Jockamo fee nané

Recently the 30th anniversary (June 24) of the death of my mother, along with my younger brother, came and went. I find that although I still miss both of them, I am far less melancholy and much more reflective. I am finally beginning to view them as more than just my brother and my mother. The anniversary has prompted me to write the following.....

I have previously noted (in my February 23, 2009 posting "The Toe Headed Boy") that we lived in a house, owned by Gentleman Jim Reeves. In that posting I mentioned that I started first grade in late summer 1957. The picture on the left is a monument in front of what used to be Bethany Elementary School. That brick fence used to appear so tall. I road a school bus driven by a man named W.S. McDaniels. He was named Ward Six because that is where he was born. Ward Six, New Orleans, Orleans Parish, Louisiana. Most people called him Ward. His wife was named Honere (pronounced Honor Ray) but everyone called her Tee or Miss Tee. She was my mother's best friend. Outside of my mother's family, Miss Tee was the only person I ever heard call my mother "Dessy". From the time I was still in diapers, Miss Tee would come by once a week and iron shirts for my dad and help my mother clean our house. Though my mother and dad paid her, she came and visited socially as well. My first sips of coffee came as a courtesy of Miss Tee. From the time I was around two years of age until I was seven, Miss Tee was a large influence (almost a "second mother") to both me and my brother. She taught us a song called Iko Iko We used to sing it for years. As the years have come and went the words of that songs has left my memory. I remember wanting to change my name to "Jack". It could have been because of the lyrics of the song perhaps. I told Miss Tee and she said I could not since she "already had a son named "Jack". My mother used to tell me that Tee actually "nursed" me when I was an infant. I am not sure if that is true. At the end of my second year of school, the McDaniels moved back to the Big Easy. We would leave East Texas as well and travel to Houma, Louisiana to spend the summer with my Dad.

By the time I made it to Baton Rouge to attend college, my "step" cousin Donny had already graduated LSU Law School specializing in Navigation and Maritime Law. Donny and his family had moved from Baton Rouge to a house on Prytania located in the Garden District. He had become a partner in an old established New Orleans law firm. His wife was attending medical school. His firm owned a two bedroom "flat" on Pirate Alley in the Vieux Carre or Quarter as the locals call it. It was a second floor flat and overlooked the side of Saint Louis Cathedral. It was nothing fancy but it was nice. It had a refrigerator, a bathtub ,two beds (one was a fold out couch) air conditioning and a small balcony. He allowed us to stay in the flat as long as we did not "trash" it out; leave in better condition than what we found it; and as long as his clients was not using it. From the fall of 1969 and going through to the spring of 1971 I visited the Big Easy many times. I witnessed many Mardi Gras parades during those years. I even spotted a few Indians. Most of those times found me at Donny's flat. I learned a great deal of the "real New Awlins".

New Orleans, Louisiana is by far, the most diverse city in the United States. Although it is located in South Louisiana, it actually is a world of it's own. It has a rich history. Of course it has French and Spanish influences but also Caribbean/African, German, Irish, Italian, English, Chinese and even Swiss. It is the only city in the deep South to have had a battle of the War of 1812. It was occupied by the Union forces during the American Civil War and to this day the people of the city still drink coffee with chicory as a remembrance of that time. It is one of the largest ports in the world. The music stirs your soul and the food nourishes you in so many wonderful ways. It is a city with a "multitude" of cultures and cuisines. It is sometimes referred to as the City that Care Forgot. The air is thick with humidity, smells and history. The locals call the town Nu awe Lens or Nawlins yet when referring to the name of the parish it is is pronounced Are Leans. Only tourists pronounce the city's name as New Are Lee Anns. If I had to summarize the social economic diversity of the city I would say the typical resident is a very poor black person or a very rich white person. Like Mexico, there really is not a middle class in Orleans Parish. The middle class all live in Covington, Mandaville, Slidell, Meterie Kenner and the West Bank. The city is divided in to multiple neighborhoods which themselves are divided as well. Corruption is a way of life in the Crescent City. I will not go into much detail but I can assure you that the Katrina disaster was caused not by George Bush, but rather the politicians who had earlier lined their pockets with money that should have been spent to on flood control and levee repair. Then again, political graft is an accepted principle.The New Orleans Police Department is considered just another street gang to some people. Remember the U Tube videos of the NOPD at a Wal-Mart post Katrina? Tourism is a huge part of the city's economic lifeline. Most people know of the French Quarter. Tourist seem to simply refer to it as Bourbon Street. Since Hurricane Katrina, some people may be familiar with the Lower Ninth Ward. I suppose the Garden District or the "Isle of Denial " is pretty well known as well. The Archdiocese of New Orleans is one of the oldest Catholic diocese in America. In it's entire history, no Bishop has ever been appointed to head the Archdiocese who was an actual native of New Orleans. That is until last year when the Bishop of the Diocese of Austin Texas was moved and appointed. Archbishop Gregory Aymond was born and raised in the Gentilly neighborhood. The buskers playing for change around Jackson Square are probably some of the most accomplished musicians you will ever hear, but a visit to Frenchman Street, The Warehouse District or The Quarter will be rewarded with sounds you can not hear anywhere else on the planet. A trip to Mother's for a Ferdy, Rocky and Carlos' for a oyster poboy and a cold Barq's , Central Grocery for a Muffeleta or a plate of red beans and rice at The Napoleon House is a absolute must. Or there was Kolb's which offered amazing German food.Then you also have to visit Felix's Oyster House (where my father purchased my first 'dozen" when I was only 10). There are so many that I can not list all of them and do them justice.

Beginning in the Summer of 1959, my father would take my mother, brother, and I to visit Nawlin several times. We would drive up US Highway 90 from Houma and cross the H.P Long Bridge into the Crescent City. The day would always start with a trip to the farmers market and fish market followed by cafe au lait and biegnets at Cafe De Monde. We would all then walk across Decatur and stand around on the black and white checkerboard floor at the bar at Tujagues while my dad downed a cold beer. We would walk the streets of the Vieux Carre and visit several museums and shops. Most of our trips included a sit down lunch or dinner at some of NOLA's wonderful eateries and we would visit Jackson Square, St. Louis Cathedral, and The Cabildo. As we strolled passed the Jackson Brewery and strolled into the Quarter. We would watch as delivery trucks made their Saturday deliveries to the many nightlife spots. We would purchase Mardi Gras masks at the many gift stores and of course would would visit, Preservation Hall, Lafite's Blacksmith Shop, and Pat O'Brien's. We would travel all the way past Rampart and visit the St Louis Cemeteries and Congo Park. We usually visited my former school bus driver and his wife Tee at their home in the Fauberg (French for Suburb) Tremé . My mother used to tell us that was where Jazz was originated. I really did not know what jazz was. It was there I had my first real food. It was there that I received my lifelong love of music. Both continue to nourish my very soul. On our trips we visited Audubon Park, Tulane Stadium, The St Charles cable car, Dixie Brewery (located on Tulane Avenue), Carrolton, and Lee Circle. We rode several of the ferrys that crossed the Big Muddy and of course we would always end up at the amusement park on the shores of nearby Lake Pontchartrain. The first roller coasters I remember riding was the Wild Maus and the Zephyr. I can still here my brother singing the theme song from the amusement park as we traveled to it. "At the beach, at the beach, at Pontchartrain Beach". We would go swimming in the lake and eventually we would leave and drive down Highway 90 dodging nutria on the way back to Houma. Dad found a small place on the West Bank where he would stop and purchase a few dozen tamales. Those summer visits created my lifelong affinity for New Orleans. In the Summer of 1960 we returned to Houma and our trips to New Orleans resumed. One time Johnny and I spent the night with the McDaniels at them home on Lafitte Street while our parents had a night on the town. We even helped Mr. McDaniels work on his "Indian" costume. although I never got to see him "dressed" I bet he was "pretty".

The summer of 1969 would be the last summer that we would spend with Dad on the road. I would be going away to college. Dad eventually was promoted and spent most of his time behind a desk in the "General Office". It found us in Lafayette, Louisiana. My mother were setting around the table after boiling several dozen crabs. Dad liked to eat crab but was too lazy to take the time and pick the meat out. My brother did not like seafood so my mother and I had plenty to eat. She and I had eaten as much as we could and were picking the meat off of the remaining crabs. We were waiting to watch Neil and Buzz walk on the moon (scheduled for later that evening). The phone rang and a few minutes later my mother returned to the table. Because she was a red head, her face would turn red when she was upset or had been crying. She informed us Honere "Tee" McDaniels had passed away. A day or so later I learned that we would be attending her funeral in New Orleans.

That trip to New Orleans was epic. It was during the drive to and from New Orleans that my parents finally relented to my planned trip to Woodstock later that summer. We also stopped and visited LSU and I tried out for the GBFTL (Golden Band From Tiger Land) . I actually tried out in front of Dr. William Swor, the Director of Bands. He informed me I was probably the worst clarinet player to have ever auditioned for his band. He told me I make the "cut" but that I would probably be on the drum line instead of woodwinds. We drove up to Opelousas and then through Krotz Springs on into Baton Rouge. We then followed the Airline Highway into New Orleans. It had been several years since I had been to New Orleans but as we drove down US 61 and then onto Interstate 10 across the diversion canal. I began to get the same feeling I remembered from our earlier visits. The visit was a somber one but I was still excited.

Other than attending my two cousin's first communions, and a tour of St. Louis Cathedral on one of our summer trips back in 1959-60, I had never stepped foot inside of a Catholic Church. I had only been to a few funerals up until then. I really was not too much on viewing dead bodies. I was pretty naive too. I had no idea that negroes could be Catholics. Yes I said "negro". I always thought the word "colored" was pretty stupid.

We parked on the street and walked a few blocks to St. Augustine Catholic Church .(The church is considered the oldest "African American"Catholic Church in America.) We arrived early but before long the church began to fill up. I was not looking forward to seeing a dead body. I was relieved when the casket was brought in and it remained closed.
I really do not recall much about the service except here were four New Orleans police officers there and of them three of them were white. There were two priests and one of them was white. Other than that, all of the other people attending were black. We proceeded outside and Tee's casket was placed on a small wagon pulled by an old mule. A small brass band in attired in black was assembling and before long the wagon and the band began take a slow walk towards St.Louis No. 2 cemetery. It was very hot and humid and I was wearing a suit and tie. The band was playing "Just a Closer Walk to Thee." We, along with everyone else, followed behind and formed what I learned later to be a "Second Line" Before long we assembled by an old tomb. The priests said a few prayers and two very old black women sang a few songs that seemed to never end. It was so damn hot. My mother was crying and my dad left to go sit in our car because he had no idea how much longer the ceremony would last and he was dying for a smoke. The women finally stopped singing. The priests said a few words more and before long, the band started playing and marching out of the cemetery. Everyone once again followed behind the band. The music was a lot livelier. I do not recall what song (s) they played but it was pretty cool. As we joined in the Second Line, my mother and I began to truly 'feel" the music. My mother's tears were still on her face as we felt a certain "gait" in our step, but she had a slight smile. We ended up back at St. Augustine's and then everyone pretty much went their own way. One of the policemen (the black one) approached my mother and spoke to her. She hugged him and she spoke to him for a while. Mother introduced him to me. His name was Jack McDaniels. As I shook his hand and I laughed and told him that I remembered his mother teaching me that song so long ago. I told him about her telling me she "already" had a son named Jack. I offered him my condolences and he told me us was so proud that we would drive all the way down to Nu Awlins for his mother. But what I remember the most was what my mother said to him. "Of course we would come, she was my best friend"

That statement of my mothers has actually has stayed with me a long time. Miss Tee was different from us. I guess I always knew that mother considered Miss Tee as her friend but the fact of who Tee was what confirmed what my mother always taught me and my brother. It has made me far less melancholy and much more reflective. She taught us to respect everyone. I mean true respect and not something "just on the surface". She preached that all people, regardless of race or age or religion were equal in the eyes of God. "Therefore they should be equal in our eyes too." Although my mother believed in segregation, she advocated true equality. She never claimed that one race was superior or inferior to others. Separate, yes but also equal. Some people would consider that attitude racist. I guess you just had to know Dessy. She was far from it. Mother was always nice and polite to people but she did not claim to have many friends. I think that was because she was brutally honest. You always knew where you stood with Dessy. She never "minced" words and she either liked you or not . She was strongly opinionated. She was passionalte about the things she beleived in and she was not afraid to show her emotions. She taught me so many things and some of those have been passed on to my children. Had she lived, I am sure she would have done a far better job than me.

When June 24 rolls around now a days, I have more of the "gait" in my step than tears in my eyes.

My dad drove me to New Orleans in late May of 1972. It would be the last time he and I would visit the Cresenct City together. I had to visit the offices of an offshore construction company over in Harvey in order to get the summer job (working offshore). I had it for the next three years. Once again, we traced many of the steps that our family had taken years earlier. We had a few cold ones at Tujagues, as well as a dozen or so at Felix's. We visited the New Orleans office of my dad's company. We ate a wonderful po boy at Mother's and dinner at Kolbs's. We spent a whole afternoon drinking at a few of the bars on Bourbon Street. It was wonderful.

Over the past 38 years I have vistited New Orleans many more times. My most recent trip was in December of last year. I ate an Oyster Po Boy and drank a cold Barq's at Rocky and Carlo's. One year ago when I was still working for The Power Load, we had a job on the West Bank. One evening I, and one of my co workers, from West Virginia, took a stroll in the Quarter. We had a muffelleta at The Napolean House. I gave him the "nickel tour" of the quarter.I took him Pat O'Brien's, Felix's, Cafe DuMonde past Donny's flat and finally to the checkerboard floor of the bar at Tujagues. We each drank a Blakened Vodoo (Dixie) while there.

So there.......I did mention beer in this blog.

I realize that I have started a continueing series about my favorite bars. I also realize this posting is a reflection about my mother. New Orleans is famous for it's "nightlife". It is very difficult to pick only one to be on my list as my favorite bars. Hell they are all good. I suppose the "first bar you ever went inside of" would qualify as the best.

As I write this I realize it never was my mother who cared much for New Orleans. The love of the city was instilled into me by my father actually. But of all of the memories I retain of my sojourns to the Cresent City, it is my mother's arguing with a tour guide inside of St. Louis Catheral and that simple statement to Honere's son while standing at the corner of St. Claude and Gov Nicholls. I am so glad she was my mother and yes, I still miss her...

Iko Iko

My spy boy told your spy boy
Sitting on the Bayou
My spy boy told your spy boy
I'm gonna set your tail on fire

Talking bout hey now (hey now)
Hey now (hey now)
Iko iko, iko iko unday
Jockomo feeno ah na nay
Jockomo feena nay

My Marie told your Marie
Sitting on the Bayou
My Marie told your Marie
I'm gonna set your flag on fire

We going down to
Iko iko unday
We gonna catch a little?
With jockomo feena nay, now

Talking bout hey now (hey now)
Hey now (hey now)
Iko iko, iko iko unday
Jockomo feeno ah na nay
Jockomo feena nay

All right

See Marie down the railroad track
Iko iko unday
Said put it here in the chicken sack
With jockomo feena nay

My little boy told your little boy
Get your head on my-o
My little girl told your little boy
We gonna get your chicken wire

Talking bout hey now (hey now)
Hey now (hey now)
Iko iko, iko iko unday
Jockomo feeno ah na nay
Jockomo feena nay

We going down to Bedford town
Iko iko unday
We gonna dance
Bout to mess around
Jockomo feena nay

Watch all what you tell them to
Iko iko unday
Cause we ain't do what you tell us to
Now you can jockomo feena nay

Talking bout hey now (hey now)
Hey now (hey now)
Iko iko, iko iko unday
Jockomo feeno ah na nay
Jockomo feena nay

Jockomo feena nay
What I say, unday
Jockomo feena nay
What I say, unday...

Iko iko unday
Jockomo feena nay
Iko iko unday
Jockomo feena nay...

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Ever so often I go back and look at some of my previous postings. Yes I suffer from lack of brevity and I tend to ramble on in my postings. It is an affliction that I freely admit to have and one that I really try to work on it. I also try not to repeat myself too much but once again I fail at that too. In this blog I mentioned the corruption of the politicians in New Orleans. I stated I would not "go into it". Feel free to read my previous blog entitled "Gris Gris" dated July 3, 2009. I actually wrote it while I was in the New Orleans area last year. In that blog I detail some of the corruption I elluded to herein.


______________________________________
Till next time


Jack

"I Love This Bar"

My "Amish" friend calls nearly everyone "Bub" . Although he is known as Buddy by his family, most of the people I worked with called him Bub. I just call him Roger. He loves bars. Actually he calls them pubs. In my years of travelling and working with him, we have sat at more than a couple of pubs and did a multitude of twelve once curls. One of his favorite places is Applebee's. where he prefers to set at the bar. Usually we will have 2-3 large beers (called Brutuses) on tap and then we order our meal. I have been in "Neighborhood Grills" with him from Maine to California and many places in between.

Roger continues his travels throughout the United States with Betsy, his 2004 silver Chevrolet Monte Carlo SS. He tells me if he sees an Applebees and Motel 6 at the same exit then that is where he will spend the night.

This is still a beer blog so I have decided to write about my favorite pubs./taverns/lounges/bars/beer joints/ice houses/dives/clubs/honky tonks/etc.

Comparing types of beer is like comparing apples to oranges. The same principle applies to bars as well. Some of the places I will be writing about are "true shit holes" while others are pretty nice and upscale. At first I had planned to write about only ten but as I began to make the list I realized the list would be larger. In my past scribblings I have written about a few of my favorite watering holes. Pardon me if I repeat.

Coon Ridge Lounge -Located on Louisiana Highway 191 two miles South of Zwolle, Louisiana.

My dad and I had been fishing all day long. I recall that I caught a seven pound bass on my very first "cast". It would be the only bass I would catch all day. We had filled up two large Igloo ice chests with white perch and the "one" bass. We had just landed our boat when it began to rain "cats and dogs". Because my father had drank more than enough beers, he allowed me (15 years old with only a learners permit) to drive the car (while pulling our boat). As it was getting dark I pulled out onto the Scenic Highway and headed towards our home in Shreveport. I had only been driving for about ten minutes when it began to rain even harder. I was entering into a curve in the road, when Dad began to shout, "Pull Over!" I pulled into the parking lot of what I later realized was a beer joint. My dad flew out of the car and ran up to the front door of the place. He began shouting "Tommy" " Tommy' and I followed after him saying "I am here Dad" But he kept shouting "Tommy". when he reached the front door I saw him charge a large "Mexican" looking man who was standing underneath the ledge to protect himself and the blonde he was with, from the rain. Once again he shouted "Tommy" and then ..... POW ! He hit the man. The man fell down and Dad just stood over the dazed man. I had never seen my father behave that way before. I was terrified. The blonde looked at me and said "Please mister, I am not his wife". About that time the man, Tommy Sepulvado, looked up at my Dad and said "T.W. ?" It seems that the two of them were best friends when they played basketball for the Zwolle High School Hawks. We sat at that bar for over an hour and I drank two or three beers as we waited for the rain to subside. It was the first bar that I ever actually ordered a beer at. They served it too. Looking back I realize that night in that bar is when I crossed over from boyhood to manhood. Twenty years later, my Dad and his new wife had a small "place" located on nearby Toledo Bend. I and the Prodigy had been visiting during the Christmas holidays. My step brother Russell was visiting as well. On Christmas night, he and I decided that we was going to do a Sabine Parish "Pub Crawl" . The first place that we visited was the same bar that my father and I had visited that rainy night so many years earlier. Nothing had changed. We walked in and stood at the bar. There was large woman with even larger blonde hair asking us what we wanted to drink. we both ordered a Bud. Since it was Christmas Day, Russell began making small talk with the bartender..."so...did you have a good Christmas?" "No" she replied. "We buried my son yesterday" I looked at her and said "Oh I am so sorry". ""How did he die" Russell inquired. Then she paused and said. "He was killed in a hunting accident, or so they say.....he was shot three times". I looked at Russell and whispered, "Let's get the fuck out of here". As we walked outside it was raining and I recalled my first time at that little beer joint.so many things had happened to me in the years between visits.

I would pass the Coon Ridge Lounge many times over the next several years but I never again went inside. The last I heard, It was finally abandoned and now it is a run down shack on the side of a two lane road lined with run down shacks.

Next Goodfellas, Laconia, New Hampshire

Wanna leave a tip for the band?

The Third

Dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane

The summer of 1959 found us in Houma, Louisiana. I wrote about it in my very first blog "And So It Began". At the end of the summer, my mother, brother and I moved in with my grandmother, Augusta Victoria Boone. Up until that time my years had been spent in East Texas. My new school mates at Pelican School (the same one my mother attended) would call me Tex. My new teacher, Mrs. Thigpen would teach that Louisiana received it's name from King Louis and Queen Anna. My father stayed in South Louisiana and "worked on the road" only coming to Desoto Parish to be with the family on weekends. Gussie's house had this great wrap around porch with a swing . Nearby was a mature Red Bud tree. I would climb that tree and read books and actually fall asleep at times. Between that tree and the swing, I spent countless hours dreaming. I don't recall what I was dreaming about. Perhaps I wasn't dreaming but rather, living. The wonderful fragrances of hot afternoons kissed by cool nights, and layered with the red dust from the nearby gravel road, embedded memories deeply into my young but eternal soul. Black Eyed Susans, Sweet Gums and Loblollies. were embraced with the sounds of bob whites, cicadas, wolves, crickets, cattle, owls and my dog Buster treeing squirrels. As the setting sun would slowly drain the daylight, the sky would be illuminated with the moon, stars and fire flies. I recall peering into the infinite black sky and watching as the Russian satellite "Sputnik" slowly crept across the horizon. You really could see it move. It seemed as if you could pick up a nearby iron ore rock and strike it down. I would lay on the samll back porch next to the "handcrank" Maytag with my little brother and point out to him the various constellations in the dark heavens. I made up most of the names. I did know the North Star, The Evening Star and Morning Star. I could identify The Big and Little Dippers. I marveled at the Milky Way. I remember how difficult it was to describe "infinity" to a four year old.

An arsonist burned that house along with the nearby tree in the early 70's. My grandmother, mother, and brother all died within three days of each other in June, 1980. Dad passed away a few weeks before the new millennium. Only I remain. Those days, though long past, seem as only yesterday to me. It was a peaceful , idyllic, and wonderful time. I would not have traded it for anything. I was so blessed. If I had to describe what I though heaven was, I am sure it that little country house, the swing and fire flies would be included.

Earlier tonight The Mrs The Third and I were forgoing the NCIS weekly offerings and were setting on the Party Patio enjoying a few cold adult beverages. "What's that?" "Did you see that?" she exclaimed. As her words still echoed, I saw brief flashes of light in the low sky of my yard. For a long while, we sat and felt the cool evening breezes caress us as we gazed into our back yard garden and let the fire flies stir our souls. As we sat I felt tears stinging my eyes. Those days living with Mao Maw Boone seemed so vivid in my heart. For a brief moment I was swinging sideways in that porch swing. The last time I recall seeing fire flies was in the spring of 1998 when I was visiting Bucks County, Pa. near the banks of the Delaware River (back in 1999). I remember reading that the insects were all but extinct as a result of the use of dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane, also known as DDT.

A few days ago on the same Party Patio I slew a snake that had slithered near the entrance of my house. I thought I knew how to identify snakes and to be honest, I was beginning to think that the snake was a poisonous copperhead. I took a picture of it an sent it to a few "snake experts" I located on the internet. I received two replies. The head of the College of Veterinary Science at nearby Texas A & M replied ..."It looks like you killed a corn snake, undoubtedly an escaped/released pet. They are harmless and widely kept as pets, and they are native to the eastern U.S. The "corn snakes" found in Texas are not found in Temple and would not have that much orange. This species of corn snake is commonly misidentified as the venomous copperhead" Clint The Snake Man Pustejovsky replied "This was, most likely someone's pet, nonvenomous corn snake". This species of corn snake is not native to Texas. Corn snakes eat mostly mice and rats for their diet" I showed both of the emails to the Mrs The Third. Hopefully, I convinced her that there probably are no more of these snakes in our yard. Maybe, one day, she will return to the Party Patio. I named the departed snake non the less. His name was Damien.

The presence of lighting bugs and Damien the snake, in my back yard brought back vivid memories of my youth yet gave me a renewed hope in the future. I have been in a self imposed funk lately and I accept these sightings as a sign of good things to come. I am sure the cold adult beverages helped too.

Bring It On

The Third, The Viper Slayer

153 Fish

What seems like so long ago, I taught religious education to the youth of the church we were attending. Over time, I too would attend seminars and lessons taught by persons authorized and certified to teach accurately our particular faith. After a while, I too became certified. I mention this not as some sort of boast or statement of authority but rather to qualify that I at least know something about my religion.

This past weekend, the Mrs The Third and I traveled back to our former home town and among other things (which will be detail in future blogs), attended Mass. The homilist was none other that Daniel Cardinal Dinardo. He is a "Prince of the Church" and happens to be the guy who actually certified me. His sermon was a good one. The "Gospel" of the day ( John 6: 16-21) told the story about Jesus standing on the shore and instructing the fishermen, who had been unsuccessful , to cast their nets another time. One of the "characters" in the story is one of my favorites. Thomas or Didymus. Cardinal Dinardo mentioned that Thomas meant "Twin" and that he could relate to that since he too was a twin.

Now I am not going on some religious diatribe here. But as the fishermen approached the shore and saw this guy standing there, none of them recognized him. then one of them, John said (and I paraphrase) Whoa! Do you realize WHO that is?

Now you may ask why this blog is sounding like a sermon. Well it is not intended to. It is an allegory. My continuing theme is my journey to find my way. I am in a point in my life that could be a considered a transition. I would like to think that it is, at least. I am finding myself looking more and more at my past with melancholy and rarely looking towards the future with hope and joy. I know I should realize that my future 'holds" far more than I could imagine. I just need to open my eyes and see it. My past life has been but a preamble of today and tommorrow. I just have to focus on it and have that "Whoa !" moment.

Amen

The Third

"A Hole in Your Soul Where the Wind Blows Through"

I have always liked music. It stirs my very being. I know it is "common" to say such a thing but I still say it. My music taste is pretty diverse. My moods obviously tend to be influenced by music. I find most forms of music enjoyable though some have little of my attention. "Ghetto Music" and "Middle Eastern Folk" are not real high on my list.


I spend some of my time collecting music via downloads and other means. I like to assemble music onto CDs and the memory card in my phone. If one were to shuffle the music from the music player on my phone (Droid) you may get a blues songs by Lee Bryan followed by a song by the Ting Tings then a diddy by the Greencards followed by a Tom Petty tune and then perhaps songs by Dale Watson, Bob Dylan or The Bodeans. If you try it a second time it may start with Princes of the Universe by Queen followed by I'll be Around by the Spinners and then perhaps Malignant Narcissism (Live) by Rush.

Of all of the places I have ever lived, I have spent more time setting outside enjoying my backyard. It is still infested with Bamboo and we have very little grass that is actually growing, (see picture) but our secret garden is still magnificent. It's potential is awesome. Several times each week, we set, talk, drink a few beers and listen to music from my phone ( 16 GB SD card) through a cheap but pretty good sound system. I set the player to randomly play tunes . Yesterday I wrote down the play list of the music played. It was while setting on the Party Patio that I confessed to my wife that my new favorite TV show was "Glee". She then stated "It is official, you are gay!"

Read the list (below) and see how many that you "know"

If I ever open a pub (along with my microbrewery) This would be the music playing in the background.


This Dirty Little Town by Kieren Kane and Emmylou Harris


Mary Jane's Last Dance (live) by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers


Things We Said Today by The Beatles


A Good Time Tonight by Kevin Fowler


Arkansas Blues by Hayes Carll


Texas Country by Chris Knight


One by U2 and Mary J . Blige


The Way You Look Tonight by Frank Sinatra


American Idoit (live) by Green Day


Copperhead Road (live) by Steve Earle


Mercury Blues (live) by David Lindley & Ry Cooder


Already Gone (live) by Eagles


I Don't Live Anymore (live) by Joe Bonamassa


Cortez the Killer (live) by Dave Matthews with Warren Haynes


Finger on the Trigger (live) Blue Edmonson Band


Public Domain by Jerry Jeff Walker


Sultan's of Swing (live) Dire Staits


Row of Dominos (live) by Joe Ely


Traveling Light by Robert Earl Keen, Jr.


December by Collective Soul


Sin Wagon by The Dixie Chicks


Jackson Station by The Band of Heathens


Can't See the Streets for My Tears by Coco Montoya


Rise by Eddie Vedder


House on the Hill by Seth James


Shattered by Of a Revolution (OAR)


Maureen by The Beat Farmers


Soap on a Rope by Chickenfoot


I'm Gonna Live Forever by Billy Joe Shaver


Stay with Me by Faces


Cold Grey Light of Dawn by Johnny Bush


Rollercoaster of Love by Red Hot Chili Peppers


Soy De San Louis by The Texas Tornados


Angry Eyes by Loggins and Messina


Victim of the Tomb by The Greencards


What is and What Should Be (live) by The Black Crowes with Jimmy Pages


The Wino and I Know by Jimmy Buffet


No One Loves Me and Neither Do You by Them Crooked Vultures


Bad Girlfriend by Theory of a Deadman


L.A. Woman by The Doors


Mississippi Queen (live) by Mountain


Pigs (live) by Roger Waters


Mustang Burn (live) by Jack Ingram


Black Magic Woman/Gypsy Queen (live) by Santana


Loan Me a Dime by Boz Skagg with Duane Allman


Nature's Way by Spirit


The Pretender by The Foo Fighters


Living in a Dream by The Arc Angels


South City Midnight Lady by The Doobie Brothers


Shanty Song by Jonathan Edwards


Dallas (live) The Flatlanders


Put the O Back in Country (live) by Shooter Jennings


Who's Gonna Build Your Wall by Tom Russell


Nights of Mystery (live) by Dan Baird


Hammer to Fall (live) by Queen


Forever Young by Bob Dylan


Crying, Waiting, Hoping by Marty Stewart and Steve Earle


The Last Laugh by Mark Knopfler and Van Morrison


Blaze of Glory by Bon Jovi


Who Knows by Walter Trout, Popa Chubby and Jimmy Thackery


My Seperate Reality by Gov't Mule


Jukebox Hero by Foriegner


Every Breath You Take by The Police


Watching the Wheels by John Lennon


Recovering The Satellites (live) by The Counting Crows


Sailin Shoes (live) Little Feat


Bears by Lyle Lovett


Highway Star (live) Deep Purple


Heroes by David Bowie


I Gotta a Feeling by The Blackeyed Peas



Till the next time........


The Third

Winter, Spring, Summer or Fall....

As I stated earlier one of my best friends came to town and visited me this past weekend. It was nice to see Roger. I do miss the concept of travelling around and seeing the sights, but I realize I miss the friends. (even though there was only one or two of them)

Thinking about it, I realize I have absolutely zero friends nearby. I go to the pub from time to time. Yes I like the beer, but to be honest, I love the conversation. My wife feels as if I ignore her. The fact is she is right. I am looking for a friend. None of the bar flies I have met are what I would consider friends. I mean they do not come by and visit and we don't meet for lunch from time to time. When I lived in Tomball, I had multiple friends. I could find someone to talk to or spend time with just about all the time. I still talk to a few of them from time to time. But I have not seen them in person in a pretty long time. My wife set up a facebook account for me so I can sort of keep in tune with the goings on of a few of them. Most of them are the youth (now adults) I used to mentor. Besides my wife gets on my facebook page and plays zoo, farm and cafe games. I am pretty sure my contacts on facebook think I am a true nerd. Then again they may feel that way anyway.

About a year ago I attempted to visit with my wife's youngest sister's husband. He lives nearby and from what I can see, he too does not have too many friends. Ok, he was my boss and try as he did to be open to a friendship, he could not allow his "boss" position be compromised. I asked him to meet me at local eatery (one I knew he liked) and that we could talk and have lunch. I insisted that I pay for it. When he showed up, he had his wife with him and he eventually paid for our meal. I even told him I really was looking for a friend. I guess he was not interested. What he wanted to chat about was mostly work related. It did not take long for me to realize our meeting was a waste of time.

We lived with one of the Mrs. The Third's brother. I have tried to enlist him as a friend. I admit he is nice enough but frankly his bi polar personality is very difficult to comprehend. My neighbor is nice enough except he is a primitive Baptist or COGIC "part time" minister. He is super friendly but I find little common ground between us. I am so afraid I would call him a heretic and then I could not even borrow tools from him. I gave him some Louisiana BBQ sauce for Christmas and he was appreciative but that is about it.

I have tried to be a friend to our landlord. He is a really nice guy but I think he seem too busy for me.

Yes I am trying to get a job. First of all it would get me off of the couch and bring a little more needed jingle in our bank account. I might find a friend or two as well.

I wrote an earlier blog about my search for six people to carry my casket from the the church. I guess my survivors could find someone for that task. But I have to admit I really need a friend.

Your Friend,

The Third

Stages, Phases or Transitions ?

In the early Spring of 1969, I was setting in the bedroom of Steve Thweatt, my future college roommate at LSU. He handed me the album cover of a new record that he had recently purchased. As I looked at the artwork he placed the stylus on the first track of side one of the album and staccato beat of an electric guitar filled the room. ....."In the days of my youth, I was told what it means to be a man, Now I've reached that age, I've tried to do all those things the best I can. No matter how I try, I find my way into the same old jam. *Good Times, Bad Times, you know I had my share"

We lived in a small town just north of Houston, Texas. We attended a small Catholic Church and I was pretty involved in a lot of it's activities. To this day, some of my proudest and fondest memories come from that stage in my life. We became closely connected to a lot of our fellow parishioners and still remain friends with a lot of them albeit we rarely speak to or see them. Through the years we noticed that our parish was having some problems with leadership. Our pastor and deacon were both unceremoniously dumped and we found ourselves with a new guy. The parish had splintered in to various factions and frankly it was rapidly getting worse. One grey Sunday morning "Father Mickey" stood before the divided congregation and gave his first homily as the new "administrator" of the parish. I do not remember much from that sermon except his closing words. His words are embedded into my very soul. "The best is yet to come."

---------------------

My last post was not intended to besmirch my last employer. Nor was it some sort of lament of someone who was grieving for days gone by. I was only trying to put closure on the matter.

This past Saturday and Sunday I had the chance to visit with my friend Roger, (Bub). He is from The Amish Country in Pa. and is the person I have "roomed" with mostly in my tenure with my last and most recent employer. He remains in their employ. I consider this man one of the best friends I have ever had. It was either while drinking a cold beer at a local pub or setting out on the party patio that we both realized that although we would always be friends, we probably will see a lot less of each other in the future. I even accepted that it could well be the last time actually, but as I shook my friends hand yesterday and drove away from his motel I actually had a feeling of tranquility. Bub and I had always kept everything on the table. That is what is good about a real friend.

I find myself looking back at my life's experience from time to time. I tend to classify certain points of my life as either stages, phases or transitions. I am attempting to decide what the last five years has been.

Now over 10 years later Fred's words are ringing in my ear. I have let myself slide into a feeling that I was reaching my December years and that I would have to face that fact. I have moved to a new town and I have allowed myself to just "get along" .... but you know, there still is a spark within me and an inner voice and it is saying "horseshit"

Yes I have had good times and bad times and I know I face an uncertain future. We all do.

It is a future I am looking forward to.

(It is Monday April 5, 2010 and I have just finished writing this blog. I went outside to feed Latifah and I sat on the party patio and looked into my yard. In my rose bed I saw the first bloom of the year) Below is a pic of what I saw.

The best is yet to come.......................

The Third

Post Script:

I rarely do this on my blog but I feel compelled to now.

Thank you J.R. for reminding me that the best wisdom and inspiration still comes from God. Thank you Tami for calling me a "great writer". I must admit my very favorite writer is Paul of Tarsus. I would like to think that if he were alive today, his epistles would be called blogs and be a lot like mine.

Now if only more people would realize what a fascinating "read" I can be.