowing they were going to jail. 

 But that’s not what happened next. Jana and Dan decided to refuse to press charges. In her video, Jana offered an explanation that stuck with me. She said they hoped forgiveness and love would be louder than jail. 

 Right? 

 I was leveled. 

 I am a Christian and have been around “good Christian people” all my life. Sure, I’ve seen and known just as many bad ones as you have, but I’m not talking about those. Not the ones who are after your money. Not the ones who will run you off the road and flip you off on their way to church in their giant SUV. Not the ones who push for your sins to be outlawed and punished while theirs go unnoticed because they are more socially acceptable. I’m talking about real followers of the God who said He was “love”. The one who said that people in the world would know His followers because they would be love in the world. I know some of those people. I have some of them in my family. Some of the most kind, gentle, and generous people on this planet. 

 And yet, I don’t know a single person who I think would be willing to do what Jana and Dan did. 

And for all my talk of kindness, what would I have done? Could I have done what they did if it had been suggested to me? Possibly, but would I have thought of it on my own? I have to say no. 

 I think I held my phone for a few more minutes completely blown away by this act of real love. When I started to realize I was conscious again I put my phone down and started recording these events in my sketchbook. As I wrote, I knew exactly what the sculpture was going to look like now. I saw colors, sizes, forms, and even the arrangement in my head. All of it was going to be a ton of work but that really didn’t matter. It needed to be done now. 

 Part of the process of finishing this sculpture involved cutting out 163 steel hearts and grinding them smooth and perfect. This was a horrible and tedious process that lasted for days. I would spend every idle moment at school and at home grinding hearts. My fingers lost feeling in the fingertips. My arms would cramp so much that I couldn’t hold the grinder or the hearts any longer and I’d have to stop to shake it out every few minutes. During all of these hours, I was actively thinking about Jana and Dan’s decision to not press charges. I thought about my spiritual beliefs and my values. I thought about how I could be love in the world in a similar way. 

 The sculpture turned out to be an abstracted pistol about 5 feet long painted white. The barrel of the gun is folded back as if Elmer Fudd had been arguing with Buggs Bunny about rabbit season. The end of the barrel is capped with a star and then scattered on the ground in a spiral around the gun form is 143 steel hearts in red, yellow, blue, and silver metallic glitter (cast in resin). The hearts had to be painted in multiple coats on both sides so there was quite a bit of waiting involved in finishing the sculpture so it could be packed up for delivery. During every part of the waiting, I was thinking about what the sculpture meant to me and about its inspiration. This is when I realized the title of the sculpture would be “Jana & Dan” to honor the level of love they send out into the world every single day. 

 I never saw the whole sculpture completely together until the day of the opening reception. I placed the gun and had my assistant set out all the hearts a few times in a spiral to get the spacing right. After some final touches, it was ready just a couple of hours before the reception began. When the title block was placed, my new friend Cara (the director of Redux) walked over to see it and she noticed the title. She smiled and asked if Jana and Dan knew about that yet. I told her no and asked her not to say anything. I knew they were planning to attend the reception and I wanted it to be a surprise. 

 When they did arrive we greeted each other and talked for a while. They looked around and eventually Jana walked over to see the new sculpture. She noticed the title almost immediately and said “No you did not!”. Then she told Dan to go check it out. They both walked over and when Dan saw the title both of their faces were perfect. I was a little slow with my camera but I did get a photo of them near that moment. It was great. 

Jana and Dan with "Jana & Dan"

 I still think about what they chose to do. I still think about the line “We hope forgiveness and love will be louder than jail”. I want to learn to love like that. 

 This sculpture is in perfect context with the rest of the exhibit “Even When It’s Dark”. Many of the drawings and sculptures relate to our time in quarantine and our couple of years now in a world gripped by a pandemic. Many of us have questioned what it means to live in community and perhaps we’ve more carefully considered who we choose to surround ourselves with. So many of the narratives in this exhibit deal with love of all kinds and how we interact with others in our relationships. 

 The sculpture “Jana & Dan” tells the story of how things can be intended for negative purposes but can be interrupted, even disrupted by love. It reminds me that in the face of a news cycle that proclaims that the world is completely screwed, there is hope for change. You, me, we are that hope.

dad jokes

It was 1982 and I was 10.  The walls of the kitchen were light brown paneling and the whole family was sitting around our large, dark brown, oval kitchen table.  All of us except my oldest brother who had a "religious" exemption.  

It was fall and we started the day much earlier than any 10 year old prefers to start his Saturday by getting up and driving to a small grove of pecan trees to “pick up” pecans.  I don’t remember why we went to this place each year, but the tree owners must have been friends of relatives or something.  We’d walk around under the large trees gathering as many pecans as we could manage to carry back to the car in large paper grocery bags.  Picking up pecans wasn’t exactly what I would call manual labor, but it got boring after about 30 seconds.  Still, the hours of stooping over and carrying heavy bags was nothing compared to the hell that certainly awaited me that evening.  

Once we carried the nutty bags inside our house from the car, I would try to sneak away to play while my mom cooked dinner and my dad rounded up the pecan cracker.  Once I was called to dinner, or supper as we called it, there would be no escape – mental or otherwise.  The plates would be cleared, the table wiped, and we’d be told to remain in our seats.  My dad would sit at the head of the table and operate the pecan cracker, a crazy contraption fabricated out of solid wood, a couple of metal pieces, and rubber bands.  I’m not making that up.  If I remember correctly, this thing worked off of rubber band power.  With a large bag of pecans sitting beside his chair, my dad would take a pecan, place it in the metal cradle, pull back another metal piece, and the rubber bands would slam the piece into the pecan, cracking it’s shell.  Pieces of shell would fly off and the debris would start to accumulate.  One by one, dad would make his way through several bags, placing the cracked pecans in a larger bin on the table.  He’d get a bit of a head start before the rest of us started the finger torturing task of picking the pecan pieces carefully out of the shells.  My mom, my middle brother, and I would spend the entire evening doing this.  

Al Gore had not yet invented the internet in 1982 and if you’re a child of the internet it will be difficult for you to imagine how we passed the time back in the day.  Our television set was a console TV in the living room, too heavy to move.  We were just advanced enough to have a smaller second TV on a little rolling cart.  On this night there was a World Series game happening and back then you cared about things like that even if your team wasn’t involved.  Dad had plugged the TV in and wheeled it around the corner so we could see the game while we suffered.

For a very creative and energetic 10 year old, the suffering was partially mental, knowing I had to sit there and do this menial task for several hours.  But there was also a physical aspect to the suffering.  After a few minutes of trying to pick the pecans out of the jagged little shells, your fingers would start to sting.  They’d turn red and irritated as the shells turned into little knives that slowly carved away 16 layers of epidermis through the night.  My oldest brother was in college but was home for the weekend.  I was angry that he wasn’t forced to work so we could suffer as a family.  When he breezed through on his way out somewhere infinitely more fun, it was suggested that he help out.  Not taking it seriously he said that he couldn’t tear up his fingers because he was in architecture school and needed his fingers in perfect condition to draw.  I couldn’t believe my intelligent parents fell for that.  I declared that I was also an artist but I was promptly told to sit back down and get to work.

While the rest of us labored in the 9th circle of hell, sporadic conversations would develop naturally.  I’m sure we talked about school and relatives but often my dad would start talking about his school.  He was a teacher at our school district’s vocational school and he’d tell us about the usual gripes before eventually getting into the funny things he’d do to his students in his classes.  He was fond of pranks and when he wasn’t pranking his peers, he was pranking his students.  He would tell us funny things that his students did and he’d tell us funny things he did to his students.  One of my favorite stories was when he was teaching welding he would focus on safety because of the dangerous nature of some of the welding gases.  While students were doing their welding exercises inside their individual booths, dad would fill up balloons with acetylene gas and walk by and drop them over the welding curtains.  Immediately a welding spark would hit the balloon and there would be a small explosion, scaring the living daylights out of the welding student.  This was, of course, an important educational experience that the students would never forget, but it was also just great entertainment for my dad.  Then later, at the pecan session, it was entertainment for us.  

Dad loved telling stories and jokes.  Once he got started and had us laughing, he was unstoppable.  One story led to another as the uncracked pecan bags began to dwindle.  We didn’t notice because we were laughing so hard and begging for more stories.  These stories were like Legos.  One stacked on top of another all night as dad built this amazing tower of joy for us.  

I didn’t realize at 10 how important this communication was.  I was learning who my dad was outside of my experience with him.  There were stories about his work-life and these always seemed to progress into stories from his childhood.  It was fun to imagine my dad, this larger-than-life man who could do anything, as a child.  He told us about growing up with several siblings in a life before regular access to electricity.  He told us about being jealous of kids who came from money and how he convinced one little snobby kid to ride on a pine tree.  I really loved hearing him tell this story because it was so visual for me.  He and his brothers would climb small pine trees and go up high enough that their combined weight would bend the tree over to the ground.  Then two of them would jump off sending the other one on a crazy ride.  The tree would right itself immediately and the goal was to hang on tight enough so you didn’t get sent flying across the field.  When the punk kid came around one day, my dad talked him into riding the tree.  Dad and others bent the tree over to the ground and the boy climbed on.  All the McAbees jumped off without telling the kid about the importance of hanging on tightly.  I think I remember that one ending in some broken bones.  A bummer for the rich kid but hilariously funny to me.  

Almost all of dad’s stories ended in laughter.  Mixed in with the stories were jokes.  Silly jokes, corny jokes, dirty jokes.  My dad worked with a lot of people who shared jokes with him.  He also had his own welding business after school and on weekends where he encountered all sorts of people.  One of the most effective ways of building rapport with these people was sharing jokes.  Dad would toss a few out and most people would respond with all the funny jokes they knew.  He collected these jokes and traded them as currency.  A quiet moment?  Jokes.  Feeling awkward?  Jokes.  Not sure how to relate to a customer?  Jokes.  Stuck on a bus with church people you don’t know?  Jokes.  Trapped at a pecan shelling table for hours?  Jokes.

Some people just can’t tell a joke.  You know the ones.  They use too many words, they get the timing wrong, or they start laughing.  Some people do all the things correctly but they’re still just not funny joke tellers.  My dad was an Olympic class joke teller.  Perfect wording, perfect timing, and a perfect little smile after the audience started laughing.  He could make you laugh at the corniest joke and he could get away with the most off-color joke.  At the pecan table the really good ones would have my mom objecting with a loud “Louis!” while my brother and I erupted with laughter. 

When people talk about “dad jokes” these days I feel a bit offended.  I know this is a phrase used to describe lame jokes told by a lame dad trying to relate.  I get it.  I’m just sorry y’all didn’t have really funny dads.  Dad jokes to me are the ones that had you laughing so hard you couldn’t stop.  The jokes that stack up one after another until your eyes squint so hard that tears stream down your cheeks.  The jokes that you beg to be told again and again.  The jokes that make you completely forget that your fingers are raw and that you still have another bag of pecans to shell before you can go to bed.  

good things

Last week I checked my email and found an automated message indicating one of my pals had posted a new blog. I guess Facebook and Instagram have sort of changed how we think of blogging but this was a “real” blog. The kind where the writer sits at a keyboard with both hands and types out a longer form collection of thoughts. There may also be a photo or two, but the words are sort of the point. The pal was Kasha (pronounced with a long A, then a short A), a running friend I found through social media. Kasha is a run streaker coming up fast on her 5 year runniversary and also a southerner. (I identify with most regular runners but even more strongly with someone used to running through the soupy southern humidity.) Kasha is also very intelligent and very encouraging so she’s a good friend to have. It had been a while since I remembered reading her blog posts so I took a couple of seconds to email her and let her know that I enjoyed the update. She responded and indicated that while she often has thoughts worthy of sharing, she struggles to actually sit down and type them out for a post. I read her email sitting in my makeshift office (long story) and it immediately sent me into deep thoughts about why we put off doing things. 

I have another long distance friend, a very talented and creative person who shared recently that she is struggling to practice her art. I’ve known this person for a good while and I’ve seen videos of her solo performances that left me in absolute awe. This is the kind of talent and skill that you instantly become jealous of when you witness it and you think “if I could do that, I’d do it all the time!”. These videos have made me smile, laugh, and have even changed my mood. When you have the power to produce something so sublime, so beautiful, what could prevent you from doing it? 

I made a lot of new drawings in 2020. Probably somewhere near 24 or 25 things I’d call “real drawings”. These are larger pieces and not the little butts or goofy things I draw each week or for studio sales. Real drawings I’d send to a gallery to represent my creative work. I slowed down a bit over the winter break and coming into 2021 I started and finished one more drawing to include with my pandemic related series. In the 8 months since I finished that drawing I had a couple of shows and did some things, but I didn’t start a new drawing. There were days I’d feel like I wanted to draw. I’d walk into my studio and see the pile of nonsense on my drawing table and I’d walk back out. Other days I’d just avoid the studio altogether and be busy doing other things. Some nights I even sat my butt on the couch and watched 10 seasons of “Friends”.

I enjoy drawing. I enjoy letting people see my drawings, hearing their reactions to them, and engaging in conversations about them. It’s actually one of my favorite things. So why did I wait 8 months before clearing off my table and starting a new drawing?

I read Kasha’s email and sat in my chair at school thinking about this. If I enjoy eating chocolate and get some sort of pleasure from it, would I walk past a chocolate bar for 8 months and just say, “Nah, not really feeling that today”?

The thing that makes it worse for me is that part of my everyday job is to tell students to get to work. To tell them that you can’t procrastinate or sit around waiting for inspiration to visit you like the tooth fairy. You have to get up and get to work even when, ESPECIALLY WHEN you don’t want to work. And yet…8 months passed before I grabbed a pencil and a piece of wood and started a new drawing.

There’s something about creating something and sharing it that is innately positive. You may choose to call it “spiritual”, “good”, “divine”, or any other synonym. If you believe in a creation of any sort, you may easily associate our small acts of creativity with whatever being you believe set that first act of creation into motion. You may even see yourself as a partaker in the continuing act of creation in some small way. If you have no such belief system and yet you are a creator of things, you may still cling to the positive feeling of making a thing where there was no thing and showing that thing you made to another human. It feels good. We can probably all at least to agree in a belief in Martha Stewart and say that “it’s a good thing”.

The reasons for not making things can be almost infinite. You may need a rest. You may be a little like me and function best with waves of intense production followed by intense inactivity. You may have been hurt in some way. It could be a bad day. You may be lazy. Maybe you’re scared. Maybe you’re just not sure that what you have to offer will actually do anyone any good. I mean, will the world really notice if I stop making my little drawings?

I invite you to think with me about this. You can’t sit in my chair, but wrap these thoughts around your worldview and see what you come up with. As you do that, I’ll tell you what I’m thinking at the moment. I believe that there are forces of good and forces of evil. I believe that the act of creating is innately good and that it has a positive impact on people. I believe that creative people come from the factory wired to make and share their talents. Because these things are good, I believe that there are forces that would really prefer that creative people not create things. I believe that creatives are provided with a ton of alternatives to creating in order to stop them or at least slow them down. I mean, why would someone or something evil want there to be more good?

I believe what you create matters.

Two weeks ago I walked into my studio, cleared off my table, and put a piece of prepared wood in front of me. I picked up a pencil, opened my sketchbook, and started drawing things on the wood. I was terrified that I wouldn’t be able to do it again. That the composition would be awful, the imagery not precise, and the colors all wrong. I worried the drawing wouldn’t resonate with people. Sometime after putting the first lines on the wood those fears faded. As the music flowed into my ears and the story developed on the wood, I felt like I was doing what I was meant to do. It felt great. It will feel great when you do it too, both for you and for the people you share it with.

Let’s go make some stuff.

If you're interested, and you are, you can find my friend Kasha's blog at atleastamile.com

a busy summer part 6: the end

We were home for 4 nights after vacation before the next adventure began.  This year both Blue and Violet are running Cross Country for their school.  Training for Cross Country begins pretty early in the summer and since Violet was going to try to earn a jersey with the team this year, she decided to start running on her own before practices began.  We have a nice little 1 kilometer trail here at home and it’s convenient to walk out of the house and be ready to run.  She started running around the end of May and the team started later in June.  By the end of the summer the team has bonded a bit and the coach likes to end the summer practices with a 3 day camp just before school starts back up.  

I love to run and I really enjoy being able to run with my kids.  Each year my mileage starts to double as I run my morning 5K alone and then run again with one of the kids as they train.  Blue graduated from needing my support on his runs just as Violet joined the team.  She’s moved along quickly and while she no longer needs my support, we have a pretty strict rule about people not running alone so I still join her on her runs.  

There’s a lot of parental support and volunteering on this team which is really cool.  Many of the parents run or bike with runners at practices and help make sure that no one runs alone.  These same parents travel to camp and help with food prep and various other planning activities while there.  This year school did not interfere with me going, so I planned to attend most of the camp.  

The day before camp was Blue’s birthday.  He got his learner’s permit and had a couple of birthday cakes and lots of gifts. Violet and I got him a llama piñata and filled it with goodies.  It was a good day.  That night the kids and I packed and prepared for an early departure the next morning.  I was up at 6:30 am to get my 5K done.  I dropped the kids off at school and then followed the bus up the mountain to camp.  It was a pretty place with decent cabins and a pond.  When the kids were trying to make sure I was going to camp with them, the pond was a big selling point.  They told me there were pedal boats and kayaks.  Violet said we would kayak together every day.  

I knew I pretty much had to go either way, but I figured I’d have to kayak alone.  While her intentions were pure, I knew that once she got around her friends, they’d want her to do all the fun things with them.  When we arrived, I unpacked and helped the other volunteers get tents and tables set up and then we went for our first run.  There are two runs each day at camp and they begin and end with a half mile loop around the pond.  It was not super-hot but it was very humid.  I had to take a shower as soon as we were finished running and everyone was getting ready for the afternoon free time.  After lunch everyone explored to see what activities were available.  There was a large group of kids at the pool apparently trying to kill each other with a ball.  There was a chilly creek that ran through the property.  There was a zip line and a rappelling tower.  We were free to use the pool, but the zip line and rappelling tower were amenities we did not purchase so those were out.  I don’t love sitting in water with a lot of other humans splashing around, so I ignored the pool.  I walked over to the pond just as Violet and her friends were walking away from it.  Violet ran to me and announced that we were not allowed to use the pedal boats or kayaks due to “short staffing”.  The girls played in the creek instead.

I made my way back to the front porch of my cabin and grabbed my laptop.  With classes beginning in a week, I had plenty to do.  I quickly realized that there was no internet at camp so while I had plenty to do, I was pretty limited as to what I could do.  I used my phone to do make some advising notes for a couple of students and then I decided to just sit and enjoy being bored.  I wrote and drew in my sketchbook for most of the afternoon.  I’m realizing that being bored is a luxury and perhaps even a necessity for a creative person.  In the bustle of this busy summer, I have written some details in my sketchbook but I have failed to draw in it as much as I would have liked.  Now there was nothing else I could do.  It was nice.

The late afternoon run was just as hot and I had to take another shower.  The food was provided by parents and it was pretty good.  I had no food complaints at all.  There was a campfire with s’mores and then some down time until lights out.  Y’all know I’m socially awkward and some of you may be able to imagine that I do not have a ton of things in common with other sport parents.  If you’ve never been the “art person” you’ve at least known an “art person”.  Well, I’m the art person.  I don’t think I’m really that weird, but I know I’m weird to normal people.  So take their trepidation in trying to talk to me and multiply that by my awkwardness and desire to be alone, and you can imagine what it was like for me to sit for an hour in a room talking with the other dads.  Nice people, I just felt very uncomfortable.

The dads split up the two parent rooms and I was sharing one with another quiet dad.  I know this is one of the strange idiosyncrasies of being me, but I don’t sleep well with strangers.  Fun fact: I also don’t like eating with strangers.  There’s something very bizarre about being so vulnerable around people you don’t know.  I can do it because, well, I love to eat.  When it comes to sleeping, I just can’t relax enough to get into a deep sleep.  On a different type of trip a few years ago, I was packed in a room with a whole crew of kids and dads and the dads snored like freight trains.  I may have slept 2 hours in three days that time.  It was horrible.  If you’re reading this series, you already know how I feel about my sleep.  At camp the kids were supposed to be in bed by 10:30 so I was probably in bed by 11:00.  My roommate didn’t snore or make any weird noises but I only slept a little from 3:00 – 5:00 am.  

Lying in bed awake most of the night reminded me of all the things I have to do for school in the coming weeks.  You’ve heard of the “Sunday Scaries”?  I don’t get those so much, but I do get the “August Anxieties” just before the academic year begins.  This was on my mind as we ran our morning run.  There was a lot of free time scheduled for the day and I mostly had to just sit and sketch and try not to think of all the things I had to do that I couldn’t do.  I sketched as kids would come and go in the cabins.  I watched Violet walk with a group down toward the pool.  While they were walking a very loud lightning alarm went off.  They froze, then turned and speed-walked back to the cabin.  

It didn’t storm where we were, but it did storm near enough to cool us down a bit.  The Friday night run was a “fun run” planned by one of the parents.  He spent the day calculating distances between challenge stations and doing math.  I volunteered for the station that required sidewalk chalk and I drove to Dollar General to get some chalk.  I grabbed a coffee at Starbucks on the way and it really helped my mood.  I drew a hopscotch board under a gazebo on the pond and waited for the teams to check in.  After the fun run I packed up and got ready for dinner.  I had to leave after dinner but the camp was continuing through the next day.  I told the kids I was leaving and I headed back down the mountain.  

The coffee helped keep me awake but I was ready to go to sleep.  When I got home I unpacked and washed a couple of loads of laundry.  I took that awesome shower you take when you return from a trip and you get to shower in your own shower.  Then I slept that awesome sleep you sleep when you return from a trip and you get to sleep in your own bed.  

This adventure wasn’t over yet.  I was up at 7:00 am the next morning to get my run in and to get ready for a day in Columbia.  The reason I came home early was because while the kids would be enjoying their last day at camp, I would be driving to Columbia for the Young Artists Festival at 701 CCA.  In one of the earlier segments I wrote about the experience of doing the mural summer camp with the kids from the Boys and Girls Club in Columbia.  The Young Artists Festival was connected to that.  My kids’ murals would be exhibited in two locations in Columbia and I was going to be at a table providing information about the summer camp or perhaps manning a “creation station”.  

Katherine was invited to this event because of her important role in helping me lead the mural summer camp.  After my coffee, I loaded a sculpture into my truck to deliver while in Columbia and when Katherine arrived, we hit the road.  We briefly talked about lunch as we pulled into town, but once we got to the Festival venue, we quickly got distracted.  We were told we were, in fact, doing a creation station.  We had about 45 minutes to develop the idea of what we were doing and to gather some materials from next door.  We made a few posters and developed a system and then waited on the kids to arrive.  

While we waited, I, of course, compared our station to the stations around us.  There was a cool lady beside us with two activities to offer.  She had colored sand and was offering something like sand painting.  Very cool.  On the other side of us was Kat Hampton, a cool art teacher who was doing a printmaking station.  I felt ill-prepared in comparison.  I also felt very hungry.  We forgot about our lunch discussion and realized we were stuck behind this table without any food for the next few hours.  My fear about our station was washed away by the first visitor to participate.  This adorably cute child walked up and announced she wanted to draw a mural.  She was very young but when she said she wanted to copy the bird on one of our posters, she showed off her hand to eye coordination like a champ.  While my fear was gone, my hunger was still intact.  Soon the emcee announced there was free pizza in the courtyard and my heart lifted.  We took turns grabbing a piece of pizza and a water.  The entire Festival was fun and we had lots of participants.  Some wanted to keep their creations.  Some asked us to tape them up behind us on our “gallery wall”.  

The mural I created for inclusion in a park in Columbia was on display at the festival.  It was nice to see the 24 foot mural on a wall for the first time.  We were able to reference it when talking about the mural summer camp.  One of the kids from our camp came through the stations with her mom and brothers.  She came over to speak to us and to tell her mom that she knew us.  It was nice. 

After the festival ended we cleaned up and returned our materials next door.  We were still hungry so we found a Sonic close by and grabbed a snack and more water.  I delivered the sculpture in town and then we made plans to eat an actual meal with the family on our way back.  G and the kids met us at Dempsey’s and we all ate too much pizza while sharing cross country camp stories.  

Ok, so this one wasn’t much of an adventure, I’ll admit that.  But it was probably the last activity of my summer.  The kids would have their first day of school in just a few more days.  I would have one week to get my life together and try to remember what it’s like to be back in class every day.  Summer was kind of officially over for us at this point.  It was a really good summer.  If I didn’t get to see you this summer, I hope I’ll see you soon.  Maybe we can sit down with a couple of coffees.  Thanks for reading along.

a busy summer part 5: the vacation, finally

I’m a coffee snob.  I may also be a music snob, a boot snob, and a guitar snob.  I am not, however, a beach snob.  I have friends who think South Carolina beaches are crap.  I have friends who think the Myrtle Beach area beaches are dirty and gross.  I understand that I do not have to agree with them to be their friend or to respect them.  I’ve been to beaches on both sides of Florida and the panhandle and their beaches are nice.  There are probably not many beaches I wouldn’t like.  The beaches at St. Augustine are pretty good.  The sand is white and fine and the beaches are very wide.  One difference from the beaches here is the long distance one must walk to get to the beach.  St. Augustine has wisely protected a wide area of dunes between the beach and the residential areas and this creates a cool little ecosystem in that space.  So while you may have to carry a bunch of beach stuff farther and across a long boardwalk, you may just see tortoises, snakes, and rabbits along the way.  

I woke up a little after 8:00 am on Sunday and after my run we drove into town to eat breakfast at a little place we had never tried called The Blue Hen.  It was a tiny, cool little place in the historic district and the breakfast was good.  We stopped by the grocery store to grab supplies for the week and then we went back and got ready to bask in the sun.  This was the last day of the heat wave and the temperatures were expected to be in the mid to upper 90s.  I found some breeze and some cooler air on the beach and after about an hour in the sun, I spent the rest of my afternoon in the shade of the umbrella.  Now I was really in a show about nothing.

Violet and I needed beach sunglasses.  You can’t use your regular sunglasses for this.  Beach glasses are disposable.  They’ll be scratched, covered in sunscreen, and lost in a few days.  The coolest pair I ever bought were $10 last year and I wore them 20 minutes before they were lost at sea.  I’m not certain Violet feels as strongly about this as I do, but she saw an opportunity for new sunglasses and we jumped in the car after cleaning up from the beach and headed for the local crappy beach store.  We tried on most every pair available.  The idea with beach glasses is that they have to have personality.  These are glasses you wouldn’t wear in regular life.  With some laughter we settled on two pair and headed off to pick up Thai food for dinner.  We attempted to walk on the beach that evening but a huge scary cloud drifted up and the lightning started about the time we started walking.  But there were plenty of sweets in the room so we just started dessert time early.

Monday after my run, I ran with Violet.  After that I walked a bit while keeping an eye on Blue when he ran separately.  Monday was cooler and such a beautiful day.  I stayed on the beach most of the day alternating between sun and the umbrella.  The big story of the day was watching this guy near us.  He was my age or older and clearly Scottish.  He talked to several people around him and was very nice.  The cool thing about him, though, was that he had a raging bull tattooed on his nipple area.  The face of the bull was right at the nipple and his nipple was pierced with a ring, making it look like the bull had a ring in it’s nose.  It was kind of great.  The beach was so quiet and wonderful that eventually I fell asleep in my chair.  I didn’t wake up when the tide started kissing my feet and there was a brief moment I was aware that a wave had gone under my chair getting my butt wet.  Soon I sensed someone was near me and I jumped awake.  It was the bull tattoo guy.  He was bent down rescuing my sketchbook from the waves.  He picked it up and was trying to place it on my sandals to keep it from getting wet.  He apologized for waking me and messing with my stuff but I told him how grateful I was that he was trying to help.  Sorry I don’t have a photo of the tattoo.  

We ended the day by walking through the old town.  If you’ve never been, it’s definitely worth putting on your list.  The oldest continuously inhabited city in the US.  Lots of parks and historical things and some really good food.  We ate at a place called Burger Buckets and it was really good.  We also got some Hyppo pops and Blue and I grabbed milkshakes at Cousteau’s.  Cousteau’s is worth the drive to Florida on its own.  They only sell waffles and milkshakes.  What a dream come true.  They’re all specialty mixtures and all very good.  The restaurant is themed around the movie “The Life Aquatic” and Jacques Cousteau.  Very cool.  Highly recommended.  It was a good day.

By Tuesday the days started to blur on me a little.  I was getting in the vacation groove.  I’d watch a bit of the Olympics at night and sleep a little later each morning.  I ran, and then usually ran again with Violet.  I made coffee and made my way to the sand to sit and watch people.  Blue was looking forward to going shopping at the outlets in town.  The afternoon was a bit rainy, so we drove to the outlets and walked through.  I wasn’t very excited about this and we did have a bit of a moment when we drove a short distance in search of a Journey’s store that apparently no longer exists.  We followed the map and kept walking by the “x” designated as the destination, but we never found the store.  This was mostly forgotten when we got to eat exceptional BBQ at Mojo’s on the way back.  This was also the night we tried to go to the torture museum.  I know that sounds sort of terrible, but we saw signs for the museum the previous night and decided it would be cool.  When we tried to get tickets the little goth dude inside scared us away by saying that it was strongly recommended that kids under 18 not be admitted and that it wasn’t legal for him to even describe some of the exhibits inside.  Fine.  We left.  But maybe they should reconsider their marketing plan.

Wednesday was a dreary looking day.  I dodged a bit of drizzle on the beach by scooting under the umbrella a little more.  When the skies got darker, I opted to gather my stuff and head inside.  As soon as I got inside it started pouring.  I napped while the rain slowed down and when I woke up, Violet and I decided it was time to explore the lighthouse.  The last time we were in town Blue and I climbed the 219 steps to the top but Violet didn’t meet the minimum height requirement.  This was her year.  I’m afraid of heights but I love looking out from high places.  Maybe that’s weird.  I don’t like looking down, just out.  Violet waited until we climbed all the way out onto the observation deck to tell me that she was also scared of heights.  We hugged the bright red wall all the way around as we looked out.  The view was amazing.  And though we were both terrified, it was exhilarating to be up there.  It was starting to rain again and we were VERY careful as we climbed down the 219 slippery cast iron steps with our wet feet.  We went through the various museum exhibits and just when we walked in the one farthest from the parking lot, a downpour opened up on us.  We tried to wait it out but it was 6:00 pm and one of the workers came to lock up.  We were soaked by the time we got back to the gift shop.  

With half of the car riders soaked to the bone now, the four of us tried to go to one of our favorite restaurants and found it closed with a lot of irritated people sitting in the parking lot.  We shifted to another favorite restaurant in town and we may have bought some warm, dry clothes at Marshall’s before returning to the room.

Thursday woke us all up with the realization that vacation was almost over.  We got breakfast at a local diner and then hit the beach.  It drizzled a little but I didn’t care.  I finished my David Sedaris book and had a beach nap.  I may have went inside in the afternoon and had a second nap.  We tried the closed restaurant again and it was open this time.  We drove around a little seeing things we missed on previous visits and watched lightning in the distance.  We ended the day by visiting the Publix bakery and grabbing desserts.  Oh, and I caught a vintage Tom & Jerry cartoon before the Olympics were back on.  That was nice.

Friday was “go home day”.  It’s always the worst of the vacation days.  We did two runs that morning and worked up an appetite.  We kept seeing this place called “The Kookaburra” in our restaurant searches.  There was one right across the street from where we stayed.  Their coffees were famous and so were their Australian pies…whatever those were.  We decided we needed to know so while we were on our second run, G ran over and got coffees and pies to try.  Dude, these things were excellent.  It was like a little breakfast pie with eggs, cheese, and meat.  The coffee was great too.  I mean, not as great as mine, so I followed my bought coffee with a homemade one.  We all went out for some final beach time and I stayed as long as I could.  Violet and I finally went inside around lunch time, showered, and packed the car.  

We checked out and drove to a mall in Jacksonville on the way home.  There was one or two stores we needed to go in briefly and we also needed a late lunch.  We shopped fast, hit the food court, and were back on the road pretty fast.  The drive home was pretty easy, though I did make G drive the last hour because my butt was cramping up.  We were home before it was too late and the dogs were very happy to see us.  The car was unloaded and we scavenged the pantry to find sweets before bed.  The credits started rolling on this delightfully boring episode.  Would this be our last adventure of summer?  

Find out when part 6 is posted....

a busy summer part 4: the make-up concert

I slept in on the Wednesday after driving home from Atlanta at 3:00 am.  I didn’t feel so much like a 49 year-old on the drive back, but I did feel like a person with very dry eyes and contacts that were hoping to jump out at the first chance.  This kept my eyes squinty the whole trip home and made me even more ready to sleep once I hit my pillow.  The last couple of weeks had piled up and at this point I felt like I could actually relax and rest.  I forget how late I slept the next morning, but the only thing that got me out of bed was knowing how terribly hot it was already getting outside.  I needed to run before the temperatures got into the 90s.  

When G got home from work, Violet and I recounted the major details of our concert adventure.  “You MISSED WEEZER???” was repeated a few times.  I held up my HellaMega Tour shirt to show the cool design and when I did, I found myself staring at the back of the shirt for the first time.  Each of the summer concert dates were listed there and my eyes fixed on “Jacksonville, Florida”.  I can admit I began concert scheming at that moment.

It was Wednesday evening and I had one more day to continue cleaning up from the studio sale and to begin preparing for our family vacation to Florida.  We had decided to leave on Friday to extend our fun and spend a night in Charleston, SC on the way.  This would break up our drive a little and give us a chance to get some good food as well.  My mind began to produce formulas and calculations you’d expect to see on a chalk board in Einstein’s office.  Sure it was crazy to consider going to another HellaMega Tour stop, but what did that have to do with anything?  I mean, if this was going to be a Seinfeld episode, I might as well play the part of Kramer, right?  We were driving right through Jacksonville to get to St. Augustine.  What if we found cheap tickets and everyone could just go see the concert?  I mentioned the idea out loud.  I felt the ridiculousness bounce off the walls.  Violet immediately embraced it and started begging to go.  Blue was against it but I could tell he could be negotiated down.  G did not shout “NO!”  This was a start.

Thursday I worked on getting all the art wrapped and put away or hung and stacked back in its proper storage place.  I packed for vacation.  I looked up ticket prices, you know, just in case.  Friday morning I ran, had coffee, and loaded everything in the car.  We drove to Charleston and I talked out loud about the possibilities on the way.  It didn’t seem very practical and I couldn’t quite work out how the timing would allow us to either get checked in at the rental early enough to drive back to Jacksonville and NOT MISS WEEZER AGAIN or arrive at the rental before midnight after the concert.  I pretty much dismissed the idea and moved on with thinking about what I was going to eat for dinner and for breakfast the next morning.  

Dinner was good and breakfast on Saturday was not great, but a good coffee made it better.  We started our drive south and the topic of the concert came up again but this time with a different plan.  What if we were able to be dropped off right outside the stadium this time?  No parking or traffic problems.  I remembered seeing passengers bailing out of the cars around us stuck in traffic in Atlanta.  What if Violet and I were dropped off at the gate, G and Blue found a cool place to do back-to-school shopping, and then picked us up after Weezer performed?  This was starting to sound more reasonable and actually, very possible.  The Florida state line was getting closer and Violet and I started to get excited.  It looked like we were going to the concert!

Violet had a few questions.  “Do we have tickets?”  Well, no.  We’ll buy them at the Box Office when we get there.  “What if they’re sold out?”  I don’t think they will be, but if so, we’ll see if we can buy some from a scalper.  “What will we eat?”  Hmmm, it’s a football stadium, so surely there are restaurants nearby where football hooligans get drunk on gameday.  “How will they know where to pick us up?”  We have phones.  We’ll figure something out.  Before long we saw the stadium growing on the horizon.  Without a lot of warning, we rolled up right outside of Gate 3 and Violet and I sort of collected ourselves before bailing out of the car.  It was around 1:30 pm.  We were determined to not be late this time!

Florida is hot.  Like, on a regular day under regular conditions, Florida is hot.  We were right at the tail end of a heat wave in the Southeast and it was a very bright, sunny day.  We were both sweating before we hit our walking stride to find the Box Office.  We were also not football fans and out-of-towners so we had no idea where we were or where we were going.  The gates were locked so we were relegated to the exterior perimeter of the grounds.  We walked along from Gate 3 in what we agreed was a logical direction toward Gate 1.  There were signs indicating the Box Office was beside Gate 1.  We had a plan and sweat running down our backs.  

Gate 3 led to Gate 4 and then there was another building in our way.  Walking around it seemed ridiculous and maybe impossible so we backtracked.  On the opposite end of the stadium we encountered literal roadblocks of cones, busses, and 18 wheelers.  There were even a few police officers.  We asked how to get around and when the policeman didn’t know, he just told us to ignore the barriers and walk through.  We appreciated that.  Maybe an hour after stepping out of the car, we were buying cheap tickets at the Box Office window.  We both felt a little relief after securing our tickets but we also felt our stomachs growling.  The hotel breakfast was a long time ago now so we opened the map on my phone and started looking for restaurants.  The few we found within a mile of the stadium were closed that day.  The sweat was soaking through my shirt and Violet was only in slightly better shape.  She said she didn’t want to walk a long way in the heat so we started looking for shade in a Florida parking lot.  You know what you don’t find much of in a Florida parking lot?  That’s right, shade.  There was a Charlie Brown tree a few hundred feet behind Gate 1 with a shade just large enough for us to stand under.  We took our position there and prepared to wait patiently for the gates to open at 5:30 pm.  

I’m not a patient person.  My default when I get a spare moment is to check my phone.  Oh hush, you do it too.  Violet sat on the shaded concrete, I stood and we both checked our phones.  I had not charged mine since waking up and I suddenly became aware of how important it was to save the battery.  I needed my phone for our digital tickets and to figure out how to find the car when the concert was over.  And let’s be honest, I was going to make some photos and videos of Weezer too.  I turned my phone off and rested it in my pocket.  We people watched for 2 hours and we were not disappointed.  Hair, outfits, age ranges, it was all so worth seeing.

This is a good time to take a side trip with me about proper concert attire.  I know you don’t come to me for fashion but hear me out as I think this is a well-thought-out and time-tested theory.  I have a rule about what to wear to a concert.  It’s simple.  Never wear a t-shirt of the band you’re going to see that night.  It’s uncouth.  Philistine.  You wear shorts or jeans and comfortable shoes and you pick a t-shirt of a band you think the concert band will appreciate.  Sure, you could be a person who wakes up and washes their Green Day shirt to wear to the Green Day concert.  Or, you could actually put some thought into it and consider Green Day’s influences.  Who inspires them?  What does their particular style of music make you want to listen to?  I mean, let’s say you’re the lucky one person who happens to walk past Billie Joe Armstrong in the wing joint next door.  Do you want him to see a commoner wearing a Green Day shirt or would you rather him see a dude in an Ella Fitzgerald shirt?  Maybe it’s a big leap to imagine him pointing to your Ella shirt and saying “Nice shirt, man” but it’s an even bigger leap to think you’re going to impress him with your Green Day shirt from Target.  Not judging, I love Target bargains too, I’m just saying maybe wear the Green Day shirt to the Avett Brothers concert.  Speaking of judging, I stood in that tiny shade with sweat pooling in my socks weeping at all the Green Day shirts walking around the parking lot.  In the words of Violet, "uncultured swine".

There was also the guy in the fancy kilt to enjoy.  The pot-bellied male in his freshly cut-off t-shirt showcasing the pot-belly and his friend in what appeared to be a bikini.  There was the woman who decided it was too hot for this crap and just walked around in shorts and a bra.  And the old guy in jeans and boots who wanted to tell me about all the Aerosmith concerts he went to back in his day.  We didn’t exactly get bored.  I don’t remember what Violet was wearing but since we didn’t know we were going to a concert when we got up that morning…or two days before when we packed, she was probably wearing the equivalent to my khaki shorts and white t-shirt.  I remembered to grab my straw hat out of the car to protect my head.  

As 5:30 approached, the lines at the Gates grew longer.  I had a better understanding of the concert timeline this time around and I was in no hurry to get out of my shade.  With a little patience, the line at our gate grew until we were technically in line without having to leave our tree sanctuary.  The gates opened and we were through security and inside pretty fast.  We made our way immediately up to the upper level of food vendors and a nice lady beckoned us to come eat at her station.  We snagged a couple of stadium dogs and waters and basically inhaled them.  We agreed these were the best dogs we’d ever had and laughed, probably half from heat exposure.  We saw some lady drop out from the heat on the way up the ramp but here, almost alone in the stadium shade, we enjoyed the breeze blowing out from one of the tunnels.  It was nice.  Our complete lack of a plan was working out perfectly.

After “dinner” we found our seats and still had plenty of time to bake in the full sun of the upper deck.  When we sat down, I noted on our makeshift sundial where my head created a shadow on the row in front of us.  A little later it had moved a couple of rows down.  Soon a group came in and sat behind us and provided some shade.  My shadow moved another row and the opening act hit the stage.  The band was called the Interrupters and though we missed them at the first concert, Violet had looked them up on Apple Music and we sorta liked them.  We were excited to see them and Violet even sang along with some of the songs.  We took a short break in the tunnel to cool down and get a fresh bottle of water, and then we were back in our seats, jamming to the music. 

The stage was reset for Weezer and as they were converting the stage I realized how lucky we were to be guessing correctly.  This half baked "plan" was all based on the tour following the same set schedule as Atlanta.  If Weezer had not played first on this night, I would have been in big trouble with my vacationing family.  When the teal lightning bolts and huge drum kit was moved into place, I smiled, relaxed a little more, and texted our ride that Weezer was about to start.

The next hour was bliss.  Weezer took the stage with their 80s era guitars and Rivers in his costume that looked like it was from a John Hughes film.  They tore into every single song I ever wanted to hear.  “Island In The Sun”, “Beverly Hills”, “My Name Is Jonas”, even “Surf Wax America”.  It was a perfect sampling of every great Weezer album.  I got to hear “El Scorcho” and when “Undone: The Sweater Song” came on, Violet and I sang so loud together!  She had maybe heard the song twice before but she learned fast.  The dude beside me even joined us and we shared smiles and laughs.  With only a buffer seat beside Violet, we were packed a little tighter but everyone was well behaved.  There were not even secret vapers this time.  Strangers sang harmony, danced and swayed together, and when the confetti cannons blasted at the end of Weezer’s final song and the wind brought some of it up to our level, the nice lady near Violet grabbed a piece of purple paper and handed it to Violet.  

That was our cue to leave.  I know it was confusing to our neighbors, but we grabbed our trash and headed out.  We were so stoked about the concert we’d just experienced that we didn’t even worry much about not knowing where we were going.  The exits were not even opened yet and when we asked the police officer near the gate how to get out, he said “You’re leaving?”  Yeah, it was too long of a story to tell, but we were only there to see Weezer.  We had a vacation to get on with now.  The ticket lady told us we could just go out the entry gate and she too, questioned us before letting us out.  

Blue dropped a pin and sent me the location of the car.  The distance from the gate to the waiting car was shorter than the line to get merch in the Atlanta concert.  Some nice parking attendant let the car inside the paid parking area for free since they were just picking someone up.  We were on the highway before the next band was on stage.  It worked.  It actually worked!

I guess this one went a little more smoothly than a regular episode of Seinfeld.  However, Violet and I were still hungry after our stadium dogs a few hours earlier.  We drove for 45 minutes to St. Augustine and stumbled past a few fast food restaurants in indecision before directing the car into the parking lot of a beach restaurant.  The map said it was open and we decided we’d just run in and order to-go food.  The lettering on the door indicated they were open until “9:00pm ISH”.  It was 8:33 pm.  We waited at the host stand after the hostess said she’d be right with us.  We waited more.  When she finally came back she said “Oh I’m sorry guys, we closed 3 minutes ago”.  There were a lot of things I wanted to say, but I had just sung several songs with Weezer and my daughter so my mood was almost untouchable.  I chose to be Jerry instead of George Constanza.  We walked next door to the Dollar General and loaded up on junk food.  We unpacked the car at the rental and happily ate garbage food before falling asleep and officially starting the relaxing part of our vacation.  

*** stay tuned for part 5:  the vacation, finally...

a busy summer part 3: the concert

Monday night after returning home wasn’t the best night of sleep I have had recently.  The couch is great for naps but for a full night of sleep it’s not preferred.  That’s where Zeke sleeps each night and while he’s a very sweet and loving dog, he’s not a sleep cuddler.  When we all watch a movie on the couch he sulks in the floor waiting for us to vacate his space.  He was generous with half of the couch when I went to sleep but when I got up in the middle of the night to turn on the fan, he jumped in my spot and I had to physically move him in order to go back to sleep.  Once I woke up and ran, I was pretty recharged.  It had been a busy few weeks, but I had one more day of adventure ahead and I was kind of excited.

I think it was about two years ago that I bought these tickets.  I’ve wanted to see Weezer in concert since 1994 when I bought their first album on CD from a short-lived music store in a mall that’s now a charter school.  Over the years there was always one reason or another but when the HellaMega Tour was announced with Weezer and Green Day on the ticket, I was going.

Fast forward to the pandemic.  The tour was postponed because of people and germs.  When there was hope of things opening back up soon, the tour was rescheduled and I got distantly excited again.  I had a lot of things on the calendar for this summer so I added the tour date to my phone and completely forgot about it.  The concert was this thing I was going to do this summer but I wasn’t really sure when it was actually happening.  About two weeks before the date, I rediscovered it when G asked about it.  It was happening on a Tuesday?  In the middle of the week?  That’s not the best plan for a working person so she was obviously less excited than I was.  And while Violet jumps at a chance to go to a concert, Blue has never attended one and intentionally avoids places where people gather.  It started to look like it wouldn't be a whole family trip.

I kept forgetting about the tickets and really didn’t even know where they were.  I made a feeble attempt to sell the extras on Instagram, but with the new Covid numbers starting to rise again, I don’t think a lot of people we eager to go to a concert in what was being called a “hot spot”.  I took a little solace in the fact that it was still an outside venue, but vowed to not touch anything and then I decided that the extra seats might provide a buffer from others.  So while G and Blue were probably a little relieved that they were not going to stay up most of the night going to a loud concert, the rest of us were still excited.  I wanted to see Green Day.  I wanted to see Weezer.  But the thing I wanted most was to hear “Undone: The Sweater Song” live.  Second on that list was to hear “El Scorcho” live.  That one mentions Green Day so I figured there was a good chance I’d hear it.  

The third thing on my list was Alexander Calder.  There’s a big Calder exhibit in NYC this summer and I had every intention of dragging Blue and Violet to it before school started back.  As the calendar filled up, I saw those chances fade and decided that the Calder/Picasso exhibit at the High Museum in Atlanta might be a nice substitute.  Still I wondered when I would have a day to sacrifice to drive to Atlanta.  I’ll admit that sometimes these things sneak up on me.  Just a few days earlier I was thinking about it and realized, “Oh, I’m already driving to Atlanta!”.  Now I just needed to get there early enough to run by the museum before the concert starts.  No problem.

So I was sleeping on the couch with Zeke and the rest of the family was camped around on mattresses because the air conditioning was out upstairs.  G got up and went to work which left me as the adult in charge for the fix-it guy to come Tuesday morning.  I just needed this to be a quick fix so I could get on the road.  Violet and I dressed in our museum/concert attire and waited.  The appointment did not start on time, but it did go mercifully fast.  We were later than we wanted, but we were on the road to pick up Katherine before noon and I had high hopes.  If traffic was kind, we’d still be ok. 

I’m not sure “kind” is the word I’d use to describe Atlanta traffic that day but we still made it to the museum parking garage in good time.  We were all blown away by the exhibit.  

We took our time going through and even took an extra few minutes to see the contemporary exhibit on a different floor.  This was probably where I went wrong.  I should have stuck to my plan and got out.  You see, there was not a wealth of information about this concert for some reason.  The tickets stated that the gates opened at 5:30.  I knew there was an opening act and then three headlining bands.  I knew my section number and our seat numbers.  That was it.  I tried to call the venue and got nothing.  I even looked up information about the previous tour date online while I waited for the fix-it guy to come.  All I learned there was that Weezer was the first of the headlining bands to perform at that tour stop.  I knew I had a seat so I didn’t think I needed to be there super early.  I thought the opening act would play 45 minutes or so, which would give us until about 7:00 or 7:30 to get in our seats to see Weezer.  My plan was to leave the museum, get a coffee at a cool coffee shop downtown, grab some dinner quickly, and park at the stadium around 6:45.  We’d cruise into our seats by 7:00, get our music, and then drive home late.

That was the plan.  Here’s what actually happened:

We left the museum inspired but a little behind schedule.  We drove across town to the coffee shop.  The coffee shop with amazing coffee and huge letters on the door showing they were open until 6:00 pm.  At 5:30 pm they were NOT open.  Doors locked.  Lights out.  No coffee.  I checked the map and saw we needed to drive a bit to get to the stadium and I announced that was our next stop.  There could be traffic and I didn’t want to chance it.  We were all hungry but we’d just have to grab food inside the stadium in the time we had before the music started. 

Off we drove to the stadium exit.  The stadium that hosts major league baseball games several nights each week for a big part of the year.  The stadium that should have well-marked parking lots and easy ways to get into them.  We sat at that exit moving one car length per 5 minutes for an hour and a half.  There were no police directing traffic, just a ton of tired and panicky, hopeful concert goers trying to figure out where to go.  When we finally made it onto the street with the parking lots, none were clearly marked as ones we could use.  There were no instructions and no humans to ask.  After following other clueless cars up and down the roads, we finally pulled into one with some spaces left and asked the lady scanning cards of we could park there.  She said “NO!”  I asked where we could park.  She said “TWO LEFTS, THREE RIGHTS!” and motioned for me to get out of there.  

It was obvious that everyone on the street in front of us had the same instructions and we moved like a slow parade first taking two lefts and then ever so slowly taking the first and second right.  As we searched for parking, we noted there was music coming from the stadium.  Surely this was just a sound check, right?  During the slow parade, we heard what sounded like Weezer songs.  What was going on?  We weren’t missing the concert were we?  It was definitely a sound check.  It had to be.  The music stopped.  The crowd roared.  It was not a sound check.  Weezer was playing and we were missing it.  I moved an inch closer to the bumper in front of me.  The inch didn’t make me feel any better.  Was this really happening?  I was firmly in the anger stage at this point.  Choosing to not stop for lunch was my fault.  Choosing to add a museum visit to this trip was my fault.  Thinking I had the luxury of time for coffee was my fault.  But this whole business of trying unsuccessfully to get parked and into the stadium certainly felt like a failure on the part of Truist Park or the City of Atlanta.  I was very angry.  

We finally got parked in a remote parking space.  There was a whole moment of the lady holding my debit card at the gate musing about closing the lot but we escaped that disaster.  The three of us power walked through a maze to try to get out of the lot and onto the street.  We were so far away we had to use a map to get to the stadium.  The music was still playing.  The crowd of people who came early to drink in their cars all afternoon were seeing MY concert.  The song “Africa” was clearly blasting from electric guitars and drums in the stadium.  I was not at all excited about hearing this one, but I figured they were close to the end of their set if they were playing it.  Power walking turned into sprinting.  

My concert friends were very kind at this point.  Neither of them chose to point out how I had discouraged lunch in favor of an early dinner.  Neither of them chose to point out that I was the only one in comfortable shoes while we sprinted.  Neither of them chose to blame me for the disaster unfolding before us.  I ran, holding Violet’s hand, practically dragging her toward the stadium, grateful for their mercy.

They were in fact, quite pleasant about it.  Both of them were singing “Africa” while we sprinted and while we waited in line at the gate.  The multi-tasking began immediately.  Katherine held our place in the long security line while Violet and I picked up some merch.  We made it inside the stadium just in time to hear the last three Weezer songs.  We stopped our march to our seats long enough to stand and take in “Buddy Holly”.  Then we continued our climb to the nosebleed seats.  Almost as if they were waiting for us, Weezer bowed and left the stage just as we were directed to our seats.  We sat down and saw an empty stage before us.  All of our neighbors moved to the bathroom lines or food lines.  We were hungry and needed to pee so after we gathered ourselves for a moment, we found our places in the lines too.

I may not have mentioned that it was hot.  August in “Hot-lanta”.  The daily thunderstorm had passed over us while we waited in traffic so it had cooled off a little from the afternoon heat and it wasn’t miserable in the stadium.  We grabbed some very expensive food and water and made our way back to our seats to enjoy.  Fall Out Boy, the other headlining band, played while we waited on food and devoured it.  I recognized some of the songs but wasn’t excited about seeing them play.  I was also still a little ticked off.  We got in another line for merch and it was comically long.  I felt like I was in an episode of Seinfeld.  The one band all three of us wanted to see, we missed.  Violet literally didn’t know any of the other bands.  Want to park?  Follow George Costanza to a remote lot.  Looking for band merch?  Kramer knows a guy.  Just stand in this mile long line.  But all the while, it was almost entertaining.  Almost funny.  We laughed a good bit and after Fall Out Boy left the stage and darkness settled into the stadium, we got excited again.  

From the first note Green Day played, it was worth the effort.  It was easy to sense the pent-up energy from a band who has played one live concert in two years.  They came ready to have fun and they played every great song we wanted to hear and more.  Soon Violet recognized a song and said to me “THEY play this song?”.  Then another one.  “This is THEIR song??” She was even singing along and loving it.  As the clock moved towards 10:15 pm she started checking my watch after each song.  Even I caught myself thinking, “OK, this is great and all, but I gotta drive for three hours after this so exactly how many more songs are we doing?”  Then the next song would start and I would forget about being tired.  There were so many great moments I even started to lose my anger about missing Weezer.  This was so good it made up for it.  

This was also my first concert in almost two years.  In fact, one of my last ones was also in Atlanta a year and a half or so earlier.  My excitement was also, in part, due to not being at a concert in so long.  Live music is so enjoyable when the people around you are behaving.  Maybe it was an older crowd or maybe people were a little more respectful after a pandemic, but I found everyone very, very nice.  There was the one almost liquified woman semi-passed out on a picnic table attempting to shove a pretzel into her mouth, but she wasn’t bothering anyone.  A couple of people nearby vaped secretly but the wind moved it away from us.  No one was smoking anything illegal near us.  No one was annoyingly drunk.  Instead, I caught the eye of a few neighbors, some behind masks,  as we sang along together to the music and we shared a smile.  We “Woooooooo”ed together and raised our hands in the air together.  It felt really good to be back with people.  But also really gross to be back with people.  You know?

The fireworks display signaled the end of the fun and the return of stress.  We had no trouble following the huge crowd to the parking lot, though the crowd depleted severely before we made it to OUR parking lot.  I got out on the road and my two energetic concert friends flipped some sort of invisible switch and were instantly asleep.  I talked angrily to my map voice as she got me lost, changed her mind several times, and then asked me to take a non-existent exit toward home.  That one wasn’t her fault.  Atlanta decided it would be OK to block off the exit to I-85 N, one of the busiest in the state, without putting up any detour signs.  “Let’s just block it off with cones and not tell anyone!” I could see them laughing.  After another hour of sitting in traffic waiting on every other driver on the road to make the same laborious U-turn, I was back on speaking terms with the map lady and better still, on my way home and toward the credits of this episode.  But this is a series and the next episode was just a few days away.

***tune in next time for "part 3:  the make-up concert"...