Hot tea and cold nights

Tonight, I got to listen to bluegrass. I used to hate bluegrass. My experiences with bluegrass music growing up all seemed to involve a bunch of overweight men gathered around a woodstove in someone's garage. The music was twangy, the women all clogged, and me, being the elitist teenager that I was, would simply roll my eyes at the unrefined hillbilly music that bounced off of the concrete walls. Seriously, I was such a brat.

But now, the tables have turned. I LOVE bluegrass music. I love the way it reminds me of home and family. I love the lightning fast playing and the blur of fingers over strings. The twang makes me homesick. The harmonies make my heart ache. The raw talent makes my toes tap.

So tonight, when a friend called and invited me go listen to live bluegrass at a bbq place downtown, I didn't hestiate. And it was just what I needed. Sitting in the night air, sipping hot tea and laughing with a friend. We stayed until the lemon in my tea was stained brown and the air cooled, the moon suspended in haze above the twang of the banjo and the thump of the bass.

It was an extraordinary moment in the middle of an ordinary week.