Spring

It happens every spring. I start thinking about the late spring in 1976 when I found myself in Jackson Hole preparing for my first season at Dirty Jack’s Theater.

This morning I came to this blog to click on the link to the Jackson Town Square webcam. It still looks a little chilly and gloomy there, but the magic still emanates from the image: The town square still looks exactly the same as it did 31 years ago when I walked along those boardwalks or slouched with my buddies on those lawns.

It happens every spring. I hear the music and the applause of my first professional gig. I remember the faces of friends and actors and bandmates, like Tim. It is a powerful cocktail of nostalgia.

Just now, as I was writing this, I thought again, for the hundredth time, “I can go back and do it again. I can call the theaters in Jackson and look for a return gig, the same way I did in the early spring of 1979.”

Can I?

Maybe, but it wouldn’t be the same. It wouldn’t be Tim and Sean and Doc and the rest. But, Hell, I don’t want it to be the same. I just want ME to be the same. Can I ever be that full of possibility again?

Dirty Jack's Theater and Jackson Hole made me think of myself as a real musician and entertainer when I was a gawky kid unsure of anything, and that has been a feature of my life for the last 30 years. I organize my bands and I play my music. I think back to Jackson Hole for the inspiration.

And every spring I have a visceral yearning to go back and start it all over again.

Maybe when I retire…

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