Pie...

Pie...

Last night I drove 30 miles North through lake-effect snow squalls to Bev's Pie Party. What a great way to shake your fist at winter: Pack a bunch of old-timey musicians in a 125 yr old farm house in the middle of a snow storm with a bunch of instruments and even more pies. Pies, instruments and musicians came in a variety of flavors, styles and shapes. We had to leave early - about 11 - because of the weather. I could have played a lot longer.

I made the mistake of showing my new mandolin and my old fiddle to an instrument maker who showed up. I met this guy probably 20 or 25 years ago, and I think he does pretty good work. Turns out he is one of these guys - bless his soul - who can't say anything positive. "I can't figure out why anyone would build a mandolin without the sunburst finish on the top..." and it went on and on and on from there. I got the violin out just to test him, and sure enough he took the bait: "Yeah, sure is in the German style..." (spoken like a violin snob who thinks the only good violins come from Italy or from his shop.)

My ego is strong enough and not so tied up in my possessions that I don't take his comments personally, or even feel that he takes any air out my pleasure in owning such fine instruments. Rather I find myself shaking my head in wonder at this guy's negativity: how is that being with some people is like slogging through mud, and with others it is like wind in your sails?

Fortunately there were more than enough pies and tunes and fun people to counterbalance this guy. "Praise be to the gods of pie!"