The last time I saw Mary Louise Sparrow she was five years old, plunking away on 'Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star' on the piano under my uncharacteristically patient tutelage. Her father, my professor three times over, Ned, later wrote me the letter of recommendation, singing such praises of my work with children (his in particular), that was likely my biggest selling point when I was being considered for the art/music teacher position at Beatrice Rafferty School. Ned had had his Short Fiction Workshop summer class students over to his home in Lutherville (on the same street where iconic Baltimore filmmaker, John Waters, grew up) to wrap up the course, an intensive four weeks that had ten or so of us art students writing feverishly, cranking out tales for our classmates to take home and mark up with red pens, then discuss and dissect during the following meeting. It was this class that prompted me to become an editor, albeit a lowly acquisitions editor at Publish America after graduating from college. (Note to aspiring authors: I could not caution more strongly against publishing your manuscript through these folks. A seedier, more dishonest group I have never met. They'll take your money and your integrity.)
Last night it was a thirteen year-old Mary Louise who played attentive and loving babysitter to Olive. A few days ago, her dad contacted me to see if i'd come play a gig with him and his buddy, Wayne (a.k.a. "Pow Wow"), at 7 West Bistro in Towson, just north of Baltimore. I was game, even though I'd barely picked up a guitar since December, when I played for the last time with the UMM folk group. We went over to the Sparrow House, a darling Victorian former- post office, for lunch and to rehearse a bit before the 5-hour gig. Ben, another former student of Ned's, met me at the house and he and I rode over to the venue, having made sure that Mary Louise and Olive were ready for the evening. I felt sad to be leaving Olive for so long - the longest I'd ever been away from her - but knew she was in capable hands. ML, fortunately, bears no resemblance whatsoever to the thirteen year-olds to which I'd become accustomed - no makeup, no cell phone, age-appropriate clothes not emblazoned with labels, and sweet and kind. I knew that, though she was inexperienced with babies so young, that she'd do fine, and if not, I was less than ten minutes down the road, and Ben was manning the phone.
Chez Sparrow, one of my all-time favorite abodes.
When we arrived at 7 West we were in time for Happy Hour. Not being part of the after work drinking set, this may very well have been my first one, but let me tell you: on a Friday after a week of work, the very last thing I'd want to do would be to cram myself into a bar with a bunch of loud, drunk people with really ugly clothes and even worse conversation. And I certainly would never use the word "happy" to describe such a scene. It takes all kinds, I guess. That said, we were only to be their entertainment, which was interesting. I'm not all that used to playing out, much less to playing to such a foreign crowd, but they were all a few degrees past tipsy, so that alleviated some of my anxiety. I'm know I have ridiculous stage presence, but whatever; three or so hours into the set, I loosened up a bit. Sound was a constant issue, piercing the ears of the crowd with deafening feedback, and I had to work at staying directly on the microphone so I could compete with Ned's more powerful vocals, but that aside, it was a really fun evening. We played a boatload of material - mostly classics from the '70s - lots of Neil Young, and even honored a request for Lynyrd Skynyrd (not 'Freebird'). When the bar started to empty around 9:30, Ben and I took off; I was missing Buggy bigtime, and was incredibly sleepy. We arrived to find Olive still awake and content, scrutinizing the straps of her stroller where she was sitting (ML found she was happiest there). I was thrilled to've had it be such a pleasant experience for all concerned. ML can get a good reference from me for any future babysitting jobs, and I now have my go-to Baltimore-area childcare lined up in the event that I ever gig again with the NedPow duo (which I may; I just got a phone message from Ned saying three different folks had inquired about me, wanting to get in on the musical action, and told me to come on down. Not happening tonight).
Ben playing competent roadie, pulling a quick high E string change for Dr. Ned.
No comments:
Post a Comment