HAVANA CAFE WITH CYNTHIA

cynthia and double selfie as retired cop

A couple weeks ago Cynthia and I spoke of making a run to West Jefferson to have lunch at the Havana Café and see Selma again. Selma had the coffee shop in Sparta before Becca. Selma's spirit fills the air of this small restaurant of extra good Cuban food the same as her spirit filled the air at the coffee shop in Sparta. The aroma in the air is so Cuban you can almost see it, floating vapors in the air of scent from a Cuban kitchen, it surrounds you before the door closes behind you. We wanted to go last Friday but the weather was too intensely cold. The oppressive cold would take some of the fun out of it. We were looking for a fun time, not survival. The weather looked good for this Friday, so away we went. It was an excellent sun shining day over familiar highway I'd not been on in several years, highway I drove once a week for about five years. The drive was a good review of the landscapes and houses all along the winding mountain road, Hwy 18 from Sparta to Laurel Springs, Hwy 88 to Jefferson, then to West Jefferson. Cynthia goes another way from the way I drive to West Jefferson. When we passed my turn off point I was lost from there on. Everything had changed along there so much since I last drove the highway I did not recognize anything but the McDonald's M. It was my only landmark telling me where we were. She was going in from that end. The drive from there to the part of town we were headed to was unrecognizable from the McDonald's onward. It has been more than twenty years since I've been on that road. It's been a lot of years since I've been to West Jefferson. It was like I had never seen any of it before. I recognized a few spots, just enough to mark location. It is a pretty town now. The Havana Café is on the back street that faces the old railroad track, the road to the library.

 

selma and cynthia

 

As soon as we stepped inside I heard an explosion of "MAMI!" Cynthia and Selma fell into each other's arms for a big nurturing hug. It was joyous for both of us to see Selma again. And to see Ralph, her husband, the chef. He is aware of the subtle flavors in Cuban cooking. I can tell because his cooking makes me aware of subtle flavors. Selma's decorating is a simple suggestion of Latin ambiance in a place with a familiar American feel, nothing pointing its finger at the Cuban but the aroma in the air and Selma's Latin style. Though nothing on the walls is "Cuban," the interior of the small restaurant  is packed full of tables and there is no feeling of being crowded anywhere in the place. Chairs of a beautiful contemporary design, black seat and back, chrome structure; light weight, easy to handle, sturdy and firm on the floor while moving easily. They give the place a feeling of style. It is Selma's decorator's eye. The chrome chair legs enhance the floor with a pattern of faux tile. It's the floor that gives the place a Latin ambiance to accompany aromas in the air. With the kitchen beside the area with the tables, it makes the place feel alive. The atmosphere in the place is lively talkative people feeling comfortable liking their context. I was feeling good being with Cynthia. Her light-hearted spirit balances my deadbeat spirit. Like I interpret myself having crow energy, I feel Cynthia is wren energy. You might see a wren through the window land on the deck railing. It will look this way and that, turning every which way looking around, looking deeply, not just glancing, attention shifting in a mind that goes too fast almost to live with. Cynthia's mind is instantaneous, so she's very quickly bored.

 

on the left the kitchen, on the right the dining area

 

Cynthia's world and my world intersect just a little bit, such that we see each other every once in awhile by apparent chance. I'd not seen Cynthia in so long and hadn't had a quality visit with her in so much longer that we spontaneously decided to make the run to the Havana Café to see Selma and have some good Cuban cooking. I may have bored Cynthia out of her mind, but I felt comfortable with Cynthia the whole time. She once apologized for her driving, but I told her I'd not had an anxious moment yet. She was keeping it in the road to my satisfaction. She felt to me like a driver with good experience who knew the roads, never went into a curve faster than it allowed, nor too slow. She's a good driver. The whole round trip I never felt anxious the first time. I enjoy conversation with Cynthia. I've missed Cynthia and today didn't seem like quite enough. We talked about driving to West Jefferson again before too long. Cynthia is petite and vulnerable like a wren, too. I feel protective with her, like Steven Seagal said to a woman he was with in a gunfight, "If you want to get out of this place alive, stay with me." So heroic a thing to say. The same quotation came to my mind the day I sprung Jr Maxwell from the Sparta nursing home. Cynthia is from Asheville, has traveled all over the country, worked here and there. She came to Sparta to be the director at the Teapot Museum that was in its time of quick wane when it became apparent no money was coming from anywhere. Mr Vanity from LA who had a fortune in the teapots wanted the working class citizens of the county to fundraise fourteen million dollars to build his museum for his teapots in a time of rural Depression in America.. Mountain people didn't drink tea anyway, except for iced tea Southern style with plenty of sugar, and not from no tea pot. It didn't work out.

  

selma

 

Since the time I said no to the world of the false, I've turned my focus inward onto my world, the people in my world. Cynthia is someone in my world I don't see enough of. My new awareness makes me want to give more attention to the people of my world I want to be around rather than the frauds in the media. Cynthia is a refreshing spirit for me. Makes me wonder about past life connection. I feel like we know each other better than we do. I've known Cynthia from the time we first met. She's in her world and I'm in mine. We went to see Ralph Stanley not too many years ago. It was a good show. She was teaching a course in the community college on Southern culture. Made me glad she could have a Ralph Stanley experience with her appreciation of the culture. Again, as I remind myself every day, I want to focus my attention on appreciation of the world immediately around me, the scenes along the highway, the restaurant, the car, Cynthia, Selma, I was feeling full appreciation. It was appreciation day for me, like yesterday was and the day before. I have tremendous more fun when I'm appreciating the people I'm among. I wanted to be with Cynthia today because she's someone I appreciate, respect, like an awful lot and feel comfortable in her presence. We're like inter-racial. Her world is not my world and my world is not hers. The coffee shop is about the only place our worlds intersect. That's ok. She's a huffin-puffin go-getter who gets things done, good organizer. I'm a donkey laying under a shade tree wearing a sombrero with holes in it for my ears to stick out, listening to reggae, Burning Spear, waiting for Babylon to fall. On the drive over we discovered we both like rum. It was a good day, my celebration of having Cynthia in my world day.

   

winter foliage

 

 

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WILLARD GAYHEART AND SCOTT FREEMAN

     scott freeman (l), willard gayheart (r)

     scott freeman and willard gayheart

     willard gayheart

      scott freeman

     cynthia grant

Last night, Friday night, more music lit up the air in Woodlawn, Virginia. Scott Freeman and Willard Gayheart made the music. A Scott and Willard show has become my favorite of the shows at the Front Porch Gallery, the Fiddle and Plow show. I can say without fear of rational contradiction, both Scott and Willard are as good as it gets in the mountain tradition of the Central Blue Ridge in their time. Like Scott told me some years ago when I mentioned his band Alternate Roots was a really good band. He said, "There's lots of good bands." That has stuck with me as indelible. I don't know how many times I've quoted him and multiple more times thought about it. Indeed, an awful lot of good bands are everywhere. The other day on YouTube I clicked on a band called The Hillbilly Gypsies playing Hazel Dickens' song, West Virginia My Home. I wanted to see if a band with so good a name could live up to it. They did. They are among the many "good bands." I can't help but say, Praise the Lord, we have so many good bands, so much good music in our time. But, Alternate Roots was exceptional among good bands.

I found myself singing along to about every song either Willard or Scott sang. I had to watch it while working the video camera, because I have unconsciously sung along in the past and it turns up on the video. I don't mind that. It's one more of those live audience things that happens like somebody walking across the camera's view. I don't get annoyed when that happens. When somebody stops from courtesy before entering the camera's field, I encourage them to go ahead, wishing I could take a moment and explain--I love it when you do that--but I motion with one hand, unable to talk. It works out either way. If they choose not to walk in front of camera, that's ok too. I like the approach comfortable with whatever happens. It doesn't make "good" video, but it makes the kind of video I like. There's plenty of good video going around. I've had a few people give me tips on how to make better videos, but I don't follow their advice, because I know why I don't do what they want me to do.

Back to what I was getting at, that I now know the words to the songs they sing. Last night I heard myself vocalizing with the singing, keeping it below a whisper. It used to be with David Bowie, Hot tramp, love you so, or the Stones, It's them honky-tonk, honky-tonk women, dat gimme, dat gimme, dat gimme de honky-tonk blues, or Bob Dylan, People call, say beware doll, you're bound do fall, you thought they were all kiddin you. Now I'm singing along with a western swing, Won't you ride in my little red wagon, I can haul you down the street, and Roly poly, daddy's little fattie, bet he's gonna be a man some day. And best of all, Willard's singing of Yellow Rose of Texas, She's the sweetest Rose of color this poor boy ever knew, her eyes are bright as diamonds, they sparkle like the dew. The yellow Rose is not a flower. She's a woman named Rose. These are the songs I carry in my head now, after more than a year of listening to Scott and Willard almost every week. They open every week's show with two songs, then turn the show over to the guest. Sometimes they give a show of just them. It's always my favorite show when it's Willard and Scott. That's how it is with the dozen to twenty people in the audience who go every week they can.

I took my friend Cynthia Grant along for the show. She's teaching Appalachian Studies in Sparta at the WCC community college extension branch. She's a good teacher. I sat in on one of her classes last year and was struck by what a good teacher she is. Before we left Selma's coffee shop to drive to Woodlawn, Selma was talking about several people get together and leave the coffee shop as the starting point, go to dinner in Galax and on to the show in Woodlawn, some Friday night in near future. We learned last night that Skeeter and the Skidmarks will be playing in two weeks. That will be a great show for a party. I'm imagining the half dozen or so who would be going, and I'm knowing in advance that every one of them will love the experience. Skeeter puts on a good show. It's Willard and Scott's present band with Edwin Lacy playing banjo and Sandy Grover playing bass. They have put on four shows at the Front Porch, every one a gem.

I've not put any of last night's songs onto YouTube yet, but will upload a few. Willard and Scott have several videos now on YouTube if you'd like to see them. Write either one of their names in the search box and everything with them will come up. Everything they do is good, so any selection process of song would be no better or worse quality than any other. Plenty of Skeeter and the Skidmarks is there too. For me, it was a great enjoyment to introduce Cynthia to Willard and Scott's music and the venue. She enjoyed it as much as I imagined she would. Cynthia has the ability to appreciate art in whatever form it presents itself. She's a museum curator by profession, came to Sparta hired to direct the Teapot Museum in Sparta in it's last months. She was given a bit of a raw deal, and has chosen to stay here because she likes it here. But it's coming to a place she needs to get on to someplace where she can have work that pays something she can live with. She's applying for work in various places and will probably find something. Everyone at the coffee shop will miss her. That's not to be worried over today. We'll wish Cynthia the best when the time comes. She's not one to forget her friends.

I get a lot of still shots during a show, as well as video. This picture above of Scott catches his fiddle playing best of what I got last night. This one came with his last note. I was going after a picture with his bow hand in the picture. My camera has a delay from pushing the button to snapping the picture. Quite a lot changes in that half second of time when musicians are in motion. When I pushed the button when his hand was in view, the hand was out of view when the camera clicked the picture. I tried snapping the picture when his hand was out of view, and it stayed out of view when the camera did it's part. I went through half a dozen or more trying to get that hand in the picture. The very last note, his hand slowly came into view and stayed there long enough for the camera to catch it. It was while he was playing Ashoken Farewell. I was happy with this picture of Willard playing his guitar, too.