Toof-hurty

Last night saw the first of many early dark hours, and the evening seemed to have contracted to a pinhole of light by the time I lugged my heaviest ever instrument case up the stairs and into the inviting warmth of Ed’s tiny studio.

Ed’s lesson is a train I can hop anytime, regardless of how much I’ve practiced, and he’s intent on maintaining the pace so who am I to argue? We’ve put aside tablature and I’m learning primarily by ear now, which is the traditional manner by which banjoists learn. The doleful sweetness of an F chord nearly sent me over the edge but I’m good at keeping my cool.

There’s something antiquated about Ed and the way he sings. It’s a persona I imagine most young performers necessarily culture to preserve the old time feel of the medium, though it’s an eerie thing to witness - this sudden transformation from taciturn shyness to weather-beaten self-assurance.

By the time I got home, I’d forgotten large blocks of the new song puzzles and couldn’t decipher the sheet music. But I’m back to enthusiastic and that’s half the battle.

I swear I’m working with a bunch of Hobbits; this is the second time in two days I’ve overhead a conversation about appropriate mealtimes:

“Breakfast, brunch, lunch, tea, dinner, supper.”

“No, it’s: breakfast, lunch, dinner, supper.”

“I thought it was breakfast, dinner, lunch and tea!”

“That’s completely wrong.”

&etc.

But it’s a lovely fall day out there – bright and chilly – and everyone is in the same phenomenal mood for once.

Oh, and: Houston, we have a contract! I’m now a permanent employee here at Circus Central and even though things aren’t perfect, they are just what I need them to be at the moment.

Internal systems are all go as well. My arms are aching wonderfully from that stupid instrument case, I’ve had some warm soup and I’m looking forward to the weekend once again.

There is always so much to look forward to now and I can scarcely remember that time in my life when absolutely everything ground to a sickening halt.