I just don’t know…I’m looking for people to jam with, preferably someone to teach me, and this city is just not putting out. Meetup.com has a banjo group that may or may not gather in Amsterdam, but that has to be seen. I don’t fancy being the only one to attend, or worse, just me and a twitchy man in a dirty cardigan.
Not that I’m knocking folk fans, I am one after all.
So I found a directory of banjo pickers, and selected to write to, a lovely sounding fellow with three bands on the go and decades of experience with banjo, mandolin, guitar. After composing a more than cursory introduction, I emailed my plaintive call of the lonely banjo picker out into the ’net.
Half expecting a bounce reply from a long abandoned email, I thought I might search for more info on the ’net about my prospective banjo-buddy’s band. The first hit mentioned both my target and the band. I paged down excitedly to see a slightly sepia coloured photo of that self same person I had reached out to, but underneath the photo were the letters
R.I.P#
Well, wouldn’t you just know it?! My weathered old tutor, with wisdom and wit, demanding but always ready with a hearty laugh and an anecdote from his colourful past … had already passed away.
I’d missed him by about 7 months.
Anyway, the email never bounced and although common sense suggests that perhaps his family was picking up his mail, I got to thinking maybe not. Maybe, it was going to… some kind of posthumous mailbox. Now wouldn’t that be a killer app.. we can’t offer you eternal life, but hey, you can still pick up your mail.