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------------------------------ January 19, 2006 I wish I wrote prose as well as he does. It's also fascinating and a little frightening to read a character study of me written by someone who knows me so well. A traced arc, the curved line through the air protractor perfect, spider web thin and steel strong. The low sun caught the line in orange. The slightly weighted end tapped a ripple out of a still deep corner of the shallow river overhung by moss and shadows, the arch breaking against the surface of the water, a shockwave snake. It's a cold water dance and despite the art, the final precision is a graceful weapon. Ken squinted like remembering, tree seeds and cool evening bugs trailed white in the last bit of day, the last cast, a bright reminder that it was almost time to head home. This part of the adventure was his favorite. A fish on the last line, fighting through final blood rays into a perfect twilight of cool purple skies, the fish in hand hanging from the line like a 1920's sepia trophy photograph, could make the week. The tenseness in his knowledge of the long walk back, trying to mask it in the clockwork contractions of the line making the fly bob, the disappointment of a day over mixed with the satisfaction of a day enjoyed and the decision to ignore the time spent despite an untouched list of things to do sitting on the dash of the van, it all added to the familiar anxiety that comes with needing to go, but never wanting to leave. His legs were cold and solid from fighting currents come down cool mountains. His arms and face shifted dark from sun direct or reflected off mirror water. Weather drawn eyes, close to sleep, his stomach ached for the brown bag of now soggy peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches left in the van this morning, alone in the passenger seat- like the names of old girlfriends he reminded himself to remember, forgotten again. The fly twitched into moving water, pulled along swifter currents and lost in ripples. Ken reeled it in, feeling the air, the water, one side of his face warm with the sun, the other river-air cool- sensation. The best moment even without a prize, Ken felt his life as it is, intertwined with existence, but always mixed with the pull that brings him back at last light to the steel hum of his waiting van- his mechanical path, like a prayer, leading him back into the fold. |
------------------------------ September 4, 2005 Right after the worst of Katrina's winds died down on Tuesday my sister found a friend with a cell phone that worked for some odd reason and called me twice, first, to say they were alive, then, an hour later, to tell me it would be good to get Dad out of there but they didn't know how. My Dad requires kidney dialysis 3 times a week to keep him alive. The surviving infrastructure they had for that just wasn't up to the task with no electricity and so many of the medical facilities simply destroyed. Also, with no phone communications they were unable to find out if any emergency transportation was even available for evacuating people with special needs like Dad. I told her I'd be there. I hit the grocery store, loaded up on supplies for the family; drinking water, dried fruit, canned goods, paper products, breakfast bars, anything I could think of. I tried finding a couple of 5 gallon gas cans but all the local stores had already been cleaned out of such items. My friends Bill Ward & Sharon Warrington finally found 2 of them for me somewhere in Spring, TX. While I took a nap, Sue got them for me. After an hour nap I gassed up, filled a couple of coolers with ice and headed east. Topping off my gas tank several times along the way I got as far as Baton Rouge before I had to head north to Natchez. I'd already heard from truckers that I couldn't get through on the interstate. My last fill-up was in Natchez. After that the power was out and no one was pumping any gas. The roads weren't all cleared as I headed east again through the dark in the southern delta land and I had to make a few turnarounds. There were several places where groups of people were hanging out in the dark trying to flag me down. Not being sure of their intent but quite sure of mine I wasn't about to stop. When I reached Hattiesburg, MS the signs indicated that on 49 South was closed. This was about 1 AM. I made up my mind to just keep going until I either had to stop or someone forced me to stop. On the way down a state highway I've traveled hundreds of times, I made my way around partially-sawn trees and lots of debris piles. There were plenty of police along the road but I kept my speed respectable and no one stopped me. In retrospect I think all of the law enforcement people were already exhausted and, at that time of night were catching what rest they could in order to face the next day's ordeal. I guess those who saw this lone white van headed south either figured I knew what I was doing or they were just too tired to stop one more fool headed into that mess down there. I made it to I-10 and headed east. It was obvious by debris piled up on the north side of the road that this had been under water not too long ago. I finally got to Hwy 15. My sister lives just off that road and had already told me it was passable. With all the devastation and darkness nothing looked familiar and I drove right past my sister's street, had to turn around and find it coming from the other way. Luckily her street sign was still standing, though bent. I got there about 3:30 AM. They were a bit surprised to see me at that time. After a few hugs I fell out on a matress on the floor and caught 5 hours of precious sleep. Next morning we unloaded all the supplies and I ate a fine toasted (on the grill) peanut butter sandwich for breakfast while listening to the radio for any changes in the roads. There were none so we loaded Dad up and took off back the way I came. Lucky I had brought extra gas with me. I had to use one of the 5 gallon cans before I found gas again just north of Baton Rouge. From then on it was pretty clear sailing. The way I see it my timing was perfect. I was able to get in and out before the real gas shortages started. Dad and I made it back to Conroe around 11 PM. It took me 27 driving hours to cover 1,252.1 very tense miles. Needless to say I was one tired Texan. Sue already had Dad scheduled for dialysis early the next morning. Since then I've been a communications center for relatives and friends. My family was lucky. My sister's house and my Dad's only had a little wind damage. My brother had a tree fall on his house but it is habitable. I've heard about most of my immediate relatives and all are unhurt. I'm sure there are a couple who have no homes to come back to. Those folks down there need all the help we can give them. Spread the word. This one will go down in the history books like the big San Francisco earthquake. Love, |
------------------------------ November 28, 2004 I thought I'd write this down while it was still fresh. I've always been fascinated by the obviously great minds of human kind; DaVinci, Shakespeare; Hokusai, Confucius, Gautama Buddha, and in our own memory, Albert Einstein. This year, 2004, is the 100th anniversary of the publication of the Special Theory of Relativity and articles about Einstein, his life and his breakthroughs in theoretical physics abound. He was a fascinating human being who as a child asked such questions as "What would things look like if I were to chase and catch a beam of light?" He then spent decades working out answers to that very basic and wonderful question. I don't pretend to truly be able to wrap my mind around the ideas involved but I try, and in trying, enjoy the exercise. It stimulates my own creative mind in it's own special way much as Einstein used music to stimulate his musings on theoretical physics. He often played violin and piano while working on his most puzzling problems, stopping in the middle of his playing with answers bursting forth from that peculiar part of his mind where he did his greatest work. It's an old trick used by many to allow the mind to work freely on particular problems. I come up with some of my best solutions while sanding in the woodshop, working on my leaf farm, or reading something totally removed from the problem I'm working on. One of those ideas dawned on me during a marathon sanding shortly after reading an article on Einstein. In my peculiar little brain the idea that came to me was, "What if Einstein owned a magical violin the notes of which actually played the solutions into his mind?" OK, so my idea will never lead to the development of such technology as nuclear energy, television, computers, satellite communications, and the like but I continued sanding and it gave me a song that I'm particularly pleased with. First, I fell in love with the idea and the title, "Einstein's Violin". As a romantic I lent Einstein's Violin to solving another of the basic problems of the universe, falling in love and staying in love in a world that continually conspires against it. After 3 solid days of sanding, here's what I came up with lyrically. A few more days work on the guitar and the musical part of it blossomed.
It's a song for us adults; those who have had our hearts truly broken and those who are working on staying in love. I look EINSTEIN’S VIOLIN If time and space are relative (CHORUS) Following a beam of light (CHORUS & INSTRUMENT BREAK) (BRIDGE) Love, |
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------------------------------ September 18, 2004 All the lights are out and I'm lying in a galvanized tub full of steaming water in the middle of a hay field looking at the stars in the south Texas sky and wondering, "Why me?!!!" As a writer and performer I have had more than my share of magical moments. But every now and then there is a moment that shakes me to the core and reminds me that I am just a conduit to something far greater. Hours before, I took the stage for my thirty minutes at Bear Creek Concerts sharing an incredible night of music with good friends; Rene Lawrence, Lucky Boyd, Donnie Blanz, Jean Synodinos, and Christy Claxton & company We were performing a benefit for Relay For Life, Cancer research. Joining us onstage was Maggie Smith, signing our songs for the benefit of the hearing impaired and the delight of the rest of the audience. Maggie had been warned about me but it was still a wonder for us all as she signed such songs of mine as "Prickly Pear" and "Strip Folker". Needless to say the audience, Maggie, and I were all rolling with laughter at her visual interpretation of those lyrics. Then I sang "Real Men". Maggie is a beautiful lady who literally danced the lyrics out into the audience with a spirit and force I could only pray to equal. She is also African American. We were all, nearly a hundred souls under that same Texas sky, quite simply.....stunned! When I wrote "Real Men" my original dream was to take the ugliest word Iknow in the English language and make something beautiful out of it. On that night, with Maggie's silent, thunderous harmony my dream came true. Afterward, as we hugged and talked about it trying to grasp what we had just accomplished Maggie told me, "You just keep singing that song!" Don't let anyone stop you." And I will keep singing it, Maggie. Thank you |