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We sat mournfully staring out the window like the kids in The Cat in the Hat. “So all we could do was Sit! Sit! Sit! Sit! And we did not like it. Not one little bit.”
For weeks we had been planning to go to the Phil Murphy Weekend at the end of July. It’s another small Irish trad festival in a small town called Carrig on Bannow in the southeast. It seemed like a miracle when the clouds parted mid week and Siobhan, the weather lady, gave a cautious nod. The Bard was so ready to
get out there.
Most of the music took place in Colfers Pub, which I was told is really John Murphys pub. The Bard was parked at the school just across the street which was very convenient. The Thurles group of musicians infiltrated the session around 5 on Friday evening and played straight through until 11 that night. On Saturday, it was 2:30 until 11 with no breaks even for food. The Guinness was filling enough for everyone.
Or so they told me… I wasn’t there! Last week, I woke up with a scratchy throat and by evening I had tested positive for you-know-what… for the third frickin’ time! Feeling fine but still contagious, I insisted Dixie go on without me and take his brother, Paul, in the Bard.
I would have missed it even if I hadn’t gotten sick. That Tuesday I was scheduled to fly to Atlanta to be with my brother, Hal, in Roswell. This is the bigger story that I’ll share with you because, though it has nothing to do with camping and music festivals, it has everything to do with unexpected journeys and the fragility of our dreams. You’ll remember what Bilbo Baggins said, “It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door… there is no telling where you might be swept off to.” (That sorta ties into camping, right?)
Three weeks ago I was Facetiming with Hal. He likes to rise early and start the day with a cup of coffee on his secluded screened porch. We usually don’t talk so early in the day, but this day he was pumped and wanted to chat.
Hal is a singer/songwriter/entertainer. He had just played a gig at a local hotspot in our hometown. He had put together a three hour one-man show featuring the songs of the outlaws… you know, “Waylon, Willie and the Boys”. It was a big hit, he was invited to come back often and he was really excited about that and wanted to tell me how it went.
This wasn’t Hal’s first rodeo. He’s been a performer his whole adult life. He’s written songs that have hit the national charts and he’s in the Atlanta Country Music Hall of Fame. I’m just a little bit proud of him.
But he was never a full time musician. He owned a small business and still works from his home as a marketing coach. At 73, he’s anticipating his retirement and looking forward to more time spent singing, making people laugh, playing with his grands (and mine) and doing all the other things he enjoys… such as (over the years) fishing, turkey/deer hunting, mushroom foraging, beekeeping, moonshine making (I'm not kidding), historic reenacting, fur tanning, cigar rolling, reptile collecting, exotic plant propagating, hot pepper growing, wild game cooking and golfing. There's probably more but these are the things that come to mind.
So we’re chatting away when he suddenly winces with pain and says he’s having a back spasm. He says he’ll have to call me back cause it really hurts. I can see that he’s lowered himself to the floor when we disconnect.
I thought about calling Lynn, my sister-in-law, to check on him but I figured she was still asleep and besides, Hal was holding his phone and could call her himself if he needed help. At that moment, Lynn posted to our family Wordle thread. So I knew she was awake and decided to give her a ring.
“Hal’s on the porch wincing in pain from a back spasm. You might want to check on him.” She did immediately and, long story short, it wasn’t a back spasm. He had an abdominal aortic aneurism that had ruptured and he was bleeding out! After all was said and done, the surgeon said five more minutes and he would have been in the boneyard.
He’s home now recovering nicely and I have flown to Georgia to be with him and Lynn, reminding him he doesn’t have to go to such great lengths to be the center of attention. Hitting the stage a few times a month should be enough.
The doctors say it will be a while before he charms a crowd or tumbles with the kiddos. But, against all odds, he’s expected to make a full recovery.
It’s these close calls that stop us in our tracks, force us to slam on the brakes and take stock of the sweet mercies in our lives. A part of me would be lost without my big brother, my only sibling. We know someday one of us will bury the other, and we will both embark on new adventures to frontiers that far exceed the boundaries
of the AvantBard. Thankfully, this has not been that day.
I’ll be spending most of August in Florida with Ted, Leah and little Carolina, the Scamp (as Dixie calls her). Dixie will be joining us soon.
The southern heat is oppressive but we welcome the saturation of vitamin D. We have decided when we return to Ireland, we’ll no longer be stymied by the dreary forecasts and relentless showers. We won’t Sit! Sit! Sit! Sit! and wait for a sunnier day to pack up and go. We’ll seize the day!!
