Flavio Sala at the Georgetown University School of Continuing Studies

"An Alien With Extraordinary Ability"

6 November 2014 - Timonium, Maryland

      Flavio Sala greeted me at the door in a bathrobe. I wasn't expecting that. He had that signature Flavio smile that I did expect and he gave me a big Italiano hug that was a bit disconcerting. In my world it's OK for two combat Marines to hug each other; maybe I'll hug my wife and old girl-friends, but I'm still a little put off by the ubiquitous American habit of hugging each other. The same way I'm disconcerted and put off right now by the American fad-habit of everybody calling everybody else "Guys." Deep down I'm trying to express that I'm disconcerted and put off by insincerity and a creeping disease of bad manners among the American people. At the gate recently at Dulles Airport, getting ready to fly to California, the young woman representing Virgin America Airlines at Gate 63 got on the speaker and said, "Hi. We'll be lining up soon. If you guys could look at your boarding passes and see your Group Letter . . ." I noticed lots of people just staring at her. I wondered whatever happened to "Ladies and Gentlemen" as a way to greet people or make a general announcement. I blame it all on the TV show "Friends." (which I never watched, by the way, because it  and that era of television is the current source of all the snide and smarm that infects our current bad manners and bad speech patterns). It irritates me. But then I'm old and of another generation. And I'll continue to fight the slide into the abyss of bad manners and bad speech patterns because I and others with degrees in English know that it inevitably leads to the destruction of civilizations.

      I excused Flavio's enthusiasm. After all, he's Italian, and recently transplanted to our great nation. I returned his hug with a strong male handshake that tried to impart a message to him. American male friends shake hands like in the old days when two mountain men who hadn't seen each other in a year or two of trapping beaver in the Rocky Mountains would suddenly meet up at the same time near a mountain stream. They would shake hands, maybe trade knives or hatchets, and then ask each other if they had any coffee or beans. It was about survival in a harsh landscape and communion with another human being. It went deeper than addressing the world with "You Guys" and realizing that bad manners with another human being might get you killed. I tried to impart in the male handshake with Flavio that I took this stuff seriously. And after that greeting I felt badly that I had gripped his right hand so tightly. I've got a strong grip even though I'm old. Flavio is only 31 years old and has his whole life ahead of him as a classical guitarist. Those hands are golden and need protected like a beautiful rare butterfly you discover in your garden. The true beauty of the hands is the reality that he hopes those hands will carry him into the future of a career here in the U.S. music business. It's an immigrant dream as old as our country; a familiar story. But there is always a new twist in America. What's fascinating to me is the combination of parts that have been conjured together in this latest episode of an immigrant landing on America's shores.

      Ruth Perella Barker came into the room in the midst of greeting Flavio again after a month or two of  not seeing him. Ruth has family connections with Flavio's family back in Italy. Dealing in boring conversations has never been a part of my lifestyle. I've never had a boring conversation around Ruth and Flavio. I met Ruth and Flavio in the most crazy circumstances you could ever imagine. In the midst of  last summer Ruth sent out an e-mail for help to a community of friends of  Italian descent in suburban Baltimore. A young Italian was coming to the U.S. and needed help obtaining a long-term visa. He was a guitarist; a classical guitarist, and very good, according to the original e-mail. Could anyone out there get him a gig so he could prove to the U.S. Immigration officials that he was serious about staying here for a while? Robert Miller and a group of  hard-core bluegrass music fans provided him with that opportunity. I was there the night it happened. In front of an audience that is used to hearing "Three Chords and the Truth" Flavio Sala stunned everyone with the Truth. To say that bluegrass music is the lesser of all genres of music and has no importance except to a bunch of Appalachian provincials is to proclaim your royal snobbery to the coterie of the Philistines you hang out with. In the audience were some of  Maryland's best guitar-players and banjo-pickers and it was they who immediately identified with what was happening before them. Flavio bent the rules, mesmerized, went from Venezuelan and Russian classical composers then blew everyone away by finishing up with Carlos Santana. Everyone agreed with two factors: the program wasn't long enough and they'd never heard anything like that before. The real musicians who were on board recognized the most important musical factor that evening and the discussions were fascinating. In music all things are possible, and there's always a new way to look at things.

      Ruth and Flavio and I had business to attend to and I wanted to quickly get that out of the way. I had one more opportunity to talk to Flavio previous to today and it only spurred more personal interest on my part, to talk to Flavio. He loves to talk. He's personable and easy to talk to. And he's young. To me, he's just a kid with a whole life ahead of him. When you're 70 years old you experience this sudden life-change. Everyone else in the world looks like a punk-kid! It becomes easier, too, to separate the serious ones from the non-serious. Some burn with a bright fire. Others wait for everything to be handed to them on a plate; like the 30-year old kid who explained to me one time on an air flight that since he worked for the government he could expect a good salary and a good retirement someday and not have to worry about anything. Everything he said told me everything I needed to know about who he was. I wasn't interested in his conversation. I wanted to chuckle to myself and say something obnoxious like "Since I'm Catholic, I'll pray for you" but that would have been cruel to someone so youthful. Ruth said "let me show you something." She pulled up a video on her iPad. It's a grainy video of a family dinner party in Italy that she attended. A scrawny 13-year old is unconcerned and uninterested, like most 13-year olds, and he's isolated himself in a corner with a guitar that looks as old and as worn as the hills. The kid doesn't seem to care about what's going on around him. You only notice his connectivity to the guitar, and the beauty of the sounds he's producing on that old instrument. Having been born into a recognized family of musicians in rural Italy you can understand that he's a prodigy destined for a career of classical training. Today, a conversation with Flavio reveals a fire way beyond the confining box of Italian 'classical' training that had as its main desire, to confine the spark

      Flavio entered into the classical training that he seemed destined for and of course, he did well. His degrees, pedigrees, resume, his performance appearances and accomplishments, his Curriculum Vitae all suggested success or future success at an early age, as long as his thinking remained cubical. My conversations with him kept summoning to mind images of boxes and how a young artist never wanted to be confined to a cage or a box (like the young bureaucrat who had already decided his retirement plans - locked up in a box). When we first met I asked him the pointed and blunt question as to why he was here. His answered was just as blunt. He wanted out of Italy and wanted out of  Europe. The next set of statements from one so youthful also intrigued me. "It's just me, my guitar, and the internet" came out of his mouth as quickly and as easily as the young bureaucrat's vapid argument for wasting away his life in non-creativity. It's not all one-way. He's deeply grateful to his mentors, his old teachers, and the Italian classical music 'system' that nurtured him and launched him. But as Flavio points out, the world of  the music business is changing rapidly, ever more so in the U.S.  After spending some years in South America, Flavio set his sights on the United States as the natural place to expand his career and rather than fight it, as the cubical thinker would, become a part of the internet revolution that is changing art and especially changing music and the way it's purchased and appreciated.

      Dreams are great things to spur one on to greater actions - or maybe great disasters. We grow older, more cautionary, and even worse,  maybe less creative. It was all well and good to hear a young man talk about his dreams, but I'm more interested in hearing about the Game Plan. Age also endows you with a sense of the practical - or is supposed to. I know a lot of old fools. And I'm certainly not the brightest man in my world. Today was an opportunity to gain more insight (I hope) into Flavio's game plan for winning hearts and minds. It sounds fantastically simple and I'll express it in his words: "I want people to hear what I have to offer - and it would be great to connect to those who hear it, appreciate it, and maybe meet them some day at one of my concerts." CD sales and internet downloads aren't even a piece of  his game-plan right now. As far as he's concerned they're a dead issue. "Everything will come from a public's recognition that I exist and can be accessed on the Internet." You could easily box that up as the talk of fools too, but a two-hour conversation with a young Italian immigrant ( who does need to be heard and does need to be accessed on the internet) convinced me,  the Old Gentleman,  (I refuse to use the word "Guy") that I need to change my way of thinking about what's on the horizon of the American and World music business.

     Ruth Perella Barker walked me out to my car and thanked me for visiting. I told her I would see her and Flavio at some future concerts that were coming up fast during the holidays. "He's doing well." I said. "How's the visa-thing working out?" "Better than expected." she replied, and then she continued,
"You know what his classification status says on the visa?"
"No." I said.
" An Alien With Extraordinary Ability."
We both laughed. Ruth gave me a big hug. It's OK for Ruth to hug me. For once maybe our government speaks the truth. Maybe it was issued by that same rubber-stamp bureaucrat I met on the airplane.

 

Flavio Sala and Ruth Perella Barker, Flavio's U.S. Manager.

         
Contact: flaviosala.com
Latest Discographical Project: Mi Guitarra y Mis Amores
Concert opportunity:  Concert at Temple Emanuel, Reisterstown, Maryland, December 13th, 2014 at 7:30.

The Dukes of Funchester

 Dave McLaughlin, Linda Lay, Tom Adams, David Lay, and Marshall Wilborn - Springfield Exit.

3 October 2014
Winchester, Virginia

      The place roared with laughter. Sean Loomis, lead vocalist and guitarist for Dry Mill Road, was explaining some things going on in Winchester and some woman in the audience yelled out "Funchester!" It aptly described the spirit of the evening, and the venue in which we were sitting. Connie and I got into Winchester early so we could take advantage of some walking time and enjoy a meal close to the Bright Box Theater. Dry Mill Road and Springfield Exit were on the same bill that evening and I was contemplating the outcome. Two entirely different bluegrass groups. Two entirely different approaches to bluegrass music. But each group consisted of consummate professionals who respected their craft, respected each other, and especially respected the audience which came out on such a dreary night to enjoy them. The Bright Box Theater has only been in existence a year, and if you need to find it, it's not hard to miss. It sits directly across from the old Court House Building on Loudoun Street, which is now the central Civil War Museum for the city of Winchester.
    
      Way back in time I remember as a child driving through Winchester on our way to Washington, DC. I remember the narrow streets and especially remember a Big Apple that sat in the center of town. On this evening I tried to remember where that Apple actually sat. It's all revitalized now - spruced up beyond beautiful and easily accessible. Several years ago it had all just started and now the vehicle-forbidden, pedestrian-friendly Loudoun Street has been expanded to include several other side streets. There are the usual upscale shops, restaurants, and yoga shops. There is plenty of outdoor seating and over-hangs, which came in handy when it started to rain - and why I'll never know, I'd left all the rain gear in the car and had to back-track to retrieve it. Parking was easy along any of the side-streets. On a chilly, rainy October evening, lots of people were out having fun in all the bars and restaurants or just browsing with their dogs. There were lots of dogs. When the rain started, most people headed into the myriad of cafes or opted to go home. The street lamps threw a nice reflective glow on the cobble stones and one could imagine a point in time when this city shifted allegiances 67 times during the Civil War. Sometimes it was in The South. Sometimes it was in The North. Terrible things had happened around these streets.

       When I think of Winchester (or "Funchester") I don't normally consider it a bluegrass mecca. I consider it a Patsy Cline mecca. This was her town long before the Philistines of all that is considered righteous in Winchester finally acknowledged they had a national star in their midst. Not that Winchester doesn't have its current bluegrass notables in its midst. It's one of the reasons why we opted to drive out this evening and enjoy the town. If you know bluegrass you know who the Johnson Mountain Boys are and you know that Linda Lay and Springfield Exit are the last vestiges of a group that is right up there in bluegrass history with the Seldom Scene, Country Gentlemen, and the Bluegrass Cardinals. I'm fortunate. Springfield Exit plays a lot around here when they're not out on the road. More recently, they've almost made a steady gig of playing at the old Washington Hotel in Winchester, within easy walking distance of the Loudoun Street pedestrian area. Almost anybody worth their salt in popular bluegrass circles is liable to show up and join Springfield Exit when they're playing at the Washington Hotel. That's what I love about this music. One never knows what to expect except you're destined to have a good time and enjoy it. I knew it was going to get interesting at the Bright Box Theater: put together a package as 'conservatively' bluegrass as Springfield Exit with an 'edgy' bluegrass group like Dry Mill Road and see how the patrons react.

       On a chilly and rainy July day in 2012, in Martinsburg, West Virginia, July 21st to be exact, I was invited out to a mini-bluegrass festival of sorts to hear some local bands. The place was a picnic pavilion way out in the middle of nowhere. I passed it a few times before I finally found it. Sound engineer Todd Stotler was there and said "Howdy" as I pulled in. We traded greetings and then he asked me if I had ever heard of "Dry Mill Road." Answering no, he then told me to prepare myself, that I might not like them, it was a warning of sorts, that conservative as I am, I might be disappointed. I get this a lot when I pull into a strange place. I'm not really the bluegrass police. My real friends (Todd is a good friend, by the way, and knows my tastes in music) know that I do have the ability to keep an open mind. I remember that day. It's stuck in my brain. Dry Mill Road was the last band out of six. The set started off with some traditional bluegrass numbers and then went down roads I'd never heard in bluegrass. It sounded like bluegrass but it may have been Celtic. It may have been bluegrass, but the wizardry of the music, the rapid-fire runs in key and octave changes, came darned close to the tightest of tight  jazz improvisation. I got hooked; but I like to see how an audience is reacting at all times. I was sitting in the midst of a hard-core bluegrass audience. They had all come to hear bluegrass, Mountain-Style, they never expected what they got, and I didn't expect it either. The crowd went nuts and wanted two more encores before they would let Dry Mill Road go home. The rest is history, as they say. Dry Mill Road had arrived and they were ready to go to work. One of my main interests in following locals groups is watching and studying a group's progress. It's like making a statement and then living up to that statement. Are you in it for real or just another flash in the pan? Are you contented playing for free at church picnics and pumpkin festivals or do you want to carry your music to a broader audience? I was never happier than when I got the news this year from Rob Mabe that Dry Mill Road was playing Carnegie Hall in New York City.

      I was happy to see a good turn-out at the Bright Box Theater. A lot of competition on an evening full of ball-games and later bad-weather predictions. The bars and cafes along Loudoun Street shouted out their own offerings of rock and blues to the younger crowd. Every once in a while you'd hear a roar build up when somebody scored a run. Autumn baseball season. I like to believe we were having a lot more fun inside the theater with an enthusiastic crowd of  bluegrassers. True believers here to see and hear local bluegrass legends and a more contemporary band called Dry Mill Road. That I enjoyed Springfield Exit is a given. By all that is holy in speaking the name Jimmy Martin, I really shouldn't like Dry Mill Road and what this band does with bluegrass - but I do, and I'm always left with a feeling that they've really just started to make their statement about their music. Tonight was a night to experience royalty - call them all the Dukes of Funchester.

Springfield Exit: Linda Lay, David Lay, Dave McLaughlin, Marshall Wilborn, and Tom Adams.

Dry Mill Road:  Sean Loomis, Robert Mabe, Douglas Ross, and Dave Hurt.

Doug Ross, Sean Loomis, Dave Hurt, Robert Mabe -  Dry Mill Road

      

 
          

Choose One Direction and Then Stick to It: Northern Connection Continues On The Right Path

 Traditionalist: Dee Gunter making an extraordinary appearance at Port Deposit, Maryland on 14 September 2014 with Frankie Short & Northern Connection Bluegrass Band.

15 September 2014 -

      I'm going through my notices for upcoming shows, fall programs, etc. I start getting them in mid-august. Fall and winter is such a busy time for the entertainment business and all the major concert halls in my neck of the woods. The competition for the almighty entertainment dollar is fierce. I know it sounds crazy, but if you're a professional band or entertainer and you haven't lined up your holiday gigs yet, you better go into a marketing mode. The smart ones are already contacting me and letting me know where they're playing for New Years. Time flies when you're working, in demand, and having fun. I'm sitting here looking at a schedule for an artsy-craftsy kind of place over in West Virginia that is promoting an Americana band that describes itself in the following genre (category? definition?): "New Orleans Gypsy Brass Circus Rock." Now, folks - this is why I refuse to pay money to see bands that advertise themselves as Americana. I won't publish the name of the band. I don't need to. I just wanted to point out either an identity crisis of monumental proportions or a bad marketing ploy to be cute. I can easily imagine a future Grammy Award given to the year's best band in the New Orleans Gypsy Brass Circus Rock category. Not.

      While I'm looking at this piece of promotional humbug, and not really casting aspersions, but rather pitying the people who printed it up, I'm still reeling from the Sunday performance at one of my favorite haunts. Let's get authentic. Let's ditch the manufactured names of musical forms just to bamboozle another sucker into buying a theater seat. Of course I'm prejudiced. I never claimed I wasn't. Just as my love for authentically produced traditional bluegrass music is sincere and honest, so is my honesty in not lying about my prejudices against fake bluegrass music. Or pretentiously fake bluegrass music. Or worse, pretentiously fake bluegrass music that parodies authentically traditional bluegrass music. I had the opportunity (once more with feeling) to see and hear Frankie Short and Northern Connection play at Jumbo Jimmy's Crab Shack in Port Deposit, Maryland. Little did I know that one of the Grand-Daddies of  Maryland traditional bluegrass would also be there, on hand, to be invited up to join Frankie and the band in the small performance space. Dee Gunter, known far and wide for his contribution to the history of  Maryland bluegrass music, sang four songs mostly dedicated to Jimmy Martin. Professionalism and talent is getting up from your seat at the drop of an invitation, grabbing the microphone, and allowing three other singers to join you in delivering four perfect pieces of bluegrass music. Time and again I've tried to explain that this is why I love this stuff. You don't have to manufacture fake labels or lie-filled press releases for it. The orthodox bluegrass true believers in the audience know it when they see it. Dee Gunter has done it so much he's got it down right; down to a fine art; the styling and the phrasing and just the right emotion. He makes it sound so easy; as if he's not working at all, but having a great time watching the audience experiencing a great time..

      Like a lot of working musicians in Maryland, Frankie Short follows in the footsteps of his father who was also a recognized practitioner of the art of bluegrass. I first met Frankie when he was playing exclusively with Baltimore Bluegrass, which as far as I'm concerned,  was one of the best bands in Baltimore. They officially disbanded last year and played their last gig on December 15th at Jumbo Jimmy's. Of course the performance was brilliant but also not without its sadness. Two days before that Frankie suffered a serious heart attack and it's a tribute to his popularity and a tribute to the Maryland Bluegrass Community that everyone I talked to was sincerely pushing and praying for Frankie's recovery. In honor of that, the last performance was packed with Baltimore Bluegrass fans. Frankie recovered and the band played one more time at the annual Christmas Party at Jumbo Jimmy's. I mention all this because on January 19th of this year (2014) Frankie emerged with another configuration called  Northern Connection. No surprise that the direction would remain sure and steady and always the same; traditional bluegrass in the Maryland style. The band consists of  Frankie Short, T.J. Lundy, Mark Seitz, Steve Streett, and Brian Eldreth. I've been watching them closely. I like what they do. All, are excellent musicians in their own right and often put their talents to work with other configurations. Northern Connection will celebrate its First Anniversary on January 19th, 2015.

      In a period of time when observers of the bluegrass scene in the States are proclaiming a critical near-death situation for the continuation of  hard-core traditional bluegrass, bands like Northern Connection carry on. When I'm discussing the bluegrass music 'health' situation with others I like to point out that here in Maryland we've seen the establishment of not only Northern Connection but also Bluetrain, The Cypress Creek Bluegrass Band, Special Blend, and The Rocks Bluegrass Factory Band. They're all working, they're all getting paid gigs, and all are building up their local followings at the clubs, bars, and fire hall dances. There are probably more that I don't even hear about working the non-paying street fairs and carnivals and what I like to refer to as the Pumpkin Fest Circuit. I'll always stick with the traditionalists; the bluegrassers who decided to go down the narrow path of traditionalist exactitude. There are but a few who exemplify it: Dee Gunter, Danny Paisley, James King, Marvin Ashby, Harold Tipton, Scott Brannon, and more. But it's enough of a traditionalist army to keep the music pure and authentic for at least several more generations. I won't really care what the music sounds like after I'm long dead and gone. But for today, I'll prefer to listen to the guys who've kept the music focused on a very narrow path. Somehow, quite mysteriously and magically, the music sounds a lot better in the hands of  Dee Gunter - and not Robert Plant.

 

Mark Seitz, Steve Streett, and Frankie Short

 TJ Lundy

Brian Eldreth

  

The Grand Reunion

 Doug Meek and his father, Brad Meek of the noted Meek family of Fiddlers. (7 September 2014)

7 September 2014:

      It took me a while to figure out what was going on, but bluegrass music has a way of making you eventually see the light. Then I got home and downloaded all my pictures and it became abundantly clear in all my photos from Jumbo Jimmy's Crab Shack. There was a Grand Reunion going on and the Master of Ceremonies was the incomparable Danny Paisley and his group of excellent musicians known as "Southern Grass." Danny Paisley and Southern Grass was the reason I was at Jumbo Jimmy's Crab Shack. He's been busy touring all summer and to see him perform in front of a huge audience is one thing; to see him perform (and have fun) up close and personal in a place like Jumbo Jimmy's and in front of family and friends is quite a different experience indeed. I therefore felt like one of the fortunate few who was there to experience it. Earlier in the week Brad Meek asked me if I would be there on Sunday. I gave him an affirmative. Brad is the father of the brilliant and talented (and very young!) Douglas Meek, primo Fiddler for Danny's band. I don't get to see Brad very often. Joyce Miller and Fran Honeycutt greeted me when I came into Jimmy's and both let me know their families would be on hand to see Danny Paisley. Pretty soon I was introduced to cousins, relatives, aunts and uncles, and the proceedings and dancing got pretty raucous as Danny commenced to do what he does best: play music.

      He played to a full house of  friends and family and people who love Danny Paisley and accept his music and his talent. I would imagine that Danny Paisley's style of singing and interpreting the music wouldn't be everybody's cup of tea. At times he's almost bordering on caterwauling and yelling, but there are times where he's absolutely brilliant in the expressed emotion. He knows exactly where he wants to go with any given song selection. It sounds so darned good for another huge reason: keeping up with every audible level, every note, every change in nuance is bassist Eric Troutman. The vocal work of Eric and Danny is reason enough to catch a Danny Paisley performance, but then add the vocal and banjo of  Mark Delaney. Mark Delaney is also an excellent soloist in his own right, but rarely solos when playing with Southern Grass. I hate the hackneyed term 'Deadly.' More confirming to say that the ultimate goal has been reached by Danny and Southern Grass - this is a team effort to produce authenticity and good music. Each member recognizes the talent and potential of the other. That kind of leadership comes down from the top - every Marine knows that and accepts it. One of the most difficult things in music is to instill teamwork among a bunch of acoustical pickers. It doesn't take long for an audience to catch on to a 'Hot-Dog' especially in bluegrass music. They don't last long on a stage or at a local jam. This why I love bluegrass. What seems so simple in the hands of a master like Danny Paisley doesn't explain all the complexities of putting together a masterful package. You have to listen to, and understand the intricacies. To repeat an old, over-used cliche, it takes everybody playing off the same sheet of music; but taking time to show-case your talent is an added bonus when you're watching and listening to Danny. This is where Ryan Paisley, Mark Delaney, Eric Troutman, and Doug Meek really shine forth. And when it happens to be really good, you're rewarded with that crazed Danny Paisley Smile.

      I felt privileged to see a lot of that smiling last Sunday. The dance floor was hot. Nobody wanted the two encores to quit. On a rare and delightful Sunday evening nobody wanted Danny and Company to pack up their instruments and go home. There were lots of  Millers, Paisleys, Lundys, Honeycutts, and Abels in the audience having a grand impromptu Family Reunion of  the representative families of Maryland Traditional bluegrass. Once in a while the planets line up just right. The driving force is bluegrass at its best. What a great time to spend with Brad and Doug Meek. Till I see you again, Brad.

Bobby Lundy and Gail Honeycutt Abel

T.J. Lundy and Mom, Joyce Miller

Some of the regulars from the "1 O'Clock Orchestra" at Jumbo Jimmy's Crab Shack: Rex Smith, Leon Werkheiser, Jerry Riecke,  and Dave Armstrong.

Yes. I'm Still In Love

 Yes. We're Still in Love

5 September 2014

      Hello My Friend! I found a beautiful picture of my wife the other day and I posted it to Facebook. I want everyone to know how beautiful she is. I also posted the caption "Yes. I'm still in Love!" After posting I sat back and decided it was time to return to talking about where I am with my Catholic Faith. If we don't think about these things they have a tendency to slip to non-priority. In the past few weeks I've been missing mass and that usually sends me down the guilt-path. When I converted to The Church I made a promise to love, honor, and obey the Teachings. Lately I've been lax in loving, and lax in honoring. I'm not happy right now with the changes in the liturgical verbiage. I've talked to other Catholics who are in the same boat. The central meaning  is still there, but being a Convert it took me a while to learn and properly recite all the old parts of the liturgy, and now I have to re-learn certain key parts of the newly re-arranged prayers. Just one more thing to cause me to take umbrage with the authorities! But in the end it's such a piddling matter to get angry over. Yes, I'm still in love. I'm in love with my wife and I've promised to love Christ's teachings. And I've promised to accept and honor the love that's being offered to me each time I take the Eucharist during mass. There have been any number of times in my short career as a Catholic that I've been struck to the core as a Convert to the Church. Father Dan Mode told me in a private conversation two years ago that the central teaching of  Christ and the central teaching of  the Church has everything to do with saying "Yes." The second teaching is this: Christ came into the world to direct each of us toward an understanding of God's unconditional love for each of us. I'm simply a human male married to a wonderful woman who bore our son, but beyond that she gave me riches I could have never imagined when I was a young, stupid, unmarried male. I may have never become a Catholic (a very happy one - you need to understand that) without her constant, loving help. Without her, I may have never understood the connection between my telling her how much I love her, and at the same time expressing those same words each time I take Communion with Christ and my Church. It's the "Yes" that Father Mode was talking about. It's all a big mystery as one favorite priest once told me. Life is a lot more fun when you find the joy in it instead of any sorrow. My complaints are meaningless and piddling in comparison to God's Great Plan for each of our lives. I'm still in love with Connie and that's such an easy choice. So much easier if  I  realize that my marriage is a sacramental gift I received when I made my final decision to convert to Catholicism.  +

It Sounds Better in Maryland.

3 September 2014:

      I admit my faults; my prejudices. But I've been spoiled. Treated like a spoiled child in a candy shop. Everyone knows I live in Virginia and sneak across the Potomac River to enjoy the bluegrass music in Maryland. I'm frequently asked why I do it so I'll say it once again for the record:  every weekend, every day of every weekend and sometimes on Thursdays, I can find entertaining, first-class bluegrass within a 70-mile range of my home in Virginia. But not in Virginia. I find it in Maryland. Last December I commenced my Maryland Traditional Bluegrass Calendar to document how much Traditional bluegrass was going on in Maryland. In January or February I plan on making a report of the findings, and then continue the calendar/schedule/listings on into 2015. The unscientific research is strictly mine and doesn't include Old Time music, or non-traditional bluegrass groups of which, there are plenty in Maryland, working the clubs, festivals, public picnics, and County-sponsored public concerts. No. My only concern is traditional bluegrass;  music done in what is commonly referred to as "the Baltimore style" or  "the Maryland/Baltimore style." The nick-names are strictly regional and probably have nothing to do with reality. Suffice it for me that I like whatever it is, and I like what I'm hearing when I have the opportunity to seriously listen to it.