October 3, 2007. Mondo Cafe, Moab, Utah.
Once the fiery glare of the brilliant red dirt cools across the corneas, Moab can be taken in, but only slightly. The beauty of this place is hard to photograph, let alone fully appreciate.
Swooping in from Motel 6, we assemble our music equipment , black and insectile, in the corner of the sleepy cafe and its bookstore counterpart. At first we nearly call it an early night, but are led on to keep playing by the arrival of many newcomers intent on strong coffee and gelato as an after dinner delight.
A highlight of the evening revolved around four young girls, two perched on the laps of parents, and two peeping around bookshelves and legs of other parents, who raised the bar to a new level for audience participation during my song "Growl, You Muddy Nymph!" Those little ones could make a grown Sasquatch shudder!
And did I possibly say "sleepy" cafe? Baby Noah refused to fall asleep, even during the lullaby serenity of "Unita", but stayed quietly alert and attentive, preferring dancing to a stroll into Slumberland.
We also appreciated the attention of the adult-type people, among whose ranks a man gave us a Lilliputian rendition of a good running trail in town, scrawled in black ink and adorned with perfect landmarks. I don't know how much running we managed between ogling the gorgeous landscape, but we sure got these purty pictures!
And the best, I save for last. Willie, resident of Moab and artist extraordinaire, showed up to Mondo Cafe, plunked down on the couch next to his friend Dave, and promptly offered chocolate. "Here, give some to him, too," he urged, passing broken bits of a delectable bar, and indicating that Ji not be left out of the treat. Next came a painting of his own creation. "This is for you," he said in an off-hand way, and I took the proffered canvas with astonished thanks. I asked if he had a cd player. He did indeed. "Do you have our cd?" No, he did not. "Here then! We can trade!" I exclaimed, joyful at the idea that I had at least something to offer in return. His reply? Something that brought a smile to my mouth and reminded me again about the ture nature of gifts:
"Oh. Thanks. But the painting is still free."
Once the fiery glare of the brilliant red dirt cools across the corneas, Moab can be taken in, but only slightly. The beauty of this place is hard to photograph, let alone fully appreciate.
Swooping in from Motel 6, we assemble our music equipment , black and insectile, in the corner of the sleepy cafe and its bookstore counterpart. At first we nearly call it an early night, but are led on to keep playing by the arrival of many newcomers intent on strong coffee and gelato as an after dinner delight.
A highlight of the evening revolved around four young girls, two perched on the laps of parents, and two peeping around bookshelves and legs of other parents, who raised the bar to a new level for audience participation during my song "Growl, You Muddy Nymph!" Those little ones could make a grown Sasquatch shudder!
And did I possibly say "sleepy" cafe? Baby Noah refused to fall asleep, even during the lullaby serenity of "Unita", but stayed quietly alert and attentive, preferring dancing to a stroll into Slumberland.
We also appreciated the attention of the adult-type people, among whose ranks a man gave us a Lilliputian rendition of a good running trail in town, scrawled in black ink and adorned with perfect landmarks. I don't know how much running we managed between ogling the gorgeous landscape, but we sure got these purty pictures!
And the best, I save for last. Willie, resident of Moab and artist extraordinaire, showed up to Mondo Cafe, plunked down on the couch next to his friend Dave, and promptly offered chocolate. "Here, give some to him, too," he urged, passing broken bits of a delectable bar, and indicating that Ji not be left out of the treat. Next came a painting of his own creation. "This is for you," he said in an off-hand way, and I took the proffered canvas with astonished thanks. I asked if he had a cd player. He did indeed. "Do you have our cd?" No, he did not. "Here then! We can trade!" I exclaimed, joyful at the idea that I had at least something to offer in return. His reply? Something that brought a smile to my mouth and reminded me again about the ture nature of gifts:
"Oh. Thanks. But the painting is still free."
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