First big news -- I am now on Twitter as @TheButternutty and this is my first foray into the Twitterverse. Expect much Punch Brothers stalkings.
This birthday weekend was in the top three birthday weekends of all time. (I was volunteering for the Obama campaign and was the volunteer coordinator in the campaign office on election day, which was my birthday. That one is in serious competition for Best Birthday Ever. The other was my first time performing at a music/art festival at one of the coolest venues of all time called Pasaquan. Google it.)
We had a lovely drive out, lots of conversation. Lots of career angst, still reeling from being laid off, wondering if it was me personally or just that I was first in line to get cut. It's so frustrating trying to get any career traction starting from the bottom after two decades of staying home with children. But this is about my amazing birthday weekend, not my job angst.
When we arrived at the llama farm, the driveway gate was closed and a tortoise-shell llama (didn't know they came in tortoise-shell) was standing there at the gate, staring at us, looking very judgy. She did not know why we were there and she did not approve. You've never experienced condescension until you've been condescended to by a llama. We had to drive down back down the road to find cell service to call our host to open the gate for us. He apologized and shortly greeted us with the warmth of an old friend.
His home is a gorgeous rambling farmhouse on 40 hilly acres. The back sides of the house are wrapped with an extensive deck with multiple gazebos (now that's a fun word to say out loud) and a fire pit that he had already set up with kindling and a stack of wood at the ready. Grumpy and I, being old and boring, had already planned ahead for the evening's drinkings. We picked up a few bottles of wine on the way there, thinking that relaxing in the room would be better than drinking in a bar and then attempting to drive the curving mountain roads back to the inn. Turns out it was a good decision as we were then fully prepared for the evening around the fire.
Our co-guests were a pair of 60-something newlyweds that were just adorable. Both had lost previous spouses and finally found post-widowhood happiness in each other. They were interesting, personable, and seemed to enjoy our company, even though I proceeded to get fairly more than tipsy and I don't exactly remember all of the details of the evening. (I asked her the next morning if I'd made an ass of myself and she replied that I was delightful and that even if I had made an ass of myself, she'd never have told me. That's a classy lady.)
We spent Saturday wandering around and exploring the local area. The town of Logan is ridiculously cute with some jaw-dropping architecture on the local churches. After stopping for a coffee (and replenishing the wine supply), we spent the rest of the afternoon driving up and down and around the hairpin curves of the foothills backroads. This extra-long, extra-warm summer -- a frightening indication of global warming -- has finally broken and the fall colors have peaked weeks later than usual, which, despite the frightening global consequences, made for some breathtaking views. Grumpy really wanted to do some hiking but my old-lady knee was protesting and so he had to be happy with a short walk around a cute pond.
We headed back to the room and gussied ourselves up for a nice dinner and an evening with NOAM PIKELNY!!! I was a little nervous about a two-hour, solo banjo show. I honestly wouldn't have traveled so far to see any other banjo player. (I'm not sure I'd have left the house to spend two hours listening to any other solo banjo player.) But, being as I'm seriously stalker level when it comes to the Punch Brothers on YouTube, and I've seem them together live several times, I was betting that he would use his droll humor to break up the banjoing and my bet paid off in a most delightful way. Between bits of pure genius instrumental work, he had me doubled over laughing so hard I couldn't breathe.
At the end of the show, he announced that he'd be downstairs at the merch table signing things. Oh my wildest hopes! Oh the daydreams I dared joke about *maybe* becoming reality! I sort of shoved my way down to stairs to the merch table as soon as the house lights came up and was first in line with my Universal Favorite tour t-shirt and my program. After what seemed an eternity (maybe five minutes) he descended the stairs all sweaty. I was trembling. The program in my hand was trembling. My heart was pounding. I have never fangirled so hard in my life. I managed to pull myself together enough to tell him that I'd come all the way there to spend my birthday with him and could he please sign my program (although I did buy a t-shirt) because it had the date on it, which is my birthday? Did I mention birthday? After he signed it for me, I looked up at him, putting on my most adoring face and said, in my most earnest voice, "You're like, one of my top five favorite Punch Brothers ever, of all time. Seriously." And he laughed -- like a grunt-snort-chuckle. I MADE NOAM PIKELNY LAUGH!!! I'm framing the program and hanging it in my dining room with the rest of my religious relics.
After the excitement of Saturday, I thought surely there was nothing Sunday that could even compare, but after breakfast our host let us walk the llamas. Like dogs. On leashes. And I got to walk the condescending tortie. She was so pretty and so soft, and actually quite sweet. Grumpy was assigned the tortie's mother, who was REALLY condescending and judgy. She actually spit at him. More of a "pfft" than an actual spit, but certainly a sign of disapproval. I didn't even try not to laugh out loud.
We finished out our day with a lovely hike around the gorge at Conckle's Hollow and spent the drive back listening to the Prairie Home Companion podcast of the show we missed the night before -- a perfect benediction to a perfect weekend.
Good night llamas. Goodnight Noam. Goodnight 42. Good night moon.
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