"Mr. Stinky Feet is coming to Gainesville April 17"
That was the headline in the Bull Run (VA) Observer last week. Pretty typical for most small town newspapers where we play. However, the content of the story had some firsts for me.
My old buddy Danny Gogal, who helped organize the show, was attributed (not quoted) as giving the following info:"Cosgrove, Gogal said, started out as a ventriloquist and was encouraged by his family to expand his repertoire." Presumably because I was really bad at throwing my voice.
Danny says he was misunderstood by the reporter. He was speaking to her via cell phone from the corner of a noisy Boy Scout meeting and he told her that I had started out as a "JOURNALIST," but apparently she heard "VENTRILOQUIST."
When asked about the direct quote in the article that read, "His music is upbeat and is fun for adults, too, because he does various styles like Jazz.", Danny just shrugged and said that was the only style of music he could think of at the time.
We all got a good laugh out of it. The article is going on my "wall of fame."
Another great benefit of a long road trip is visiting good friends and family. We couldn't do it without the home-cooked meals, social breaks, and free beds. Thank you to all who make it happen.
We camped out at Kate Kopischke's house in D.C. for more than a week and she didn't even get sick of us. We must be great house guests. We had dinner last Wednesday with the Muraski clan and their five boys. Lyda was in heaven with all of those cute guys (we've lost count of her new beaus). Then we stayed with Danny and Lisa Gogal and their six kids on Friday. Lyda said she felt like she was staying with the Brady Bunch!
A guy I hadn't seen since college showed up my Georgetown Hospital show -- he's a doc there. I had dinner with Bill Geimer and Bill Barloon -- old friends I don't see very often. And Amanda and Scott Carruthers helped us book some gigs and fed us and let me nap in their basement before Saturday's show. It's a great life!
Next stop, the capital of the Keystone State.
Ever since we received a GPS for Christmas two years ago, my orienteering skills have gotten soft. My father was a great lover of maps and passed on to me the respect for navigation. I've taken great pride in my ability to know where I am and how to get there from here. Now, I don't have to know where I am because I've got a gizmo to do my thinking. But look out for tunnels and cloudy days, because when it says "searching for satellites" you're out of luck.
Lyda has nicknamed the voice on our GPS "Gabby," because she talks so much. We've muted her for this trip. And we about threw Gabby out the window when instead of a bowling alley on a rainy day, she took us to a new subdivision in the DC suburbs that probably used to be a bowling alley. She's really only accurate about 30% of the time.
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We waited in line for a half hour at the Smithsonian to see Dorothy's ruby slippers. Lyda's excitement quickly turned to disappointment as the main attraction was just a pair of shoes in a glass box. Same with Kermit the Frog -- he looks just like the stuffed Kermit we have at home.
Lyda was more interested in the dark little nooks at the natural history museum where they show out-of-focus videos about protozoa, or was it about rain cycles? I really couldn't tell, because they were so out of focus. I'd say, "Lyda check out this dinosaur skeleton!" And she'd say, "Let's go look at something in one of those dark rooms."
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Why is it that we turn ever holiday and any event that is remotely kid-oriented into a SUGAR FEST?! Cranking kids full of sugar is not cool. I've told Jeni that I'm finished being an accessory to the madness. I mean I'm all for a good desert and some chocolate now and then, but who needs 30-some eggs full of candy?? At least one of the eggs had a dollar bill in it, and I slid some baby carrots into one -- which Lyda proceeded to eat first. (I'm so proud.)
On our way home at the end of the day, Lyda moaned from the back seat. "I think I had too much treats today. I don't feel so well."
Here's an idea for next Easter -- battered and deep-fried Peeps!
Spend a little time on the pediatric floor of any hospital, or in the pediatric intensive care unit and you'll get a refreshing jolt of what life is all about. It helps put things in perspective.
We had a delightful show in the auditorium at Georgetown University Hospital. Several of the pediatric patients were brought in, and kids from the hospital's preschool -- the Koalas -- were there.
A couple of these young patients had received intestine transplants (one of the specialties at GUH), the thought of which makes my own bowels churn. But despite the discomfort they may have been feeling and the fact that several of these kids have spent more time in hospitals in their short lives than at home, they smiled and giggled and sang along as if they weren't attached to IV poles.
After the show, I had the honor of visiting a young woman in her room because she couldn't make it down to the auditorium. She is 27-years-old and is physically and developmentally a young teenager. Her mom and dad had that deep look of love and slightly-weary-yet-fully-grateful smiles that parents of chronically ill children get. It's that look of, "I'd go to the ends of the earth for my child, but I've really about had it with these visits to the hospital." They were so appreciative to have a brief break of music and laughter.
These visits always bring me back to Willa's stay in ICU almost two years ago -- the origin of the song Let's Stick Together. Those nurses and docs who do this day after day are truly heroes. And the parents who never get a break are living saints.
