My Think Piece

  Leaving Carmel I had a girl on Mount Carmel, she served me the finest wine I had a girl on Mount Carmel, she served me the finest wine When I left Mount Carmel, I left it far behind. The mountains will drop sweet wine, and all the hills will melt The mountains will drip wine, and all the hills will melt When I walked away from Carmel, I walked away from myself!

 The trains will run on time He's rounding up the browns He’ll do away with crime  In the cities and the towns Sometimes it seems like up  But mostly upside down But the trains will run on time And he's rounding up the browns!

  Stuff I Need To Ignore! Getting lost in the form is bad form. Some stuff just needs to be ignored for the sake of the story and the message. Tempo: I can record or play at any tempo I like, and change tempo at any time I like. That is a tool of emphasis for the music! Studio or public appearances with other musicians are another thing! Form in poetry: I can meter and rhyme at any time and when and how I, please! The meaning is the thing, and sometimes wrecking some Iambic pentameter or adding a rhyme or meter in some places to evoke the mood can enhance the thought! Questionable grammar: I can use “bad” grammar as a literary tool! No offense to my old pals Strunk and White but the story is more important than being literarily proper!

Setting, Camping Out: I found a bean can, about a quart size that we had had for our dinner rinsed it out, and filled it with water on the campfire we had cooked dinner on. I watched it until it boiled for about 15 minutes on the fire and then moved it to my canteen. I restarted the whole process and did the same 3 times until both my canteens were full along with the bean can. I kept myself awake a few hours until the first batch was cool enough to drink, refilled, and finally went to sleep! The others were content to drink colas and sodas, but I had to have water! This happened several times in my life. When we came back from the fields sometimes Dad would stop at the station and ask if we wanted a cold drink. All I wanted was water. Dad said, just get a coke, someday soon they will figure out how to charge us for water!

Chronicles Of Me The Story Behind Let That River Wash Me To The Gulf Of Mexico There is a story here and I think it is pretty clear and doesn't need explanation, but I want to add some other dimensions to the tale. First, it is true. Second, it is an amalgamation of two experiences, one with my father and the other with my daughter. My father had several heart attacks and other health issues but still lived alone in the manner he chose. A few months before his passing, I stopped by his place and asked him a question: “What was your first childhood memory?” That led to some pretty great stories! It turns out that we had a lot of shared memories which were a generation separated, and of things that neither of us was aware that the other knew. Just one example: There was a huge mulberry tree on a sandbar in the middle of the creek from which we both feasted, divided by 20 years. There were lots of others, and it was at that time that he told me that he had made pl...

Chronicles Of Me When it Rains at the Rains County Fair No matter how dry gulch dusty life gets in small Texas towns, there is always a formula for bringing rain! This formula is not the ritual beating of drums, nor is it some frenzied dance of native agriculturalists or rockets fired by rainmakers but falls more in the category of a meteorological Murphy's Law. It works something like this: The chance of heavy rainfall is directly proportional to the distance you are from your pickup truck with the windows rolled down. We may also express it in this way: The probability of torrential downpours may be calculated by the number of bails of hay in the field, multiplied by the number of hay haulers who did not show up, and adding the number who left after picking up the first bail! By far, though, my favorite formula for rainmaking is chronological: The coming of the Rains County Fair! In those days it always rained during the fair, or at least it seemed th...

Chronicles Of Me Why Grandpa Hated Doctors! My maternal grandfather hated doctors! He may have passed a bit of that distrust on to his children and grandchildren. This medical reluctance probably led to some poor health issues and an earlier than necessary death or two in the family, and most certainly his own! An odd focus for hatred one might think, but there is a reason behind it. When he was a young man his mother became ill with something that we would now, almost universally recognize as a stroke. He rushed her to the hospital and the doctors refused to treat her! Why? Because she was Native American! Racism of that stripe was far less subtle in those days, but don't pretend it has disapeared. It has simply gone underground and become more subtle and is now astoundingly confused. It still exists in less severe forms and differing names. Now, instead of being "Indians" or "Redskins" those people who are native to the Americas are m...