Storyteller

Inspirational song: Oklahoma Hills (v. Arlo Guthrie)

Some nights are perfect moments in time, that you really wish you could make last forever. Tonight was one of those times. My man and I had originally planned on putting his vacation this week, so that he could be my Valentine's date to see Arlo Guthrie perform. Within hours of making that plan, we got the save-the-date card for our friends' wedding, and changed the whole schedule. I put off buying tickets to see Arlo, not knowing whether I would have a date, if any of my friends would be willing to be away from husbands/significant others on this holiday. At practically the last minute (a few days ago), I got confirmation that a young friend of mine with an old hippie soul definitely wanted to go with me. We had dinner at my place (as if there was a restaurant option on Valentine's night), and then went to the show. Arlo made this Oklahoma girl happy, starting the night with an explanation of how his family made it from Scotland through South Carolina, Indiana, and Texas, before landing in Okemah, Oklahoma. And then he played his father Woody's first hit song, that his uncle Jack recorded while Woody was off in the Merchant Marines. I grew up singing "in the Oklahoma hills where I was born" as if it were written for me. I knew as soon as he sang the first note that tonight was going to be magical, and it was.

Arlo talked at length about growing up hearing live music. He said his grandmother's generation sang all the time. There was no radio or recorded music widely available, and if you wanted music at your event ("whether you were marrying, or burying, or hanging..."), then someone had to get up and perform it. Arlo grew up with the most amazing collection of folk singers in his circle of friends and family, from Pete Seeger to Hoyt Axton to Ramblin' Jack Elliott. There was always someone writing, singing, noticing, thinking, commenting on the human condition. As he said, he has been around the world once or twice, and everywhere he's been, people get the blues. Can you imagine, living that life, having such wise, talented, sensitive mentors and friends? It made me long for those moments in my past when I had musical friends who were willing to sit around a campfire, and raise our voices together. I want that again in my life. I want not just a reason to sing, but a time and a place where it is encouraged. It feeds the soul like nothing else. It's one of those things that gives you more the more you let it out.

I need to give an update. I complained back at Christmas that my gift from my man went missing in the mail. He mailed the same day to the kids, and they got their packages before Christmas with no difficulty. A couple times I asked him whether it was returned, and it never was. I was trying to come up with a day (not today) when I could go to the post office and ask them whether there was anything I could do to find it without a tracking number (I had no confidence). And this evening, I came back from picking up my date for the concert, and checked the mail before I came inside. There it was, in my mailbox, my Christmas present on Valentine's day. Mailed on December third. One of the things inside was a gold and pink pashmina scarf, that I put on when I opened it, and have not taken off since. I was glad to have it at the concert, when the air kicked on and it got chilly. Plus, I'm happy to have it at all, two months late.

There are early signs of spring all around now. The ice line was just far enough away that we seem to have survived. And by far enough, I mean just a couple miles from here. But that's all it took. Sometimes it's that easy.