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Singing in the woods, again

I enjoy our by now traditional semi-annual КСП outings. I happen to have a good time while I am there. Then I get back home, recognize the fact that I slept for probably 6-7 hours cumulatively over the course of the weekend, and fight fatigue for the next couple of days. It’s worse than a jet lag, honest.

A few other notes from the festival.

My personal playbook contains several hundred songs, of which I can play by heart – or by ear – roughly a hundred (the rest are complicated enough that if I want a smooth performance, I need to have the book in front of me; the playbook is a weighty folder 250 pages long – not exactly a handy object when you sit with your guitar on a log around a fire). You would think nearly a hundred songs should be more than enough to never get short on numbers to perform at any given point in time. And yet, after going through a dozen of my favorites, I always end up “forgetting” which songs I know. We alternate leads between three or four guitars, so now it’s my turn, and I can’t find an answer to “What else can I play?”

Something about spontaneity that my brain objects to. Good thing that I am almost invariably the weakest musician around the fire and others can play by ear practically anything, so if one of the listeners blurts out a request while I’m still searching for my next number, I can draw on my vast knowledge of lyrics and lead the singing, even if I can’t exactly keep up with the the accompaniment.

On a different note, it turns out to be quite important to stay away from elaborate knots if you know you’ll have to untie them. I ended with the primary responsibility for putting up the tarpaulin cover over our campsite on Friday, and I managed it splendidly, acknowledged by all participants as “the best tarp we ever had”. This was my first time at that particular job, and I emphasized securing the thing to the trees at the expense of simplicity. Then, Sunday morning, I entertained half the campground repeatedly balancing on the top step of the ladder and cursing the knots, “What cretin tied this damn thing this way? Oh, sorry, I think I did it myself!”

Finally, sleeping in adjacent tents with someone who loudly snores feels as if they are sleeping in the same bed with you. You try and tell me if there is any difference.

Must have contributed to my lack of sleep.

Repeat in the fall. Although I might skip the rainier/colder instance this year.

Posted in Chronicles