This Boy

Call me an obsessive.

"An obsessive what?" you ask.

Well, sir, obsessive is a noun as well as an adjective. English! I know, right?

I've never gotten over anything. I never will.

Wins and Losses

Skip is coming to stay for a couple of weeks tomorrow. Skip is the little three legged dog who lives across the street. She's a sweetie. We're gonna stay up late and we're gonna watch some old movies.

Don't ever give up on love, boys.

Every morning starts a new day, a new song. I try hard not to write a sad one.

                                   

Get Old Or Die

Maybe there are promises that I haven't kept. Could be that I've got dreams, undreamed so far. I spend time prying open my heart, little by little. Then she leaves and it's busted into a million little pieces. Again.

Me? Turns out I'm the confessor. The only one I can tell doesn't have time to listen.

Doesn't much matter. I seem to have lost the ability to speak when she's around.

                                   

Maybe I Found It

It took a lifetime for me to figure out the concept of ghosts. Finally there they were. In my imagination. In my dreams! Right where they had always been. They exist, always have.

As I've struggled with the idea of heaven lately, friends have offered advice and reassurance. Suddenly, like an anvil on Coyote's head, truth shows up. Heaven is in my heart and my head. Heaven exists as long as I believe it.

May dear friend, Maura Kennedy, has learned to manipulate her dreams. I'm working on it. I've got messages for some of them. Jokes for all of them. Love, too. I've got dogs to walk.

Give us peace on earth and end this dreadful, dreadful war.

Me? I Got Nothing

As I bumble through life I've managed to collect some junk that I've considered memorabilia. That's an excuse that keeps you from throwing stuff out. Early on it was mostly just autographs. Eventually the autographs got better. Tour books signed by heroes gushing about how nice it was working with me. Over time it got good. A photo booth strip picture of Tiny Tim mugging. A piece of wood with "Elvis Stepped Here" burned into it. When Elvis saw it, he tore it from my scrapbook and stood on it. Eric Clapton's bottleneck that Duane Allman also used. I had come to look down my nose at autographed Beatles sleeves.

Of course the Hard Rock Cafe changed the game and rich, white guys began collecting guitars that Willie Nelson had been tricked into signing for somebody's niece in Tulsa who was waiting for her iron lung to arrive from Korea.

Some people really did it well. Marty Stuart managed to acquire Jimmie Rodgers' railroad lantern, Lester Flatt's guitar and Johnny Cash's first black suit. My pal John Lomax's wife got her hands on Gram's famous Nudie suit. Yeah, that one.

To say that I became jaded is to understate it. Me? I had seen it all.

Now, out of nowhere... well, almost- out of Kentucky, my pal walks away with the ultimate prize. I'm pretty sure that Rob McNurlin has bid on the Shroud of Turin on e-Bay countless times. He's very pious and reasonably gullible. He was checking by telephone on items from Hank Snow's estate. As he was losing interest, the lady mentioned that she had the toupee. Yeah, buddy, that toupee. If you have ever seen Hank Snow on stage or poked through any old country music magazine, you've stared at that toupee. I'm pretty sure that most of us have gazed and thought something along the line, "He was rich. Why didn't he get a better wig?"

Game! Point! Match!

Here it is. The holy grail. Keeps Marty Stuart humble, I suppose.

                                         

                                         

  

     

Turn Your Radio On

They say that your sense of smell has a better connection with memory than anything else. Maybe. I've got photographs. Oh, and I've got music.

I go on the radio to play you memories. My memories.

At this stage in life I discover that I'm shy. An introvert. They told me that I'm socially awkward so I came up with shy. I feel better about that. If I don't play anything on air that brings back any memories, share some of mine.

Rinse, Repeat

Here's to the ones who couldn't have done right. Let's toast the ones who never got over the first loss or the first guffaw. The ones who feel too much. Can I tell you about my first kiss? Buddy, I can tell you about every kiss.

Yesterday I called Steve Connelly to tell him that we're officially working on a record. "The Last Record This Old Man Is Ever Gonna Make." Catchy, huh?

My blood is too red and my tears are too wet. One day I'll be able to throw like a girl.

Give us peace on earth and end this dreadful, dreadful war.