Yesterday evening Jilly Moose came to my house, then we drove to a restaurant in Sun Prairie called Buck & Honey’s to see Bahama Bob play. Travalon went straight there from work, and he arrived at the same moment as we did, which seemed like a fortuitous sign. However, when we got to the patio where Bahama Bob was playing his steel pan (or, as most people refer to it, his steel drum), we were told the patio was closed for a private event. I can be a pretty successful whiner, so I mourned that we had come ALL THIS WAY to hear Bob perform, and they said we could sit on the couches on the edge of the patio to hear him. They even allowed us to order food at the bar and bring it out, but when we went inside, a young waitress said no worries – she would bring the food to us. After that little snafu, the evening was wonderful. Bahama Bob played some songs we hadn’t heard him do before, and the special event people did not seem the least bit perturbed by our presence. (It wasn’t anything that private, like a wedding, just a chef cook-off that you had to buy tickets to, and then you got a five-course meal.) Nobody seemed to mind us eating our regular menu food and drinking our Blue Hawaiians over on the side of the patio. When we told our waitress how attentive she was, she said we were the first table she had ever waited on! Afterwards Bahama Bob came over and talked to us for a while. He has this gig every Tuesday, but he’d had no idea this particular Tuesday was going to be a private event. He is very down to earth, but then we are about what he has for groupies, other than Travalon’s mother and her peers at the retirement homes where he plays. He is living my dream: not famous (no privacy, plus it takes an average of 30 years off your life expectancy), but just renowned in certain circles. That is all I ever really wanted to be.