Chef Mike says, “ya gotta start pacing yourself. Cliff.” and I know he’s right. I can’t be acting the fool. Picking all night. Dancing like a broken teenager whenever the spirit moves me. And you know that tent seems like it’s hotter and colder than it used to be. And we still ain’t come up with something that works for a bed that will make a fat man sleep all night. And I’ve discovered that the sound of a banjo at four o’clock in the morning doesn’t move me like it used to. Except my kidneys. The banjo works on them. And there’s more medication now. More things that hurt. A little more dependency on three/four time, and less desire to play like a machine gun in a firefight. And frankly, getting hauled off to the hospital and leaving my friends to fold up my tent has lost it’s appeal to me. Those little tin houses on wheels that I used to laugh at are starting to look more like little cabins in the corner of glory land. And now I’m thinking maybe I shouldn’t have eating all those polish hotdogs and chocolate dipped ice cream bars at all those festivals past. And maybe I should have discovered the definition of moderation back in the day, then perhaps I’d be reaping the benefits of it now. And maybe I should have skipped the sixties and seventies and wore a gray suit and carried a briefcase and talked about golf scores and actuary tables. And I’m wishing I was 35 years old and my blood was pumping and my eyes were blazing and my heart was bigger than my body. And I’ve cut back to nine days this year at grass valley and I’m wondering If that’s too much. And who would have believed it, I’m hitting sixty this year.
Now this ain’t no well preserved sixty mind you, This here is sixty rode hard and put away wet. And there is a price to pay.
But I don’t know….
I’m hearing the sirens song. Bought a couple of new cots. Gonna visit the Fifth string guitar shop. Spend more money than I’ve got. Gonna drag out that Swiss army tent. Pretend I don’t see any clouds in the sky. Pack up the Kia. Restring the martin. Pack up the Harmonicas in case the tendons give up before the festival is over, and I’m unable to play the guitar. And I’m gonna crank up Ricky Skaggs. Run through them old songs. Call my friends, and hit the road..
See you in Grass Valley. Whooeeee!
