One of the things that makes me crazy is thinking of things to write about, and then forgetting them by the time I get to it.
I have never been very good at taking notes, which I could be much better at doing, but new skills are not on my horizon right now, so I will wing it like I always do.
This past Friday night, we were in Lawrence with the Ranneys to go to Liberty Hall and hear one of our favorite musicians whom we have followed for more than 50 years. The man is Mike Finnigan, who was with the Phantom Blues Band this night.
We were trying to think of a time we had seen Finnigan without the Wipfs and couldn’t think of even one. Don was a big fan and we would always hear Finnigan when he was in Wichita. Such as at the River Festival, the Cotillion —if he was in the area we would go with the Wipfs.
In Lawrence we lined up on 7th Street, out of the sun’s rays, when all of a sudden it became a very small world.
We didn’t spot anyone in the crowd or the line who was younger than 60. We soon discovered the woman standing behind us was a good friend of Candice Ranney at KU; they lived on the same floor in the dormitory. The woman and her husband have retired in Lawrence and live west of the Ranneys.
The security was very tight when we entered the entrance to Liberty Hall (Formerly the Red Dog Inn). Nancy tells me she sees a sign that says no knives. I happened to have my Swiss Army Knife in my pocket; I had forgotten to leave it in the car.
I was a little nervous about it, but not completely, because I had ordered another one at Hillsboro Hardware that was waiting for me to pick up. I temporarily had the one knife I had carried for some time. The spare I had we gave to Louis as part of his graduation gift, which had become somewhat of a tradition in Atlanta.
When I got to the gate, I showed my knife and said I had forgotten to leave it home. The guy said I could take it to my car or leave it in a basket around the counter until after the show, then come back by and pick it up.
That’s what I elected to do. I go by after the show, but the basket I had tossed it into earlier was not there.
A young staff person yells to a guy outside, “Where is the Swiss Army Knife?” He pulls it out of his pocket and tosses it to her and she hands it to me.
My little vial of nitro that I thought I had lost at the Pizza Hut turned up in the laundry the other day. It was the one I wrote about a few weeks ago. I thought I had lost it.
It’s like everyone loses stuff. It will show up fairly soon somewhere — or it won’t.
If you wish to share your comments or ideas, my e-mail address is joel@