It’s been a few weeks since anything worth writing about came to mind. Usually, things pop in around 2 AM, and I get up to write, but lately I’ve been sleeping all night. I got a new Eastman mandolin and have been putting in four to six hours a day, reteaching myself to play the little beast: I played it as a child, then discovered the guitar, which in a way was a mistake; I should have stuck with the Mandolin and fiddle. The trip to South Dakota, the fender bender, lost keys—all of it did me in for a while, so my mind is a blend of oatmeal and Malt-O-Meal coated with Valium sprinkles.
Something will be forthcoming, but I’m trying to stay non-political, though I tend to scream at our poor Television and the Squirrel that raids my bird feeders. I’ll try to be nice and pleasant, but that’s hard for a guy who is nearly 78. Not only am I playing the Mandolin in our church band, but I’m also reteaching myself the fiddle, so gluttony for punishment is my sentence. I’ll write something nice and cozy soon. God Bless the Alamo and Davy Crockett.
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I took my dad’s fiddle and a mandolin I bought to Germany. They both got smashed in shipping. I took it as a sign 🙂
I have my dad’s fiddle that his mentor and good friend, the legendary Bob Wills, gave him in 1949; I had a few repairs done, and that’s the one I play. I took a fall on stage last week and damaged my Mandolin’s headstock, so I took it to the Luthier for repair. I had a guitar smashed in transit too; it’s a horrible experience. That’s awful that your dad’s instruments got smashed. Back in the sixties, our rock band was playing a high school prom for Corsicana High School, south of Dallas. Our rhythm guitarist was being heckled by a giant linebacker for his long hair and his Nehru shirt, so he took his Gibson 335, smashed the guy upside the head, and broke his guitar. It was heartbreaking, not for the guy he knocked out, but for the guitar, which couldn’t be repaired. We later held a small service for the departed instrument.
Next Fourth of July, you can fiddle while the Roman candle burns!
I hadn’t thought of that, but yes, that’s appropriate. Maybe do a little “Fire” by Jimi Hendrix on my fiddle.
Making music in God’s house is a good way to heal your mind and soul. It’s best we don’t dwell too much on politics, but rather focus on the God who’s sovereign over all that mess. Grace and peace to you brother. Wish I still had my coonskin hat.
Thanks, Bob. It gives my wife Momo (one of the singers) and me great peace to play worship music for the congregation. We have a great band: drums, bass guitar, Mandolin, acoustic and electric lead guitar, cello and saxophone, and keyboards. One thing I know is that the King is in control of this mess, and when it becomes unmanageable, he will step in.
Learning, or relearning, to play musical instruments will get those neurons firing in your brain. 🧠😁
That’s what my neurologist said: don’t stop playing your instruments, or you’ll turn into a drooling veggie. So, I sally forth and keep the strings hot.
Fortunately, Momo is trained to treat your burns if you scorch your fingers. 🧯🔥
I have thick calluses on my fingertips from years of playing steel-string guitar, so nothing bothers them. I can’t feel much with the fingertips of my left hand because of them, but she’s a nurse, so at least she would give me an aspirin.
My dad played the mandolin and I’ve always had a soft spot for it.
Me too, and I should have stuck with it early on. My Luthier did a great job repairing the headstock break; he’s one of the few real ones left in the Southwest. Now I’ll be sitting in a chair on stage instead of standing.
Ah Valium sprinkles…I could use those!
I don’t know, Phil…In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida on mandolin…just wouldn’t be the same! I don’t know, though…maybe it would!
I played “Purple Haze” on it a few weeks ago in Bluegrass style, and it sounded pretty good—even Momo recognized it.
Dude. Long road trips, while mostly fun and memorable, really take it out of us at this age. FabGirl and I have traveled from West Texas to Central Florida twice this year. Took almost as long to recover as it took to travel. Mush with Valium sprinkles is an apt analogy.
Apropos of nothing except that you mentioned Corsicana in your reply to the other Ed B… Have you watched the movie Corsicana? It is part of the story of Bass Reeves.
Yep, 2600 miles is not for us, and I’ve driven to Florida, it’s a long haul. I didn’t know about Corsicana and the movie as part of Bass Reeves, I’ll check it out.