As some of you will recall, I have been playing for brunch at The Black Dog cafe in Snoqualmie on second Sundays this summer. (The last one scheduled is Sept. 8, but I hope to continue on after that. Please Like me on Facebook with the widget on the right to get updates.) It is a wonderfully relaxed atmosphere in which to play, and I enjoy it very much.
The Black Dog is more than a cafe, and more than a music/theater venue. There is always a variety of art, antiques and crafts to peruse and to buy, and always a friendly, talk-to-the-folks-at-the-next-table kind of atmosphere.
Occasionally it gets quiet and slow…
At other times, I wonder if I can be heard above the happy sounds of food and friends.
It is so relaxed and laid back at The Black Dog that I have to force myself to get into proper clothing (not pj’s and tshirts, Cynthia!), and maybe even do my hair. Which, it turns out, is hopeless. The Black Dog is a hip, hap’nin kind of place, but I seem incapable of looking even remotely hip and always seem to end up looking more like Mary Ann from Gilligan’s Island.
Despite groovy earrings and leopard skin dress, just not hip.
Despite cool earrings, I arrive at the Black Dog looking typically un-hip.
But I don’t play the Black Dog to feel like I could look good in leather. Nor do I play the Black Dog for the money, which is minimal. I play there because I love the musical freedom and the warm reception. (And the coffee.) Last week as I looked over at the little tip jar between tunes, I thought, “I don’t need that.” And then I thought about my true reasons for playing there and decided to add one more.
Once upon a time there was an innocent creature, a donkey named Pasado, who was hurt, and hurt, and hurt some more until he died. Do you remember? I cried when it happened and have cried over it many times since. Just writing about it, I am crying now. That unfathomable event summed up the worst of humanity. The sanctuary that was created in response to it sums up the best of humanity.
When I was a little girl, our father died and our mother went to work while we were in school. Working moms were not as common back then. During the day, whenever I was not at school, I remember feeling like there was not a soul on earth who would protect me if I needed it. I remember every danger, every close call, and a few incidents where I did not escape harm. A psychologist might stroke her chin and theorize that my tears for Pasado are tears for my own vulnerable young self. Surely there is some truth to that. But I survived and grew strong whereas Pasado did not.
Starting with my next visit on September 8, 100% of the proceeds from my music at The Black Dog will be sent to Pasado’s Safe Haven animal sanctuary. I really hope you will come to The Black Dog on a second Sunday morning, enjoy the food and some harp music, and leave a few bucks in the jar for animal rescue. Thank you!
