A Sad Day

by Michael Seese

The world seems a little heavier these past few days. As I mentioned in my previous post, last weekend we went to the annual music party in Scenery Hill, Pennsylvania. It was a wonderful event, though bittersweet.

Then came the sucker punch.

On Tuesday, we got an email from our friend Ray, who said the Inn had caught fire. For all intents and purposes, it burned to the ground. The only reason it didn't literally was because the exterior walls are all foot-thick blocks of stone.

Our loss -- that of a place we loved to meet friends -- is trivial compared to the loss suffered by the owner, our friend Megin. She and her son got out unscathed. But Megin lost her livelihood and her home. (She lived on the third floor.)

You can Google "Century Inn fire" to read about it and see pictures. But here's one -- probably copyrighted, but I don't care -- which really hits home with me.

Forty-eight hours before these pictures were taken, my family was sleeping in the room circled in red.

 

 In one of the articles, the head of the local historical society said it was like a death in the family.

He's right.

Three Flashes

by Michael Seese

No, I'm not talking about a thunderstorm. Below are three flash fiction pieces all together. I didn't get a chance to do my usual Saturday + Sunday posts because we were out of town, at the annual music party in Scenery Hill, PA.

Always a good time, though this year's event was bittersweet as our friend "Jake" Yothers, the driving force behind the party, passed away last winter.

But the show must go on.

As must the writing. So before we headed southeast, I managed to knock out two pieces for Flash! Friday, and one for Janet.

For Flash! Friday, our novel prompt was The Great Gatsby. So we needed to include two elements from:

* Conflict (choose one): man vs man; man vs society
* Character (choose one): nouveau riche, jealous husband, shallow socialite
* Theme(s) (choose one): obsession, prohibition, the limitations of wealth
* Setting: 1920s New York

And this picture, if we wanted.

I came up with "Money Can't Buy" and "Birds." (For the record, I came up with concept for "Birds" first, but wrote it second.)

My first three attempts missed. But the fourth was a direct score. I watched with detached satisfaction while flames licked the paper. As yet another thing of value was being consumed before my eyes, I folded the next $100 bill into an airplane and consigned it to a fiery demise.

Despite the uneasy silence which now owned our house, I didn't hear my wife enter.

"It's after midnight. Come to bed."

"I'll be up in a few."

I glanced at the mirror above the fireplace as she left. She turned to the right, much like I've found myself doing of late. It's a slightly longer route. But it doesn't force us to pass that room.

After dispatching another dozen Benjamins, I slogged out.

To the right.

They say money can't buy happiness. That may or may not be true. But it sure as hell can't buy a cure for cancer.

-----

The day did not dawn black. It just seemed that way.

Do birds see in color? Or is it just dogs that are confined to a black and white prison?

I wonder if prison is as bad as they say.

When they say someone eats like a bird, what does that mean? Birds eat all the time.

I wonder how my family is going to eat now?

What does it mean to say someone has to eat crow? What do crows eat? Humble pie, perhaps.

I don't remember most of what Mr. Charles Mitchell, the stockbroker, said. Something about "excessive leverage." All I know is that he ended with, "Your money is gone. Out the window."

He followed shortly thereafter.

As I stood on the ledge, looking down at the red mass that used to be Mr. Charles Mitchell, the stockbroker, I had but one thought.

I am a bird.

Janet asked us to incorporate the words


remove
escape
away
lull
spare

I used them in "Escape."

 

When there is no prison, there is nothing to escape from.

Except boredom.

And loneliness.

And emptiness.

And Corn Flakes for dinner. Again.

And the occasional blissful bout of silence.

And the screams masquerading as lullabies.

And the fists which, I came to learn, sting less with each passing year.

But other than that, nothing.

Out on a lonely highway, I finally found freedom. Unfortunately, freedom also came with a flat tire, and no spare. I'd had to remove it to make room.

The flashing lights circling like vultures told me I won't be getting away.

But neither did he.

So we'll see Monday how I did. What do you think?

Music Fest Part 4

I'll definitely finish the story tonight.

As I mentioned a few posts back, the actual party is Saturday evening. But getting to Saturday evening requires getting through Saturday day. With three kids away from home--and therefore away from all of the their toys--that can be a challenge. We went to the Washington County Fair. $9 a head to get in, including the kids. But at least the fairground is ALL UPHILL! Every way you turn, it's up. It's like an Escher painting. That place could use a funicular. My wife later commented, "You would think they could have found level ground somewhere."

But we persevered.

I think I mentioned that the Saturday evening party starts in the gazebo out back. Of the 150 or so attendees, perhaps 50 bring an instrument of some sort. There are a lot of guitars, of course. But we have mandolins, fiddles, banjos, drums, a bagpipe, and lots of voices. In previous years, a Japanese woman brought her Shamisen. At least I think that's what she played. I googled "Japanese instruments" and found a picture that looks like what I recall seeing. So it really is a musical feast, with various sounds and styles everywhere.

This year, we did something really smart: we hired a babysitter. We didn't foist all three kids off on her. We just used her as a third set of hands to maintain the 1:1 ratio. After all, there are woods all around, a pond, and 30 feet from the inn's front door (admittedly a hike, but doable nonetheless) is a 50 mph highway.

Suffice to say, in previous years it was a little hard to relax and enjoy the party. But this year...

Underscoring just what a good decision we made in hiring the young lady, at one point I was sitting on the gazebo's patio, with my daughter in my lap, talking to my friends Lisa and Denny. (More on Denny later.) I said to them, "This is why we hired a babysitter. I can sit here with her on my lap and talk to you both. I could not sit here with her on my lap, watching one run around, and talk to you both."

Parents of two kids have no idea how good they've got it.

Around 9:00 or 10:00, we got the children up to bed, and then re-joined the party. Or better said, parties. By this time, people have split off. Some are still playing in the gazebo. Others congregate on the stone patio above the gazebo. Still others play on the front porch. I usually camp out on the side with the aforementioned Denny.

Denny is a good cat. He plays a lot of 70s "traditional" acoustic stuff (Eagles, CSN). That's not always my first choices of genres. But I know how the songs go, if not the actual chords. And Denny is a very good guitarist and singer; I truly respect him and enjoy working with him. And, between the two of us, we probably could play every Beatles song. So there's a lot of Fab Four as well.

Denny and I played until around 12:00 or 1:00. Then I went inside to get a glass of water, and wound up staying for an hour, as a few folks were hanging out and playing in the tavern: Billy Idol (again), Cure, Mazzy Star. Now you're talking my music!

So to bed around 2:00, and up at 8:00 or 9:00. Then we had breakfast, checked out, and headed home, stopping at our friends' house in Washington to visit with them and the out-of-towners who had been staying there. We got back on the road around 2:00, and made it to our house by 4:00.

Then unpack, laundry, dinner, bath, bed...in other words, the real world.

Until next year.

Music Fest Part 3

So to continue, and perhaps wrap up my recap of the musical weekend...

We arrived in Scenery Hill around 9:00 p.m. Our friends graciously helped us get all our stuff in. (For those of you who have never traveled with kids, it's basically one suitcase and about 10 coolers, crates of toys, and other.) We took the kids up to the room, got them a snack, set up their beds, and then headed down to the party. With them.

Within about two minutes I had a glass of Cabernet in one hand, my guitar in the other, and Olivia on my lap. I couldn't help but think of the line from the Reese Witherspoon movie, Sweet Home Alabama: "Look at you, you have a baby... In a bar."

Around 10:30, we got the kids to bed and headed back down. If you're thinking, "What kind of parent would leave their kids in a hotel room," let me point out two things:

1. We had them on monitor, and

2. It's an inn, and the place is about the same size as some of our friends' houses. (In fact, it it basically a big house.)

My personal highlight from the evening...

A lady asked for some Peter, Paul, and Mary. The only tune by them that I know is "Leaving On A Jet Plane" which, of course, was written by John Denver. Standing near me were two 30-ish couples. I didn't hear them say it, but later my wife said she overheard them poo-pooing me for playing John Denver.

After I finished "Jet Plane," I asked them if they wanted to hear something.

"White Wedding" by Billy Idol, said one.

"You got it," I said. I played a little of it, but then jumped into "Dancing With Myself." It's an easier song, so I thought some of my friends could join in.

After that, I asked if they wanted anything else.

"The Smiths," one of the girls said.

I started, "Stop Me If You Think You've Heard This One Before," but again stopped short, and said, "How about 'Girlfriend In A Coma?' "

"That's my favorite!" she gushed.

After I polished off a few more requests, I thought, "So the old guy can rock." And after my wife had told me about their anti-John-Denver comments, I was even more satisfied.

We finished up around 1:00 a.m., and headed to bed.

Perhaps I will finish the story later in a future post.

Music Fest, Part 2

So to continue my story...

The Century Inn is a magnificent place. As the sign out front says

it has been in operation since 1794, and was a "popular stop for stage coaches and waggoners." As an aside, this sign was damaged a few years ago; our friend Dave rebuilt and carefully repainted it.

It's no exaggeration to say that every time I go there, I am amazed to think about the history of the building and grounds...how many people have walked through its halls and over its lawns.

The original building (I have a picture of the front in my previous post) is a three-story stone structure. There was an addition put on at some point. I'm not sure when; I'll have to ask Megin some time.

Inside, when you walk from the old section to the new, you pass over an old stone threshold. Take a look at it:

You can clearly see it's scalloped, no doubt the result of centuries' worth of boots scraping on it.

The walls are covered with period art. In our room, was this:

Though it's a little hard to see, among the words stitched on it you can read, "Cynthia Barr was born May 21 1770," and "Cynthia Barr is my Name & with my needle wrought." The date on it reads March 8, 1786.

I don't care whether or not you're a history buff. The Century Inn is just a breathtaking place to visit. I'm fortunate to have lucked into a group of friends who found it for me. Otherwise, I might never have experienced it.

I can envision that some day, some piece of this time capsule of American history will find its way into a poem, story, or novel that I write.