Scoots’ hand in mine, we walk home from school. His other hand blows a new harmonica, one of many Miss Helen bought at Johnson’s Variety.
He’s getting better at playing “Has Anybody Seen My Gal.” He misses notes sometimes, but now I can almost sing along without hour-long Pauses between the words.
“You like playing, Scoot?”
He takes the harp from his mouth and wipes it on his sleeve like a real musician. “Like DeFord Bailey.”
“Who’s Difford Bailey?”
“DeFord Bailey. Best ever. That’s gonna be you someday, Scooter,” he says in a Frankish-enough voice I have to laugh. “DeFord had polio. Polio. Like me.”
“You never had polio, Scooter.”
“DeFord learned anyway,” he says, straight in my eyes.
And then I know. Scooter understands that, unlike most folks in Holly Gap, Frank believes in his abilities to learn.
Scoot drops my other hand and uses both to play us home.
Excerpt from The Moonshine Thicket
I live in Texas. I hate the cold and I hate skiing! (ski instructor pushed me down a hill and I almost flew over a cliff. When he caught up to me, I said, “take these f***king skis of me NOW!) But, for those of you who want to, and can take advantage of that kind of scary “activity”, here’s a painting for you!
After a falling-out with a friend I had visited in NYC, I originally wrote this as a song. But, of course, now I don’t remember the tune!
85th and Riverside
City of lights, its slice of the world
where friendships evolve and feeling unfurl
and you sit on the steps of a Brownstone reflecting
On words that were thrown without out you expecting
Your tone was so angry, your words were so cross
I felt myself drifting away
My heart, it was sinking, but the pain it would fade
I just hated to leave you that way.
(Chorus) Pick up the pieces you find, build something solid inside
When hearts collide
Time heals all wounds and friendships recover
the city of lights will go on
And though times get hard, there are others so easy
Just a small fall from grace from beyond
And times as it passes, still gets us back
the hearts are still beating inside
And you know where to find me (you know I won’t hide)
In that nest with my mouth open wide.
Rummaging through my hoarding stacks of old journals and writings, I found another poem so you can Pillage through my words.
Side View Mirror
In a side view mirror with a dark side view
I’m driving down the highway and I’m thinking of you
I see a reflection
of a past I once knew
in a side view mirror with a dark side view.
And the clean rain falls
as it washes this place
while the moisture softens this hard luck face
But the scenery flies by
leaving nothing but a trace
As the clean rain falls on a tear-stained face.
Yellow stripes and concrete,
tumble weeds and dust
Gulf stream winds
blow back the bangs of lust
Passing cars of those
you think you’ll never meet
Leave a lasting first impression on the cracked leather seat.
I painted this on the first day of the Iraqi war and named it “Peace Bubbles.” (I sold this painting and believe it is hanging on a wall in a yoga studio in NYC)
Whatever traditions you celebrate this season, I hope your life is filled with peace, acceptance, grace, hope, kindness, joy and LOVE.
All the best to you, my blogging buds! – Carolyn
I blogged many years back and stopped. Maybe I didn’t understand it or maybe I just didn’t care. But I came back into “your” fold this past August because I was on a mission. I had a goal and I haven’t done such a good job achieving it.
But, as I like to say, “there goes that universes again” — because blogging has taught me things I didn’t expect.
I have to tell you. A few people in my life, including an attorney friend of mine, worries that “exposing” myself to the cyber world could be unsafe. That “many of those bloggers are not true to who they really are.”
If that’s the case with any of you, back up, Jack, and hit the unfollow button.
(But I think I “know” you.)
Unless I’m traveling, my world is a bit of a bubble. You know, routines and such. Not that I’m complaining. For the most part, I like my sac of familiar air.
But now I have cyber friends like you, who come from all over the world, who tell me through words or photographs about their life, and interests. Many of you share the same thoughts and ideals as me. And the ones who differ, teach me.
You are writers, strugglers, rebels, photographers, dancers, chefs, visionaries, travelers, poets, doctors, animal lovers, readers, humorists. You are mothers, fathers, new adults, aging adults, “in-between” adults.
And, here is the common thread: You are all thinkers who ponder and share the world as you know it.
So what’s not to like?
It’s not you. It’s me. I’m not so good at promoting my novels to make a “difference” in sales while sitting at this particular table.
But I like this wooden table. There is plenty of room for everyone.
And it’s round.
(And yes, it’s an electronic cigarette)