Please Hold For Aunt Jo

 

The German Zeppelin bombing of England began in 1915. Jess Willard knocked Jack Johnson out in the 26th round of a championship brawl in Havana, thrilling white folks around the globe. Babe Ruth hit his first home run. Henry Ford rolled his 1 millionth car off the assembly line in Detroit and my Aunt Jo was born.

One day last week I finally got to talk to her on the phone. First time since the pandemic began. Of course this isn't her first. 

She had lunch with Eleanor Roosevelt in the white house and she sat up with me all night in the emergency room on New Year's eve, 1966, in Birmingham. Same hospital I was born in. Pretty sure she knew I hadn't "walked into a door."

She says "I love you," a lot. Always did.

I Don't Mean To Intrude

 

Here we are. After nearly ten years and over twenty five hundred blogs, I feel like I have burdened you with this babble. Maybe I should have thought of that nine and a half years and twenty four hundred blogs back.

Of course I feel the same way about my music. I haven't been doing much writing because I feel like I have forced it on a defenseless public for fifty six years. Now, in fairness, it has been a pretty small public.

Surely self-promotion is the lowest form of communication. I've told you before of the nice folks who have decided to "manage" my career. To a person, they have all concluded, with time, that I can't be managed. I'm pretty sure that none of them meant it as a compliment.

Now, I don't worry about how I will pass time. I figure that time passes pretty well on its own. I may keep pasting my head on other bodies because I have found that an inexpensive, safe way to travel. I just didn't want you to think that I had forgotten about you. I love you.

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

Can't Find My Rose-Colored Glasses

 

"Every ending is a beginning."

 Every time some hack types that, it's a new beginning. We're all just holding mirrors up to mirrors, aren't we? I seem to have run out of beginnings. Endings, too, for the most part. I was just sitting around waiting for an end to the pandemic or my life, whichever came first, until I realized I'm younger than both of those old white guys running for president. Well, one white and one more an apricot/tangerine, to be precise.

Somehow I seem to have avoided almost everything that scared me growing up. By growing up, I mean everything that happened to me up until yesterday. Yesterday at about 2:00 pm, again, to be precise.

Every heartbreak in my diary is loss.

Made Friends With The Ghosts

 

Never been one to visit the gravesites. Maybe if my memories were all in tiny, natural settings I would be more likely to connect with the ones I miss. I do find myself talking to the spirits more often these days. Oh, I don't expect them to answer. 

Now, I don't believe in luck but, if I did, I would describe myself as lucky. I've seen both ends of the rainbow and the green flash. Twice.

Learning to love is the easy part. Paying attention is the trick.

Love In The Ether

 

It occurs to me that I broadcast on a very limited frequency. Oh, my signal is loud. In fact, it can be annoying. It's not easy to tune me in though. 

Now, one thing I know is that a message preached to an audience that doesn't want it is breath wasted.

That sentence reads so smug. Good. Maybe I can let it serve as an example of what I'm trying to say. I have never felt like I know something that you don't. I've never thought of myself as the smartest person in the room. I've never cared.

What I offer you is what has been in front of you all your life. They told me in Sunday school and they told me in the first grade. I was lucky enough to have a family that showed me by example. Just allow love to be your default setting.

That's what all the major religions are based on before they get hijacked. That's what meditation is about. Maybe you're not as fortunate as I've been to have such examples everywhere at every turn. Rescue a dog. Mentor a kid.

Love and truth.

I'm an acquired taste.

The Boy Who Met Elvis

The whole thing was in her mind. I feigned a demure attitude- "Well, I never really met him. I mean, well, he knew my name and, of course I knew his. We shook hands. We talked. I was a kid. He was the King of Rock'n'Roll."

For some reason, my sweet friend knew me very well. She knew, absolutely, that meeting Elvis Presley made me the person that I am today. Oh, she knew about my family life and she was aware of my background. In fact, we were introduced by another woman who had worked on a documentary about me. I married that one for a short time.

Life's funny.

She rented the finest gear and hired technical wizards. She filmed and probed and cajoled. We laughed and cried. I sang and primped and posed. Visions of awards and accolades danced as she shot and she was more than happy to share them.

No Happy Endings

 

I have obsessed over the idea that I write the same song over and over since it first occurred to me. Now, suddenly, I realize that there are only a few stories. The joy is in the variations. 

The stories, I suppose, all begin with some form of, "Once upon a time...".

Eventually boy meets girl. Nobody lives happily ever after. Ever.

With that in mind, I hope you love and sing and dance. I hope you laugh often and cuddle when you can. Enjoy the company of children when you get the opportunity and pet every dog. Read the books that remind you of our connection and watch all the movies make you laugh or cry.

Try not to judge and love with all your might. Your only role in the balance of good and evil is to tip the scale in the right direction.

You're doing fine. Enjoy it all.