Got to visit Chris at the nursing home; he’s doing lots better. A friend is bringing him a drum pad, which is probably some of the best exercise for the arms he could get. Took him best wishes from everybody.

And I checked out The Landing (first time I’d ever been in the bar part). It’s a little small; fitting the equipment for two bands, the crowd they’re expecting, and tables for food and raffle items is not going to leave a lot of room for dancing. I’m glad everybody’s friendly. The Landing owner’s the one in charge of entertainment for Bay City’s big centennial bash Labor Day weekend, and I would like the band to play, but I only approached her tentatively; I think it’ll have a bigger impact once she’s heard us.

Just Terry and myself at the tavern Wednesday; it was a chance to learn more of his flddle tunes. One I’d like to be playing a lot is “Earl’s Waltz,” by Earl Payne of Noti, Oregon—Terry picked the song up at the Old Time Fiddlers’ Conference. It’s a good tune, and I like to give as much exposure as possible to people who aren’t famous but write good music. (And I don’t think “Earl’s Waltz” has any words. I could remedy that.)

Fiddlers’ repertoires are chock full of waltzes named after states. (There’s even an “Oregon Waltz,” written in 1845 by William B. Bradbury, a relatively famous composer of the era.) However, according to Google, there are still 11 “un-waltzed” states (that ought to be fodder for songwriters). That assumes the “Mosquitos of Dakota Waltz” is, like Google said, a South Dakota waltz and not a North Dakota one.

A similar situation exists with respect to blues. There’s an Alabama Blues (by Diane Ewing—I wrote the music for it), and the famous California Blues by Jimmie Rodgers, and a bunch of others—but there’s no Oregon Blues, and no blues for 14 other states, either. (Some, like New Jersey, would seem to be needing a good blues.) There’s a reason why some states don’t have a blues named after them, of course; the name’s already been taken by or for something else. The Connecticut Blues is the name of a fife and drum corps. Iowa Blues are chickens. So are Delaware Blues. But the other states would seem to be good fodder for songwriters.

My initial thought, though, is: Could I combine the two? A blues waltz, perhaps? I have always liked the Star Trek Approach—going where no man has gone before. I know what the music ought to sound like (it is a little strange), but I don’t have words yet.

The Nashville chapter of the writers’ group Just Plain Folks will be holding a “Nashville Bash” Aug. 20-22, and I’d really like to go. It’d be a chance to connect with all the writers I know back East and down South that I haven’t seen in three years (and to meet in person some new ones I only “know” on line), to perform at a writers’ night or two, to maybe get a couple of demos done inexpensively, and to stop by and impress a couple of the publishers whose mailing lists I’m now on. If the time permits, I’d make the trip by Greyhound—a round-trip ticket costs only $216 (purchased three weeks in advance), about one-quarter what I paid to fly there in 2007, and way safer for the guitar. Takes about the same amount of time, too—airline travel in the U.S. is no longer fast.

First get-together of our local writers’ group, at Jack Graves’ bookstore—me, Jack, and a third fellow whose name I’ll eventually know. Jack wanted us each to share something we’d written; for the third guy, that was part of a diary he’d kept as a young man working on a boat in Alaska. That was fascinating, by the way, and I told the fellow he ought to get it published (I didn’t mention Jack has done some book publishing), and that I’d sure buy it (and Jack told the guy that my offering to buy anything counted for a whole lot). I’ll get to sit in with them again in two more weeks, I think (next week is tied up with the Census).

Joe