Leo Kottke at the Boulder Theater

Leo Kottke

Leo Kottke (Photo credit: Five Low Notes)

 

Streaming into the Boulder Theater

And so a couple of nights ago, on an evening that was even for Boulder, Colorado, unseasonably cold, several hundred adults who all looked to be suspiciously and uniformly close to me in age converged at the entrance to the Boulder Theater for a concert by Leo Kottke and proceeded to wedge ourselves and our best woolens and goose-down into the old movie theater seats that the proprietors have yet to see fit to replace, as well as some ordinary stackable chairs down front, where we sat. At first, I waited in splendid comfort, eavesdropping casually since my iPhone’s battery died at that same moment I sat down. Then the waitress — there’s a bar in the back of the place — took a few last orders, the house lights went down, and a handful of some of the taller people in Boulder arrayed themselves carefully in the empty seats before me.

I am here to listen more than I am here to watch, I told myself. I don’t have to see to hear.

The man’s style is to talk for a while between songs, or possibly in the songs, almost a sort of living voice-over. There was a story about some young man of Finnish descent named (possibly) Peltoniemi who was the nephew of some guy named Peltoniemi who rented LK a canoe on the Snake River in Idaho once — and who (the nephew) had something to show him (LK) which turned out to be a dead bird on a windowsill. LK was up in Minnesota possibly — somewhere deadly cold and snowed over in winter — at a place where there was the largest privately-owned ball of string in the world. It was in the owner’s yard, chained to a tree. “And the strangest thing about this ball of string was that it was chained to a tree.” Another line from earlier in the evening: “The secret of life is to be easily amused.”

The theater itself is still proudly resplendent in its Art Deco interior decoration and I think was probably painted about ten or fifteen years ago at the latest. We sat close to the front on the ground floor — when we went to see LK last year, we were in the balcony. This might have been a good thing if I hadn’t been sitting behind all the tall, fluffy haired people in Boulder. Mostly, I could only see him by peeking in between and around people’s heads.

The set lasted an hour and forty minutes with one encore.

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P’s R of Boulder, again.

So here I am again in the wonderful People’s Republic of Boulder (do they still call it that?) (Nobody tells me anything.) It is, as you might imagine, freezing. The temperatures these past days when we have been here are in what I like to term the basement of the world. When I last asked Siri, it was 5°. I do not want to talk to Siri any more for a while.

That’s the basement — figuratively. We have no actual basement here. We have a storage cage in the parking area which we lend to our neighbors because we haven’t accumulated enough stuff to need it, though I do try my best.

There has been some accumulation of frozen precipitation, but not enough to call it snow by Boulder’s standards, and definitely not enough for the people in the ski resorts to the west to call it snow. Time now for me to be pleased at not having added skiing to my sports, inasmuch as I have sports. Is Pilates a sport? Here it is.

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Yesterday, Boxcar Coffee

Boulder snow

It’s snowing in Boulder — nothing better from my point of view. At home in Cincinnati, we get endless gray skies punctuated with a bit of rain. Here, mounds of lovely fluffy snow with the promise of the return of the sunshine within a couple of days.

I shall spend my day doing Pilates (they have a whole Institute here for the stuff!) and writing. And inevitably, I shall end up writing about sunshine and summer in Cincinnati. I can’t stand the irony!

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Some last aimless shots of Boulder

BIFF