Hazel, Meet Hazel

How precious is this picture?

This blog - and, apparently my story - is filled with celebrity references. My fascination with all things A-list began pretty early. Even before those dreamboats from Boston, I was dabbling in the world of the Mickey Mouse Club, sending fan mail to Damon and collecting the generic post card head shots they'd send back on his behalf. I could identify most of the Beach Boys and one time I met Wayne from the Wonder Years on a youth group trip.

I wouldn't say it was unhealthy, it was just how my brain worked. I was a kind of super-recognizer - I could tell you who was who and who had been in what, probably from all of those Teen Beats I was collecting for the pictures of Jonathan Knight. I had a few lucky (or maybe we should use the word "determined") experiences in high school and college, being in the right place at the right time to meet some of my favorite artists after concerts, once being granted an upgrade to front row tickets to see Garth Brooks in his prime. He had to pry my fingers off his boot.

The disillusionment began with my first job in college, working at Disney and having to adhere to strict guidelines about how to conduct ourselves professionally with visiting celebs. It was here I learned that Uncle Jesse was a smoker (Blech!) and that MJ, bless his brilliant and bleeding heart, was crazy. We all had our "who would we lose our jobs for" list, but no one on mine ever showed up.

My second job in college completely removed the curtain. This was a more hands-on position, sometimes spending full days in a theme park with "VIPs" and their families, entourages, whoever they decided to pick up off the street that day. It was a wonderfully fun job. I was at the very low end of the totem pole, so I got the jobs and/or people no one wanted, but it was still fantastic, and it was a cure-all for whatever stars were left in these eyes. Boy bands, sports A-listers, Producers, TV Personalities...turns out they were all human, and more often than not, not even interesting humans.

So now, usually, I can go "Oh, hey, there's so-and-so," and walk right by. (In a recent development, all New Kids are excluded from that statement.) I still have my very short list of people who I would probably make a fool of myself for, but at this point I'd know what to expect, and that bar is held very, very low, which brings me to this photo.

Our family is rather fond of and connected over time to a little band called Sister Hazel. I guarantee you know at least one of their songs, and I promise it's not their best one. They hail from my husband's hometown, so we've both kind of grown up with them. You don't hear them a lot on the radio and they don't sell out arenas, but they can fill a large club every night. Their following is huge and faithful and they lead the busy lives of a band on tour.

So one day we were visiting the grandparents and stopped in to what we refer to as "Sister Hazel World," but is actually a super cool coffee shop/ice cream shop/wine bar/market kind of place opened by lead singer Ken Block and some of his friends. See, one of the things that makes this band different from others is that their message, essentially, is 'Be Happy.' Just be nice and let it go and be happy. The crowd at a Hazel show is always a happy bunch of people - generally motivated to do good things. So here we are at Sister Hazel World, having enjoyed some ice cream and hanging around for no particular reason except to let our baby ("coincidentally" named Hazel) play with the chalkboard outside. Matt's brother had written her name and drawn the arrow, which turned out pretty funny, and we just kept sitting there while she played, happily.

We sat long enough to still be there when Ken showed up. "Hey guys!" he says. "Oh, hey Ken." (We do not personally know Ken). "Hazel? That's a great name!" he says. "Yeah. After your band," says my brother-in-law. (sheesh...)Then there is some polite back and forth about how they just got back home after being on the road for a week or so, etc.

It could have ended there, and we'd have thought nothing of it. The curious question of "Does Ken ever come here?" would have been answered and we'd go home with salted caramel ice cream in our bellies and another memory of a good-natured Ken. But it continues.

"She is too cute. Aww, I have to come meet sweet Hazel," says Ken, who then walks out of his way to come interact with a baby, after introducing himself to us all individually. We chatted a little more - about the length of his son's hair, and some other stuff - and then we were on our way, with a little more faith in humanity and a little more loyalty to our real-deal, Be Happy band who didn't let the celebrity get to them.