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Friday, January 29, 2010
"Lady McQuay" Repost (click to Jump to Serendipitous Surpluses)
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Thursday, January 28, 2010
Monday, January 25, 2010
Repost: One Minute Writer prompt. "Girl Playing Cello in Subway"
With calluses deep and emotions shallow, sleek and fragile appendages press taunt catgut strings tightly against the ebony fret board of the pawn shop cello. One case unpacked, with unanswered hopes of unpacking the second before the sun traded its warmth for moonlit loneliness. She feigned a gentle smile at the irony that her case was actually a total of two cases. One for the over grown fiddle and the other with her life’s accomplishments. Still pressing forward, harmonizing melodies reverberating through the empty subway forest, creating sounds even though no one was there to hear the trees fall.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
"Be Happy"
What makes me happy? Isn’t it kind of nuts to sit and say, “I don’t now. I never much thought about it.”
I think a lot of us, and I mean me as well, really don’t think about it much. I think we probably spend more time thinking about what makes us unhappy. Do we take happy for granted? (The marble statue of Venus was unhappy with the statue of Hercules. Yep, she felt he took her for granite. Gitit?)
I suppose I could take a movie camera and walking around in circles all day filming. At the end of the day, you would have a movie of all the things that make me happy. The problem with making a list is that one has to “cull” things to equal only ten. And, with all that, I get to number 10 and I have trouble with that one. Now that makes me unhappy. (not really, just to make a point)
Well I have to have a list so here is my list.
My list of “Happy Makers”
1. Thaaa Boss”
2. Myyy Babiesss
3. Myyy Family
4. Myyy Friends and our “gittogethers” see post with “Dumb Bull”
5. Myyy Blogs and Bloggers
6. Myyy Gittarr and fiddles and such
7. BBQ Pork Ribs
8. Work
9. Being “Crafty”. (all kinds) Boat building post….
10. Everything Else
I now bestow this award to the following people. If you have this award already, I have no control over that. (with a smile) I really take this award with more seriousness than my words convey, but I guess I am just in a happy mood today, thanks to Ms Liza over at MIDDLE PASSAGES. http://www.middlepassages-lcs.blogspot.com/ Thank you..
Ms. Quiet Commotion http://www.quietcommotion.blogspot.com/
Ms Wander to the Wayside http://www.wandertothewayside.blogspot.com/
Ms In Through the Back Door http://www.inthroughthebackdoor.blogspot.com/
Ms. Musing of a Mercurial Woman http://www.mercurialwoman.blogspot.com/
Ms. Tales of Ordinary Ordinariness http://www.suzyhayze.blogspot.com/
Ms Monica Manning http://www.monicamanning.blogspot.com/
Ms. Loud Silence http://www.notsoez2plz.blogspot.com/
Ms Aimless http://www.myaimlessinfatuation.blogspot.com/
Ms September Mon http://www.myvoicemyview.blogspot.com/
Ok, I am not good at making this list because it will go on forever and I am afraid that someone might get their feeling hurt for being left out. (I still have a few more Paw Paw bags left from Christmas, lol), so there you go. If I left someone out, you are on the list too.
A Side Note: Todlems and I had supper together last night. We went to "visitation" last night for one of our coaches who had passed away. (Not the one in the different stories).We spent a few hours chewing the fat so I decided to repost "Dry Docked" at Serendiptous Surpluses. giver'er a click if you would like to read http://www.glnroz49.blogspot.com/
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Old Five and Dimers Like Me"
Barriers are like hedgerows. They are not impenetrable, but can be “sticky” to break down. As time passes the foliage gets thicker and taller and time can accentuate the isolation. From an earlier post, I mentioned barriers being within the music industry.
Dallas Texas actually has a higher annual average velocity of wind speed than Chicago. Add 95 percent humidity and thirty three ( 33 ) degrees, and you have the Webster’s definition of “discomfort”. The owner of the club owed the band back wages for two night’s performances. The fact the band was supposed to play that night was of little consequence when we found that the building was locked up. Phone calls were unanswered. Another club across the street, “We Three” did not cater to clientele of our musical genre, with no disrespect to their patrons. A couple of solid kicks with my Tony Lama’s (cowboy boots) and the entry to “our” club was achieved. We were freezing our butts off.
The closing was unannounced so people were showing up to hear the music we opened the front door and just let them in. The booze had all been hauled out. The owner had left to escape the people that he owed. The power and furnishings, which were mainly homemade pick nick tables, were there. The patrons left and went to the beer store and just brought their drinks in. We were going to play anyway. We did. Took up a collection and had a good time.
During one of the breaks, I went out to the street to get some fresh air. I notice this dude shyly peeking through the front door.
“Come on in. Gene has skipped town, but we’re playing anyway.”
“Naw, I can’t. I am late leaving for Nashville, Gene ain’t henauh?”
“Nope. Looks like he flew the coop. We were booked to play tonight. Hell, he already owes us money, but we’re gonna play for the folks anyway. They came out in this crap, so we figure to take up collection. Come on in”
“Sumbich owes me money too. I was trying to catch ‘im. I guess I’ll try agin some other time. I ‘preciate you invit’n me in though. “
The denim clad stranger turned and started to leave.
“Man, I sure like your new album.” He stopped and turned around. He stuck out his right hand, minus two fingers, with a lope sided grin.
“You don’t know how much I ‘preciate that. Thanks. If I had one of‘em with me I’d give it to ya”
“Hell, I already got one.”
He grinned and just nodded an affirmative gesture. He pulled his brown felt cowboy hat down tight and strolled on down the side walk.
Little did I know that thirty some odd years later, that would still be one of my favorite albums. “Old Five and Dimers Like Me” was Billy Joe Shaver’s initial album. It still sells today and a CD of it is outside in my pickup as I type this. Billy Joe Shaver has fought and overcome a lot of these barriers but many are left unconquered. Not unlike a lot of song writers, his music has been recorded, and been hits, by many and varied artist without being a giant “hit maker” himself.
I will not try to be a music critic or a biographer here, but to just try to bring to light a writer of songs that has taken, not the road less traveled, but probably one of the hardest roads. His writing is like soft cotton, but the presentation can be like washing you face with LAVA soap. A little bit abrasive but leaves one with a refreshing feeling.
If you have a few minutes Google “Billy Joe Shaver” and see what ya think. There are lots of articles and videos. It’s kinda like cheap wine, all of it you might not like, but maybe there is something that will be new and refreshing. Kinda like washing your face with LAVA soap.
Click on Lind to Go To "Billy Joe Shaver"
Monday, January 18, 2010
"And When....."
“And When…..”
Dust was being swept upward and round and round by what some people call a Dust Devil. I grew up knowing them as whirlwinds. The distant end of the red iron ore country road was totally obscured and seemed to point in no particular direction. This fit perfectly within the scheme of my plans. I wasn’t going in any direction either. I might as well go on a little adventure. I really didn’t need to see where the road went, I had been up and down it a million times riding in Daddy’s old 1946 GMC pulpwood truck. The original color, as best as I could tell, was either black or some real close shade of black. At least it was before Daddy took an old can of red wagon paint and customized the color scheme just a bit. He used a brush to apply what paint he had. That you should use the term brush loosely was an understatement. It had seen its better days. There was enough paint for maybe four or five square feet coverage. He covered the front grill and both, pretty much still intact, front fenders, then he ran out of paint. Without taking out my slide rule, I can figure that this surface area was about fifteen or twenty square feet. Thinly applied? Well that would be another understatement. I remember that later on someone asked Daddy if he had tried to stretch his paint a little too far. With his dry humor and frequent sly grin, he answered.
“Naw’uh, I just wanted to see what effect I could get by putting the paint on with a pine sapling.”
I laughed out load to myself and spit at a moon shaped rock that was about two paces in front of me. I kicked the rock into the ditch and kept walking. What a day for daydreaming. Somebody ought to write a song with that.
For a worldly seventeen-year-old boy, the paintbrush episode seemed like a long time ago. Just going into the senior year of high school, something that happened ten years earlier would seem like a long time ago. Differentiating time frames and the surroundings was proving to be kind of tricky. Specific past events that were cataloged in the back of my mind would jump forward at unannounced times. They would leap to the present and they would be a vivid as if they had happened a day or so earlier.
The early June sun was not the old East Texas white-hot days of mid to late summer. The sky was cloudless and the sun was directly overhead. I knew as I was leaving the gravel road and cutting down along the old highline right of way, that it was just a short hike through the sweetgum bushes and the young pines over to the first neighbor’s house. This was Aunt Pearl’s house. She really wasn’t my aunt but I called her that anyway. She could make some of the best skillet cornbread that I could ever remember. Maybe she and Uncle Ben would be home today. The thought of that crisp bottom part and flakey center might have been the determining factor in choosing the direction of my journey.
The trail led across a shallow spring fed creek that wound down into the woods. They crossed at a pretty good-sized washout about the size of a big bathtub. It looked pretty much as it had always looked. Ten years had left the red clay sides eroded a little, but not much. As I gauged its size, I realized that I would still be able to take a bath in the very same spot and I had the day, as a five year old. I remembered making, what I suppose, a profound comical statement. Appreciation will enter from many doorways and usually you never know when it will appear. I think that if a term is more universally used, I can’t think of what it would be…”Neckked as a jaybird”. Why would a jaybird be more neckked than any other bird? It is as much a mystery to me now as it was then as a five
year old.
………………………
The water was cool, but not too cold. I had already had my soaping and scrubbing so I figured on play up under some pine tree where there were old truck tires stacked.
“Boy, you better get over here and let me dry you off. You’re neckked as a jaybird.”
Whatever the heck that meant, but the dry towel did feel good as it soaked up what clear spring water that had not already dried off on its own.
“I don’t want you to catch cold. I got to take good care of you.”
Not feeling that this was anything new to what had been going on as far as I could remember, my first thought came out.
“Yea’uh, and when I get big and you get little, I’ll take care of you.”
To me, at the time, it seemed like plain and simple logic and appreciation. Life was a circle. I only realized the humor when Daddy slapped both his knees and broke out into laughter.
“Boy, you are one more sight. Geton up to the house.”
…………………
I can’t seem to get my brain in gear but I can definitely make out my youngest (not younger) sister’s grouchy voice.
“Wake your ass up and help with Daddy. I think it is about time for the nurse to give him his medication.”
I knew this routine would go on throughout the night. He had been in the hospital for four weeks and would still be there awhile. This was not his first surgery. The routine was always the same. He was a handfull in the hospital. We laughed our butts off, him included, when we weren’t worried over some issue. He would NOT wear one of those split tail gowns. All the nurses knew how he was. He WOULD lie on the bed, BUT he WOULD have on his kakis and long sleeve western, pearl button button down pockets shirt and his baseball cap. The nurses would always “fish” his IV’s and EKG leads and such through his sleeves. It could, at times, be a circus.
Trying to get my eyes to focus on my grouchy sister, I mumbled.
“I guess he is part lizard. As many surgeries that he has had, the doctors said they think if they cut his tail off if would grow back.”
We all three chuckled but I didn’t feel the optimism as she and I moved the pillows around to his liking. He would slip in and out of being aware of what was going on.
“No Daddy you are not at the washeteria, you are in the hospital.” That was not the first time I had had that conversation with him.
“Daddy you need to settle down. I’m gonna throw your ass out this window.” That wasn’t me who said that. Guess who.
With that sly grin from the painting episode. “Aww nowwww… How ya’ll feeling.” Another grin.
My allotted rest time had not expired. I picked up my pillow from the floor and settled back down on the park bench type cot. Through a whirlwind dust cloud of ghostly thoughts, a resounding voice in my head.
"And when I get big….”
Well, you know how the rest goes.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Repost from last summer "Rhytum Of the Blues"
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Photo credit: Pic of John Hayes visit http://www.robertfrostsbanjo.blogspot.com/
(not the picker in the story)
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