For My Good People

Each year we spend the last weekend of June at Red Rocks for a three day run of Widespread Panic shows. Panic Weekend is always an adventure, but this year was special for many reasons. For starters, they skipped last year, so for some of us this was the first show since an epic 2009 New Year's Eve weekend in a VIP box. This is Kerri's first big event post baby, and she needs it real bad. A recent count indicated that somewhere over the course of the weekend, pretty much all of us were going to hit our 50th show. Then of course, there is the pure and simple fact that we always do this, together, and this spate of normalcy has shown like a beacon for me the last few months.


There's a lot of build up to this boondoggle. We kick off with a mad scramble for tickets about 60 days prior. The day tickets go on sale, at least half a dozen of us, including out-of-state relatives recruited for their admirable computer skills and high speed connections, hover over our lap tops double checking battery power and making sure we've got the latest Mozilla upgrade downloaded. At 10 am sharp, furious keyboard action commences, along with much cursing of Ticketmaster and frantic shouting through cell phones - 'I've got six Saturday, Aunt George you've got Friday covered?! Jen, Mike and Alto have Sundays, Cuddie go for more Saturday, buy, buy, buy!" It's all over in about six minutes and assuming you've cornered the frozen orange juice market, you start parsing out spares to pals.


We roll deep, with an entourage 20 strong, so there's some real effort involved here. There are pre and post parties to organize, elaborate plans to smuggle in contraband, babysitters and designated drivers to hire, vehicle seating charts to maximize capacity. This all takes careful planning and attention to detail. You don't want realize a week out that you let someone tally the tickets from her hospital bed 5 hours after major surgery, clearly before the good drugs had worn off, and now you're short a few Saturday tickets! Craigslist...


By the time the Friday night show rolls around, the build up has reached fever pitch. Mike hears the birds outside his window whistling Panic tunes, and Steve has developed the kind of temporary ADHD that he usually reserves for big storms in the San Juan mountains. At least he has the day off - most of us are just useless, huddled in our offices trying, really trying to focus on that TPS report.


The plan is wheels up at 4:30 and much to everyone's credit, we pull away from the curb at 4:39. They won't come on until about 7:20 but we will steep ourselves in the parking lot scene for a few hours before showtime. Though we are older, and arguably wiser and more mature than when we started doing this 12 years ago, we pretend we aren’t.


So the weekend rolls by, drinks outnumbered only by laughs. We dance for hours, in the sunshine and the rain, under a rainbow and by the light of the full moon. My people come to play. And I feel the love, couldn't miss it really, because everyone is looking out for me. Jen's free with the hugs, Alty's on massage duty at intermission, Steve is telling all of us how much he loves us, Trent's got my name on a prayer flag as he leads Team Carter up Pike's Peak to raise dough for cancer, Cuddies have an extra bottle of water ready at every turn, Percell hands over his only rain poncho (securing a place in my heart for the second time, having been solely responsible for saving our wedding cake from disaster years ago.) Kurens, as usual the most prepared by far, is ready to chronicle the weekend in pictures.


Originally, Sunday was going to be a game time decision for me. When picking my chemo start date, I had a few options, and I chose wisely, making this past weekend (and a few other critical summer events) 'off weeks'. I knew the nine-day rest was going to be critical but might not be enough. I skip the late night post show goings on, hydrate well, and Steve is in charge of picking Van up so I can sleep in. Plus, 'they' say never miss a Sunday show, and I think they are right. The strategy pays off, I'm in and feeling good.


Brooke, eight months pregnant and fresh off two days of toddler duty, digs deep and makes it too, so we score her an extra ticket and a ride up the hill in a convertible with a handicapped sticker and an empty seat. Another widespread miracle. Danielle, four months pregnant, makes an early entrance to secure seats - row 22, Jimmy side, where you can feel the music in your chest. And then the band shows up. Never miss a Sunday show.


So, in summary...we got down to business and busted it big in that valley full of surprises, cleansing ourselves in the chilly water, driving that love tractor all weekend, climbing to safety out of this blight, every show worth a postcard home, seeing that last dance through like it was a disco...Ain't life grand? It makes sense to me.