Now that I've had a chance to regroup, realize the fact that one of my nine lives went by the wayside during the bomb thing and now I'm down to eight lives, I'll give you my impression of the weekend.

Charlie, Rita, Dolores, Jennifer, et. al., did an awesome job of planning and I am eternally grateful. So, the food wasn't Debbie McClatchy, I didn't go hungry. The beds were comfortable, as were all the workshop and individual concert venues. The after-dinner concerts in the gym were great, with lighting and microphones, theatre seating, and a fabulous stage crew.

P.J.'s Mouth Music concert and workshop was different and unusual and new and a delight. And, she can play a "mean" bodran!

Of all the individual songs I heard, Lani Hermann's "The Wallflower Waltz" and her fiddle accompaniment was the most poignant and brought me to tears. She was a pretty good sport, too, bunking in with all us rowdy mudcatters!

This year was different than last. Last year, there was the magic (for me at least) of meeting everyone for the first time. Every single memory was magic. But, this year, there was a comfort level in knowing these folks, and is equally as special as the magic.

Our Mudcat Cabin was lively. Four very large rooms, with no doors, and a common room in the middle. They put the couples on one side of the common room and the singles on the other side, with the shared bathroom/shower inbetween. You would have laughed at me and P.J. locating the "blind" spot in the room so we could dress with some modicum of respectability. The boys, on the other hand, have neither couth, respectability, or modesty!!!

The camp site was beautiful and it was a schlep up to the gym, but I managed, even with my heavier-than-lead guitar case. This year, I will invest in a Reunion Blues Gig Bag!!!!

The following I wrote last night on the plane, between bomb squads and home. I don't mention everyone, but y'll know who you are.

For the second year I journeyed far
to follow the roadmap in my heart.
Clefs were turns, notes were stops along the way.
To make music with friends and share in the joy
Of my second Getaway.

The first 'cat I saw was folk1234.
'Cats have a way about them, you see
Open arms for a stranger and a friend to be.
Then we gathered our wits and our guitars in hands
And off we went to explore this new land.

We were the first to arrive and play Lewis & Clark
It was mid afternoon but soon to be dark.
Changing leaves, rustic cabins, surely g-d at first sight
Up the hill and down the hill with all of our might.
Little did we know that for three days we would repeat this same hike.

'Cats arrived in waves and floods through the night
To see their faces once again was pure delight.
The hugs were many and the smiles many more.
My heart was bursting with thanks, for these friends
As each walked through the door.

Now close your eyes and imagine this sight
13 "single" Mudcatters turned into teenagers overnight.
Rooms side-by-side with seven beds each and no doors.
The boys were boys and the girls giggled long into the night
We froze our tushies and our nightclothes were a fright.

Shared showers and toidies I won't discuss
Some things must remain sacred but who can you trust.
The first morning up couldn't have been finer
Then think of When Harry Met Sally and the scene in the diner.
It's what was heard when Dani and I braved a cold shower.

Making music with friends cannot be described
There are no words that say what I feel deep down inside.
The talent was boundless and generous of heart
And I took advantage with no shame
Adding mandolin and banjo and voices to my part.

We sang of a Rose in Georgia, Tim and I
My guitar and his banjo the perfect complement ... what a high.
Songster Bob added mandolin to the story of the Long Black Veil
You could hear the cries and the moans of the man about to see hell.
On the Old Kentucky Shore is about two lovers with one about to die
P.J.'s harmony to my melody brought them together in the sky.

Other memorable moments almost too many to confer
But lying on my bed one night this is what I heard.
Roger singing the blues like cutting through butter
Max and Robert Johnson a match like no other.
P.J.'s Funeral Lament, haunting and pure
Dani's voice soft and low in a spiritual so sure.

Allan's For Baby like a lullaby so soft
Jim's washtub bass adding the bottom to the loft.
Dick and his inimitable style long gone
Barry's song of struggle and the battles to be won.
Jeri's voice, which last year we barely heard
Now lifted soaring like a bird.

But the moment I will hold most dear was the night before going home
It was late, we were down to a few and chilled to the bone.
The lights were out and we were young girls gone back in time
We giggled not wanting to say goodnight not wanting to leave the rhyme.
And try as we might our eyes would not close
Until a low soft voice from the other room arose.

It was Barry and Mick with an Irish lullaby
Their voices like one as in a whisper and a sigh.
We quieted and snuggled down deep in our covers
Our eyes growing sleepy new dreams to discover.
We sailed the ocean on ships of long, long ago
Wild roses and brave Irish lovers our hearts to behold.

So, to close this great memory and lock it away
In that part of my heart in which it will stay.
Forever and a day still glowing through the years
Of the music, and the laughter, and the wondrous tears.
I came for the music as many of us do
But I stayed for the people, the many and the few.

jenny