Saturday, January 19, 2013

before you wrote your next song

I realize what I've been needing as soon as I walk into the building. Sawdust is piled at least four inches thick in one third corner on the right. The steers are showing. We've already missed Jess. Someone says she won first in showmanship.

Pigs are next? I ask Jason.


It's been too long since I've heard one of her songs.
This is coparenting or cofamilying or there are too few words.

Three steers line the wall, their handlers one boy two girls. We watch. I check light. Jason and I remember and laugh about being Jesse's age. How his cow was the best 'cause of all that time he had spent with him. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Blackie I remember.

The cows are judged and so are the handlers. We and a wall lined with bleachers and people listen to the words slow, steady, cooperation. Soon the pairs push through a swinging door as they leave. We become like the sawdust waiting.

We hear the pigs are next. I ask out loud, Will it be Jess?

Jason answers, Maybe. We'll see.

I almost give up on this being her class when seven pigs enter followed by their children. Again another swinging door opens. More pigs, more children, then. Jess. I instantly want her attention but then just watch. Watch as Jess focuses on her pig and a judge and maneuvering through a crowd of other kids and other pigs and sawdust and that kid has confidence and her Dad instructs her on my right.

Where's your judge?
Jesse, where's your judge?
You gotta move him, Jesse.

She looks up, looks at him and says, I am trying.
I do a little jump dance wave trying not to say anything and she sees me and I her and we smile.

Today I am grateful for those moments I am reminded what it is like to be around a songwriter, a singer, a pig handler, a performer, a wonderful, wonderful mess.

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