Getting ready to go out of town for a few days and Jamaica was feeling puny. Her doctor, my pal, Hansel, was just back from vacation. I have to tell you, I was worried sick that this was gonna be that last ride. It was hard to see through the tears to get across town.
She got some new medicine and by the time that I got home from Kentucky she was borderline frisky. Talk about thanks giving. I had explained that Jamaica insisted on going for rides in the car. I had begun preparing broth to pour on her food every night.
"She's twelve. Spoil her!" had been Hansel's response.
Now I just saw a post from my friend Windy extolling the virtues of living the life in front of you. Eat desert every day. I didn't pay much attention after that.
There's broth boiling away in the crock pot and egg nog in the refrigerator.
My friend, Jimmy LaFave, enjoyed tormenting me in any way that he could. Geography was his favorite.
"Why do you stay here?" he would always ask when he was in Tampa.
He used the term geographically challenged more than once introducing me on stage.
Sometimes I wonder. Of course it's too late now and it probably never mattered. There was a time, though, when I was encouraged from all sides to move to a location that would put me in a better situation to advance my music career. Nashville. L.A. New York. Austin. Atlanta.
Now, I have always boasted that Tampa has the finest audience in the world and I'll stick to that. The music business, however, has barely existed. Venue owners have struggled since I was a kid. No record label or recording studio has ever made the history books.
Oh, you have the occasional "hit record" that was actually cut in the area. Considering that this region has been rich with the most amazing musicians and writers that I have ever seen explains that. We can boast of a scrawny list of one hit wonders.
My dear friend, Benny Joy, is considered royalty in the world of rockabilly. He was certainly one of the best. His world in the '50's was the same. He spent time in Nashville, Atlanta and L.A. He was the first rockabilly singer to tour Europe. Some of his records sell for a small fortune today. Based on scarcity. He never had a hit. Elvis loved them, though, and told Benny more than once that he was planning to cut one.
Tampa was home, though. His mother was here. I don't know that he had any regrets. Not about geography.
The local radio station, the public radio station, my radio station plays some music from artists who hail from the area. When they do they're always referred to as "local artists." Everybody is a local artist fercrissakes! Somewhere.
By the time that Sir Doug moved to Austin and Jerry Jeff did a Playboy interview from a local bar and Willie made his home there, Austin began to take real pride in their heritage. Bumper stickers and t shirts began to announce the growing city as the "Live Music Capital Of The World." The local public television station began to produce Austin City Limits and soon the world of rock'n'roll musicians was beating a path to their door.
A couple of hippie entrepreneurs organized a little event that they called SouthBySouthwest and musicians, businessmen and fans flocked.
Meanwhile the public radio station in Tampa hosted a Lone Star Music Festival. I have tried hard ever since to imagine a station in Texas putting on a Sunshine State Music Festival.
Don't let this lead you to believe that I blame the station or anyone who works at the station for the inferiority complex. They inherited it. For all I know Kentucky is crawling with great music. Oh, wait- it is.
Bam! First thing you know seventy years have slipped by. I thought I was paying attention. Oh, the memories! That's the only proof I have that any of it ever happened. Of course that won't stand up in court. Not that I plan on going to court.
All the angels live in your heart. All of the demons live there, too.
Write all of your sad songs in 3/4 time. If they rhyme, fine. If they don't, better. There are children in the states dying for the truth.
If I overthink everything, as I've been accused, maybe it's because I was hit by a car as a kid. I'll just bet that I can find an excuse for every shortcoming. Wait- is that overthinking?
My joy level is running high. Maybe it's the time of year. Why hasn't there been a coffee table book with photographs of rock'n'roll stars opening Christmas presents? Wouldn't you love to see Little Richard in a bathrobe and fuzzy slippers opening a jar of Royal Crown Hair Dressing in front of the tree and a roaring fire? In realistic Kodachrome splendor?
Maybe if you're lucky you'll have a chance to make someone happy. Don't ever pass up an opportunity.
Give us peace on earth and end this dreadful, dreadful war.
Maybe I've told you everything I know. Most of it twice. For the first time I sit here with nothing to tell you. Is this what they call writer's block or have I just told you every story I have?
I've revealed every childhood dream and I've described in detail every broken heart I've ever suffered. I mean it's the same heart but every time it's been broken.
You've had to sit through tales of all of the heroes who have passed through my life and all of the pets who have made my life worthwhile. My grandmother, Lottie's, quotes about love and peace and my rantings about war and religion and politics.
You can dig back through this crap and come up with the most intimate details of a hillbilly's life who will clearly tell anybody anything.
I should be ashamed. I am. A little bit.
By tomorrow I should have new dreams. The problem is that I've given up on so much. Peace. Kindness. Romance. Oh, I'm closer to peace myself and I'm hoping that I'm kind. I try. On the other hand, my friends are getting married today. I believe in romance, just not for me. I tried that, too.
Every tree, every rock, every weed- they all fascinate her. Jamaica's old now. I am, too. Finally I have the patience to allow her to sniff everything that she comes upon. There's no place that I have to be, no schedule to keep.
Of course, mortality is on my mind. I don't know what she thinks about.
As much as I love her, she's never learned much from me. I've learned everything from her.
Hank Williams broke hillbillys' hearts all over the world when he sang, "I'm a rolling stone, all alone and lost." Muddy Waters wailed, " Sure 'nough he's a rollin' stone," and put Chess Records on the map and on the charts. Bob Dylan roared, "How does it feel to be without a home, like a complete unknown, like a rolling stone?"
Me? I wake up from confusing dreams about Nervous Norvus. I ache for the last woman that I ever fell in love with and long for romance that was never meant to be.
