Tuesday, May 18, 2010

little drummer boy

We were knee deep in day two of inspection frenzy up at the sawmill when my phone rang so I scurried to the corner to see if it was my day to pick up bananas and crispix. Instead of daddy, it was my old friend Tim telling me that next time we have a hundred year flood to remember that he still owns a house here. Like, duh. I never even thought of that little fact in the heat of the moment while we were riding in the back of the crackhead's pickup across that corn field to freedom. Don't ever nominate me for homeland security because I can't find my way outside of the 'burg except for important things. Since I don't like to shop for clothes, that pretty much puts me here on Pecan Lane hanging out in shorts and t-shirts with my dawgs. Shut. Up. If you had this kind of view, you would do the same damn thing and be super excited about yard toys and a free bag of Vidalia onions.

Our parents were best buds back in the day with Jack's folks rounding out the friendship. They had kids in common.....three of us the same age with birthdays right around the same time. All three of us were in Uncle Jim's band in different positions of, shall we say... performance. Tim and I were both kind of following a different drummer and Jack was the drum major, leading that corp of musicians to successful field shows time after time. Claudia was a flag bearer. Cousin Debbie played the flute and her little sis Mo was a majorette when her time came. Mostly I got free passes to get out of jail school free to run errands for the band. The "manager." Tried the flute but didn't have the patience for blowing into some long metal instrument until I turned red. That's probably why I still love Jethro Tull to this day.

I did manage to learn the keyboard, and have used those skills to bring myself a whole hell of a lot of personal satisfaction over the years. Plus, I did "Hymn for Bells" one time at a concert and never missed a beat. I guess you could say it was all worth the early morning trips to town before school. By the time I was turned over to Miss Charlene in jr. high, it was a moot point because I was otherwise distracted by life in the fast lane outside of our farm. BORING.

The war in Vietnam was going full force and some of those older kids I hung around with were a part of a movement that scared the bejesus out of the adults who were our parents. Elvis looked like a saint compared to Led Zeppelin, I'm just saying. My mother, bless her heart, took me and some friends to a Zepplin concert in Memphis back around '69 or so and I left my shoes in the car but managed to hold onto my dad's wool Air Force overcoat as a sign of something that I never fully understood until I became a grownup. Which was much MUCH later, by the way.

....to be continued when the spirit moves ^j^

No comments:

Post a Comment