Twenty-odd Glimpses.

The Great New York State Fair remains to me what it was when I was 12. This means a lot, as not all human constructs in the world affect one almost identically at 26 and 12 years of age. I was excited in the morning, the afternoon, and the evening, and we spent the whole day seeking one curiosity after another. I'm weary tonight and don't feel adequate to encase the exuberance I experienced in words, but be certain that I was exuberant for nearly 12 straight hours. Millie and Annika were wonderful and enjoyed the day, too, particularly Millie. We had a great time with my family and saw the sights there were to see (many of which I did not snap in order to enjoy them without distraction).
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On Monday night, John took me to an Alasdair Roberts show. He'd surprised me by asking two girls from church to babysit for the night; it was the first time they'd had a babysitter (other than grandparents) except for the night I had surgery, which places this in the category of A Very Big Deal.

I found it strange to be out and about, night life thriving, without two girls grinning or snoring or scowling in our arms. I kept saying, "Oh! Millie would love that!" while the realization that I'm really and truly a mother sank deeper. It was lovely, though, to enjoy John's company solo, and to talk and listen without one-and-a-half ears tuned to background chatter.

The show drew about 30 people in a dark basement room. An odd couple opened, and Alasdair finally came onstage just shy of midnight. The simplicity of voice and guitar, absent other instruments, made his excellent playing obvious even to the unskilled (i.e. myself), which is something not as evident on his albums due to the presence of other accompaniment.
I was impressed with several things.
1. His skill with his instrument and the friendship between it and his voice
2. His appearance: the skinniest man in the world (sorry, Mr. Terry, but he's claimed your title fair and square), an honest Scot's face with crinkled eyes and a crooked grin
3. The show itself: He sang three of my favorite songs of his (Farewell Sorrow, The Whole House is Singing, and Down Where the Willow Wands Weep), and I was struck anew by his lyrical ability.

I've said it before, but I'll say it again. I'm very excited by the fact that he's singing not only traditional Scottish ballads but writing his own songs in the traditional vein. He's darn good at both, too.

So together John and I enjoyed the lilt of speech and song.
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Speaking of the grandest husband-friend in the galaxy, John has begun school again. His last semester of full-time work and full-time school is off! Then we're onward to find us the best dern prison library in the country! I am truly proud of him, tho' I don't often share much beyond superficialities on this blog. He has a 4.0 thus far, earns honest respect at work, and continues to be my best friend and the beloved bearded dad of our girls.
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I am relatively cut off from country/world news, hearing what I do in bits and fragments from people around me instead of the television or newspaper chutes. I've heard enough about the hurricane's devastation and the near destruction of New Orleans to feel as if I've watched a dozen newscasts, though. I feel badly for those who lost homes and property, but I have much greater sorrow for those whose dear ones died.
Sickness, toil, and danger live here below. May God give comfort to those in pain.