On April 15, 1912, 100 years will have passed since the great ship Titanic went down, ending the lives of 1,514 people and becoming seared forever in the public's memory and imagination. In the century since the disaster, artists of all types have used the event as inspiration. They have created a huge body of work that is a testament to the sinking of the Titanic's profound impact on humanity.
The ship's name was taken from mythology, from that race of gods called the Titans and perhaps this choice indicates that its designers and builders thought they and the British nation they represented, were ready to assume the mantle of the gods and rule over Nature with their unsinkable ship. Instead of becoming gods, they (and the magnificent ship their pride built) crashed into one of Nature's dumb, indifferent icebergs.
I'm not blind to the similarities between our current situation in the U.S. and the sinking of the Titanic. The USS United States is presently on course to collide with a gigantic iceberg of debt. Our current captain apparently doesn't care about the danger of this iceberg and wants to make it even bigger. He apparently thinks our ship of state is unsinkable and that we can keep increasing the size of government and that gigantic iceberg of debt. That way lies disaster. I'm voting in November to change captains and course. I hope my fellow passengers recognize the dangers and act in a similar fashion. I also hope we aren't too late.
There are numerous videos on YouTube about the Titanic and I found this one interesting because of the images presented of the ship and its construction and the music, "The Mosquito's Parade," which is said to be one of the songs the famous White Star orchestra would have played on that fateful voyage. It's bright and cheery and in direct contrast to the tragedy that followed.
Two years after the ship went down, the novelist and poet Thomas Hardy wrote his famous poem, "Convergence of the Twain," not focusing on the individual and human suffering of the passengers but on his contempt for the wealth, vanity, and technological power of Britain. He of course also saw in the event a good example of what he calledthe Immanent Will, the all powerful, but, at present, blind force that drives the universe.
Though Hardy's novels seldom end happily, he was not, he stated, a pessimist. He called himself a "meliorist," one who believed that man can live with some happiness if he understands his place in the universe and accepts it. He ceased to be a Christian; he read Charles Darwin and accepted the idea of evolution; later he took up Arthur Schopenhauer and developed the notion of the Immanent Will, the blind force which drives the universe and in the distant future may see and understand itself. This notion is not very optimistic for any one man's life, but it does leave room for hope.
I enjoyed this video of Hardy's poem from You Tube; it's basically a slow scrolling transcript of the poem with an excellent musical selection ("The Chamber" from Incompetech) to underscore the words.
I usually include a selection from country music when I do a post like this and this time I've chosen one of the unsung pioneers of the country music field, Ernest V. "Pop" Stoneman. Mr. Stoneman's 1925 song "The Titanic" sold thousands and thousands of copies and helped establish this kind of music with the public and as a major category in the commercial music industry. He had a most interesting life; you can read more about him here and here.
1. Predators 3-Red Wings 2...Hockey fans in Nashville went wild after Wednesday night's opening playoff 3-2 victory over the Detroit Redwings, smashing and overturning cars, and setting fire to homeless people.
I made that part about the rioting up. But the Preds did defeat the Wings in a very rough (17 penalties) game with goalie Pekka Rinne getting 35 saves and defenseman Shea Weber getting fined $2500 .
Hockey fans are a special breed, and yes, Nashville fans are rowdy and loud but not destructive like certain basketball fans in that state to the North of Tennessee. (To any geography challenged readers, that would be Kentucky.) Which leads me to the next story...
2. Kentucky Man Gets On Opry...Speaking of Kentucky, one of that state's citizens made a brief stop in Nashville this week that turned into a longer stay and an 'appearance on the Opry.' According to the Yahoo news story...
Police say he [William Todd] traveled there on a Greyhound bus from Kentucky before beginning his unprecedented crime spree. Upon arriving in Nashville, he allegedly broke into a local business called The Slaughterhouse, where he stole a Taser, revolver and shotgun. He then proceeded to steal a T-shirt from the Slaughterhouse before burning the business to the ground.
According to the news story, Todd allegedly committed ten felonies in nine hours in Nashville
After crashing his stolen cab into a local parking garage, Todd then quickly held another taxi driver at gunpoint. When police finally apprehended Todd, he was hiding atop Opryland, partially submerged in a water-cooling vat. The Metro Fire Department was brought in to assist in Todd's removal from the vat, using a bucket and ladder truck.
Okay, so he wasn't actually on the Opry, just on the Opryland Hotel which is nearby. And he was on the roof in a water cooling vat, not on stage.
When arrested, Todd had several water soaked original songs folded in his back pocket which he said he planned to show to singer Wynnona Judd in hopes of getting a recording contract. Not true. I just made that part up.
But, you just never know who's gonna get off the bus in Nashville.
This will be a short post. I haven't felt up to blogging since last Saturday a.m., the day I got up with some bad pain in my back. If you've had this problem, you know what I'm talking about. You tend to tense up in anticipation of the pain as you try to stand or sit or move and that just adds to the problem.
I've had problems with a couple of herniated discs since the late '90s and had three or four major flare ups starting in 2000. That one in 2000 was a doozy and took a couple of months to subside. Besides my regular doctor, I even visited a chiropractor, which helped.
The other episodes since then have been manageable with pain meds (including cortisone injections) and a few exercises the physical therapist gave me. I feel sure this episode is not major, but it's painful and pretty well incapacitating nonetheless. I had hoped to avoid the doctor and the cortisone (those shots really wire me up for a couple of days), but I'm going tomorrow.
I've started a couple of other posts that I might get around to tomorrow but I just wanted to let you know I haven't fallen off the ends of the earth. At least not yet.
Time for some "Back Ache Blues." An original by Derek J. Holak. His lyrics are right on the money.
I just finished a great cup of coffee and I'm starting on my second as I write this. The first cup was New England decaf, as is the second, but this one I've laced with about a half bottle of Starbucks Mocha Frappuccino to clear away the cobwebs. I know, I know. What's the point of drinking decaf if you're going to add a caffeinated beverage to it? Why not just start with a cup of regular coffee and be done with it. Can't say exactly. I gave up trying to make sense of everything I do years ago.
Spring has definitely sprung here at the Post. As a matter of fact, Spring started springing over a month ago, way back in late February when our little patch of buttercups out by the shed popped out. I can't explain what was going on with these hardy flowers, but they survived two different hard freezes, I'm talking low twenties, and yet still stayed strong and beautifully yellow for almost four weeks. Usually they last about half that time. Maybe "no pain, no gain" works for flowers too. This pic was made at the end of February. They had already been out a week, survived one cold snap, and still looked that way about 3+ weeks later. Again, I can't 'splain it, but I like it.
On the automobile front, I mentioned that we sold the Jaguar to Joyce's brother who reports that he is enjoying the car down in sunny Florida, especially since he can drop the top. Soon after we sold the Jag, we made another automotive change back in late October. Our main vehicle, a 2009 Toyota Avalon, was continuing to give us problems. We decided to trade and first looked at the Buick LaCrosse sedan. It was (is) a very nice car, but seemed a little less roomy inside than what we had in mind. The salesman suggested we try an Enclave.
An SUV? What? One of those big old people haulers?
Well, we never thought we'd like an SUV, but we fell in love with it. Actually, only I fell in love. Joyce is a little more realistic about cars, and didn't exactly fall in love, but really liked it. So we leased a black one and we're enjoying the heck out of it.
We've taken three fairly long trips in it already, including two to Texas. On the highway we're getting 24 mpg, which ain't too shabby for a nice large vehicle like the Enclave. The ride is smooth and the cabin is quiet, I mean really quiet, even at 75 mph. There's also that Sirius radio thang, which we've enjoyed immensely. There's even a dedicated Bluegrass station. And among all the choices, Joyce found one under the Jazz heading called "Escape" that she loves. And we got room inside. Lots of room.
We've never owned an SUV before, but we have owned three station wagons: A '57 Ford Country Sedan, a '72 Pontiac, and a '75 Toyota Corolla. So our decision to buy an SUV was not entirely unprecedented. A station wagon is not exactly a Sport Utility Vehicle, but it's in the same general "non sporty" category in my book of categories. I realize that "Sport" is part of the name, but you know what that's all about: marketing. "Sport" is relative. An SUV is sporty if compared to a van. But compared to a BMW M coupe or a Corvette, not so much.
Now Joyce and I have always liked fairly sporty cars. So, even though our going for the Enclave was not unprecedented, it's still something of a mystery. I can't explain it. It just happened.
I like my decaf mixed with a little Mocha Frappuccino. Buttercups don't usually last over a month, especially after a couple of hard freezes, but mine did this year. I like sporty cars, but I also like the Enclave. Like I said above, you just can't make everything make sense.
Some things come straight out of your gut brain. Not everything is logical. But The Who's 1965 classic 'splains it better than I...
The Cumberland Post is pleased to announce that we are the recipients of a $1 Million grant from the U.S. Department of Energy. The money will be used to develop windmill driven power for using computers to access and blog on the internet. The Post made no application for the grant but we were contacted by the Obama Administration yesterday. An enormous black, hybrid powered Escalade pulled into our driveway and delivered a package which included a kit for developing the experimental windmills, a check for $1 Million, and a letter and contract. Sec. Stephen Chu himself was driving and made the delivery.
After carefully examining the kit materials, the Post has decided to accept the government proposal. Here are the windmills we'll be using in this experiment.
We like the patriotism shown by the two with the American flag motifs and we deeply appreciate the international and diverse appeal of the other two.
Also, in related news, we have decided to endorse President Obama for a second term. Those of us on the staff have noted in the past that reasonable people do sometimes change their minds and that's the case this time. Although we disagree with almost all of Obama's policies and despise his racially divisive approach, we think he makes a lot of sense in certain areas. Nobody's perfect.
The Post will be offline for the next four weeks as we take the first of several vacations, this one in Aruba.
Banjo legend Earl Scruggs passed away yesterday in a Nashville Hospital. He was 88.
Wiki says (and anybody who knows a little bit about American country music and bluegrass knows as well), Scruggs perfected and popularized the three finger picking style on the five string banjo. The style is now called the "Scruggs Style."
One of his most famous and influential compositions is "Foggy Mountain Breakdown," which has become a standard among bluegrass musicians. Wiki says if you can deliver a convincing rendition of this tune, you are recognized as an "intermediate" level banjo player. Well, I don't know about that. I do know it's one of the most challenging pieces to be played on the instrument.
Scruggs wrote the tune back in the late '40s when he and Lester Flatt were members of Bill Monroe's Bluegrass Boys, and I first remember hearing it on the Flatt and Scruggs local TV show in the Nashville area in the '50s. It became instantly recognizable nationally after it was used frequently in the 1967 movie "Bonnie and Clyde."
The influence he had on other musicians and their respect for him is displayed in this video of his famous tune. Yes, that's Mr. Leon Russell on the organ. I think you'll recognize quite few of the other musicians as well.
I regularly watched the Flatt and Scruggs TV show back in the '50s. The show was on right before supper time and I associate the old Flatt and Scruggs sound with images of my Mother in the kitchen frying pork chops or mashing potatoes or making some biscuits with Martha White Flour. I can almost hear that sizzle and smell the chops in the skillet now.
Flatt and Scruggs were together from the late '40s until 1969 when they decided to go their separate ways. The decision was pretty much Earl's because he wanted to play some more contemporary material and Lester wanted to stay with the traditional stuff. Lester hired most of the Foggy Mountain Boys and started a new band called Nashville Grass. After Earl left, he created the Earl Scruggs Revue with his sons. Both men enjoyed success after the split. Lester Flatt died in 1979.
Even though they split and they're both gone now, they remain forever united and alive in my memory. Here's a couple of songs from those golden days, "Rollin' in My Sweet Baby's Arms," and "My Blue Ridge Cabin Home."
(Note: This is off on a tangent and I probably mentioned it before, but T. Tommy Cutrer, the emcee on the second video, was one of the candidates in the 4th District (my district) Democratic primary that 28 year old Al Gore won back in 1976. Gore won the primary election with just a little over 30 percent of the vote. Cutrer finished a close second. I've often wondered if history would have been a little different had there been one less candidate in that primary. My guess is Cutrer probably would have won, as for what Gore would have done after that, who knows.)
It looks like a plane that might have been flown by a 1930's-1950s comic book hero whose mercenary force assisted the world's free nations in their fight against the evil statists in Germany, Japan, and the Soviet Union.
Air Commander Jake Savage and his squadron of Bluehawks.
Okay, so there was no such comic book character. But there was a real plane.
It's a Bugatti 100P which was designed in the late '30s and was being built to compete in the 1939 Deutsche de la Meurthe Cup Race. Wiki says that the plane was not completed by the September 1939 deadline and was put in storage "prior to the German invasion of France."
Ettore Bugatti started work in 1938 to design a racer to compete in the Deutsch de la Meurthe Cup Race, using engines sold in his automotive line for co-marketing. His chief engineer was Louis de Monge, whom Bugatti was partnered with before. Bugatti also approached by the French Government to use the technology of the racing aircraft to develop a fighter variant for mass production. The aircraft was the source of five modern patents including the inline engines, V tail mixer controls, and the automatic flap system. [1]
... The Model 100 had an unusual inboard mounted twin engine arrangement driving forward mounted twin counter rotating propellers through driveshafts. The aircraft also featured a 120 degree V-tail arrangement and retractable landing gear. The construction was mostly of wood, with sandwiched layers of balsa and hardwoods, including tulipwood stringers covered with doped fabric.
For an excellent overhead schematic of the Model 100's engine layout, etc. click here.
Somehow the plane survived the war and over the next several decades was sold and resold several times. During that time both original Bugatti were pulled and used in race cars. The plane (minus engines) was restored by the EAA Airventure museum in Oshkosh, Wisconsin, where it is on static display today.
But. That's not the end of the story. There's another Bugatti 100P that's being constructed right now by Scotty Wilson and Greg Carlson of Oklahoma. There are some great photos and lots of information on this painstakingly researched and constructed airplane at these two sites.
When completed, the project plane will be correct in every detail except the engines, which will be twin Susuki Hayabusa motors modified and developed by Radical Performance Engines of England.
And guess what? The plane has also been in a comic book, Firehawks, illustrated by Herb Trimpe who worked on "The Incredible Hulk" and "The Wolverine." I haven't read the comic but the images of the plane on the cover and pages shown in the link look great--except for those red stars on the plane's wings and body. I don't know about you, but I have some bad memories associated with that red star.
On a slight tangent, something about the Bugatti 100P reminds me a little of the Bell P-39 Airacobra WWII fighter plane. These planes looked great but presented problems in combat. They were, however, used quite successfully by the Russian Air Force (with red star markings!) which found their nose mounted cannons quite effective against German soft armor. Here's a pic of the Airacobra in case you've forgotten what they looked like.
Back to the airplane under discussion: the Bugatti 100P. This airplane was originally designed to reach speeds up to and slightly over 500 mph. It will be interesting to see if the modern Bugatti 100P with its twin RPE Susukis can achieve that speed.
Air Commander Savage, your plane will soon be ready.
I've been reading a lot lately about our budget crisis. The more I read, the angrier I get. My post today is kinda like rage-therapy, it's my way of letting the dogs out.
To contain and express my rage, I need to create a scene and a character. That kind of approach isn't for everybody but it's the way I roll.
Okay. Imagine with me for a moment a presidential candidate who's as tough as nails. Let's say she lacks the slickness, the cool diplomatic manner, the urbanity that's come to define allpoliticians. Let's suppose she's a small town business woman with a sailor's mouth. Suppose at convention time the Republicans get all deadlocked like in the old days. And suppose out of nowhere we get this candidate, one the whole convention is able to agree on. And finally after 15 ballots, Mrs. Lois "Shooter" Hardin emerges as the nominee.
That's right. She's a woman. A fifty-two year old, multi-millionaire business woman. She's not glamorous like Palin--she looks and sounds more like a cross between Margaret Thatcher and that butt ugly socialist Lewis Black. It's 1:00 a.m. when she steps to the dais, and most of America is up late, still watching on TVs, live internet feeds, on Iphones, or Ipads or Kindles, or listening on car radios. People are riveted by the political drama. They sense that something is happening, some significant change is coming.
It's so late the children have all gone to bed. Which is a good thing. Because like I said, Mrs. Hardin cusses. A lot. (A warning: she says f**k or some derivative 34 times in a fairly short speech.) Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Republican nominee and the next President of the United States, Lois "Shooter" Hardin.
Mr. Speaker, fellow delegates, ladies and gentlemen, and all Americans still watching and listening; I apologize to you for what must seem like a f**king drunken assed bar brawl and for keeping you up on a work night.
But all of this carrying on is not really a brawl, it just looks like it. We Republicans have been hard at work picking a presidential candidate for the damned most important election in our lifetimes.
And guess what. I'm that f**king candidate! Me!
I don't have a clue in Hell as to why I got picked. But I've got my suspicions. First, I don't think the bastards have much confidence in me as a candidate. They figure everybody's been so busy tearing each other a new asshole that it's hurt the party and we can't win in November. They think we can't win and so they're planning on sacrificing my ass.
Let me tell you something. I don't plan to be a sacrifice for anybody. And as to that "we can't win" malarkey, that's a crock of bullshit as big as the humongous assed gap between what President Obama says in his speeches and what that slippery SOB actually does.
We CAN win. And we WILL win.
The second reason I suspect they picked me to run this year is because they think if we're gonna lose (which I already said, we ain't), they know I'll speak my mind and won't hold back and just might do those politically correct pantywaists in the opposition party some serious long term f**king damage.
And let me tell you something else. The bastards who run our party are shitsmileyfaced right about that. I will tell the truth as I see it, no matter the cost to the parties or to any individual. And I will not sugar coat it one f**king bit.
Now I got no notes and no teleprompter. And I wouldn't use 'em if I had 'em. Don't like long speeches at all.
So I'm gonna make this speech and every other one I make during the campaign short. Everybody's tired and unless you live in DC or are here at this f**king convention, you gotta get up and go to work tomorrow.
So here's my short spiel.
I believe I know how to fix our country, how to bring her back to the glory she once had. But to do that, we got to know what's wrong in America today. And I know what's wrong. You heard me right. I said, I know what's f**king wrong.
But, hey, there ain't nothin' so damned special about that. It don't take a Mack trucking genius to figure out what's wrong, now does it?
Every Tom, Dick, and Jane in America knows what the HELL is wrong. EVERY-f**king-body knows.
The f**king Federal Government is too damned big and it's spending too much.
Let me make sure you didn't miss that.
THE FEDERAL GOVERNMENT IS TOO DAMNED BIG AND IT'S SPENDING TOO MUCH!
We got programs and departments and initiatives and bureaucrats out the ass.
To pay for all this totally unnecessary shit, we're borrowing money from China. We're so far over budget that...
Oh wait just a f**king minute. We don't even have a budget.
Our government doesn't even have a f**king budget! WTF is going on? What school did this bunch of certified assholes get their degrees from?
Harvard? Harvard is f**ked then. Stanford? They're f**ked too. You can't run a country, you can't run a state, you can't run a business, hell, you can't even run a f**king family WITHOUT A BUDGET!
That's the first damned thing that's wrong. I mean if congress actually had a f**king budget, maybe some of the blind sons of bitches could see what the problem is.
This ain't f**king brain surgery here.
We got a helluva lot more going out than we got coming in.
I'm talking to you now, Mr. Obama. I'm talking to you, Mr. Reid. I'm talking to you, Mr. Boehner. The buck, or in this case, the spending of bucks you don't have, stops with you.
And I'm also talking to the f**king Piss-Ant Media. You all are a big f**king part of the problem too since you wouldn't know a financial fact from a five dollar cappuccino. You guys are either whistling past the graveyard, or you're too f**king ignorant to be in the positions you're in.
Let me ask all of you "inside the Beltway" assholes a question. What the hell happens when a business has more going out than it's got coming in and can't pay its bills?
What's that you say? Borrow some money? Okay, I give you that. Businesses sometimes hit a rough patch and have to borrow a little. But we're not talking about a "rough patch" here; this is a f**king BLACK HOLE of debt. So, back to my original question. What happens after you already borrowed up to and about a thousand times beyond your f**king limit at the bank?
In 2011, the government got $2,303 billion in revenue from us citizens. It spent $3,598 billion. We paid $227 billion interest on our $15.574 trillion debt. Can't anybody see the f**king problem here?
I know what most of you liberal asshats in congress are thinking and the answer is, no. We don't raise f**king taxes. Taxes are already too damn high on everybody.
You've heard about Congressman Paul Ryan's plan to balance the budget, I'm sure. The liberals think he's a heartless bastard because he wants to balance the budget by 2040. But that's almost thirty f**king years from now. Are these people f**king insane?
At least Ryan has the guts to put up a plan, but ask anybody who knows anything about finance and they'll tell you that we don't have that kind of time left.
One more time. What do we do if our business is in this horrific situation? We either go bankrupt OR we start cutting. And this ain't no false dilemma friends. It's real. And, since no American citizen wants the country to go bankrupt, we cut. But, because we owe so f**king much, to bring that outgo way down below what we got coming in, we gotta make MAJOR cuts.
We reduce the federal government staff. I realize it's symbolic and won't do a whole lot, but it's a f**king start. Next, we eliminate whole f**king departments. Commerce, Education, EPA, HUD, etc., clean out your desks. State, we must stop giving away money we borrow as foreign f**king aid to other countries. That shit is going to stop.
Next, I know it ain't gonna be popular, and you can call me a heartless bitch, but we cut down medicare and social security. We don't eliminate them, we reduce them considerably, say from 43% of our expenditures all the way down to 30%. And we try to do it in as fair a way as possible. Seniors, it's either suffer some now or get nothing at all in a few years.
We eliminate almost all "discretionary" and "other mandatory" spending which is currently about 30% of our expenditures. We f**king downsize most everything and get back to only basic federal government services--which is primarily the f**king defense of the nation. Everything else is pretty much on the chopping block. And we got to do our chopping pretty damn quick.
The federal government now is like a big assed f**king Rolls Royce limo. We don't need and can't pay for that kind of statist luxury. So, we're selling that big f**ker and getting us a damn Ford Fiesta in the base trim.
And once our income is WAY DOWN below our outgo, we use the massive excess income to pay off the damn loans and that frees up the billions we're paying every f**king year in interest. We pay that debt down over the next five years or until we're on the straight and narrow and then we can reduce taxes.
This is basically second grade math we're talking about. The numbers are f**king humongous, but it's just basic subtraction. Is that too hard for our president and f**king congress to understand?
Okay, I'm about through here.
But before I stop, let me tell you why they call me "Shooter." You morally superior numbnuts in the Media will probably dig this up anyway. Back in the day, before I got my own business and met my husband, I worked at a shirt factory as a shift worker. I worked as hard as anybody but I liked to play too. On Friday nights after work, me and the other gals on the shift would all go down to Nort's Tavern there in Centerville and have us a few shots of Tequila. I did like that stuff.
One night I did ten shooters and then got up on the table for a little dance. Some asswipe made an inappropriate comment and I jumped down off the table and decked him. Then three of his buddies kicked the living hell outta me. The bouncer threw me out and I don't remember much after that. I woke up early next morning in a ditch. I had a bloody nose, a broken tooth and a bruise on my butt that looked like Australia. Somebody had emptied my purse and I had nothing left but a f**king headache and an empty shot glass.
After that EVERYBODY started calling me "Shooter." I never lived the name down.
Truth is, I made a fool outta myself that night. But I learned from my mistake. I still like a shooter or two of Jose Cuervo, but now I know when to stop.
It's the same with this federal spending binge. We got the President and all the liberals in congress up on that table. And they've dragged all us citizens up there too, even those of us who don't wanta dance. If we object they call us racists or say we want to push seniors in wheelchairs off a cliff.
So there we are. On the table. Everybody in this f**king administration and the f**king congressional liberals are all drunk outta their minds and dancing and spending like there's no tomorrow. And while the f**king Piss-Ant Media cheers on the revelers, the clock is ticking.
We're just five or ten minutes away from some gang of bastards taking advantage of our drunken, weakened state. They're gonna yank us off the damn table, kick the crap out of us, and take what little we got left.
We have to change and we have to change right now. And I'm talking complete, total change. I'm talking massive cuts, eliminating whole departments, entire bureaus. Cutting down to the bone. I'm talking about reducing the federal government back to the size it was in f**king 1930.
We were great once and we'll be great again. But we've got to do this and do it now. We can't pass this shit load of trouble on to our children.
Join my campaign and help me get elected and together we'll stop the madness and restore America to what she once was.
That's it. That's all I got. So, thank you, my friends, and good night.
The Nashville high school I attended from 1954-1958, Isaac Litton, was a special place. It's gone now, at least the main buildings are, but it's memory lingers in the hearts of its graduates, and its influence in the community and the world is still being felt.
I can still remember those brisk cold Friday nights in the Fall when some friends and I from the neighborhood would hike up Riverwood towards Gallatin Pike, cut across the practice fields at Eastdale, and head to the football field where we'd find a place in the stands to watch the Lions. I can smell the hot dogs and the coffee even now. In my mind's eye I can still see Hawkins and Wallace as one of them received the kickoff and started that wild reverse return. And I can still hear the fiery fight song the band, the Marching 100, played that made you think you could conquer the world.
(Note: Coach Webb who's referred to in the video at the end, is an honorary member of our class.)
Our school was definitely "old school." And we were damn proud of it. Still are.
A week ago Joyce and I met as usual on the second Tuesday of the month with my friends from the 1958 graduating class of the old school.
The monthly class dinner is always lots of fun and last night was no exception. People seemed happy and full of energy. There were smiles aplenty, laughter, glasses tinkling, and lots of backslapping camaraderie.
Maybe it was the warm sunny day we had that Tuesday in Middle Tennessee. Could be we were a little more energetic because we knew spring itself was only a few days away on the calendar. Or, maybe it was the fact that Peyton Manning could possibly be coming to the Titans. (Well the Manning dream died, but that's okay.)
I'm sure all that stuff helped intensify things a little, but this group is kinda special, so it wouldn't have mattered if it was 20 degrees outside with snow on the ground. If we were there the joint would have been jumping anyway.
In the language of country rock musicians, athletes, and the milkman, we bring it, man.
It's been fifty-four years now this May since we got our diplomas from Mr. Foster and walked away from the old school for the last time. That's a long time. It's a cliche I know, but it seems just like yesterday.
As I sat there and looked around at the crowd, I remembered, as I'm sure all my classmates do, the teen angst and uncertainty that we all experienced in those years, the doubts, the fears all mixed up with youthful hubris. And I also thought of how generous and confident we seem now that all those youthful wars and the other ones we fought through the years are behind us now.
Sure we had our struggles.
But we survived back then.
And, even though most of us are retired, we still survive now. Make that thrive now. We're not just "busy." We're living to the limit.
Back then, and now too, you'd have to get up pretty early in the morning to get ahead of us.
Have you ever missed out on something really good?
I have. Plenty of times. But this is clearly, one very special case.
I wonder...
How could it have happened? What else was so danged important in 1993? Where was I? What was I doing?What other mistakes was I mistaking at the time?
Almost two decades have passed. Why didn't I hear it somewhere, at a friend's house, on the radio, somewhere?
It's only a song.
Only a song, you say.
No. It's more than that. It's my song.
No, I didn't write it.
Iris DeMent did.
I wish I had written it. It speaks to me, for me. It speaks my mind. It's my song.
It's a song that reflects part of my (work in progress) soul.
A song that simply, eloquently nails the point -- the one I've been trying to make or discover for nearly 50 years.
A song that now I've heard, tonight, for the first time, I won't ever forget.
Don't say, "better late than never."
I really don't want to hear that.
Not right now.
I'd much rather hear the song again. It's "Let the Mystery Be" by Iris DeMent.
And then I may dance. Because the meaning makes me happy.
And there's that sawing fiddle, that slapping bass, that galloping guitar, and Iris' lilting voice.
Let the Mystery Be by Iris DeMent (Lyrics copied from Cowboy Lyrics site)
Everybody's wonderin' what and where they all came from. Everybody's worryin' 'bout where they're gonna go when the whole thing's done. But no one knows for certain and so it's all the same to me. I think I'll just let the mystery be.
Some say once you're gone you're gone forever, and some say you're gonna come back. Some say you rest in the arms of the Saviour if in sinful ways you lack. Some say that they're comin' back in a garden, bunch of carrots and little sweet peas. I think I'll just let the mystery be.
Everybody's wonderin' what and where they all came from. Everybody's worryin' 'bout where they're gonna go when the whole thing's done. But no one knows for certain and so it's all the same to me. I think I'll just let the mystery be.
Instrumental break.
Some say they're goin' to a place called Glory and I ain't saying it ain't a fact. But I've heard that I'm on the road to purgatory and I don't like the sound of that. Well, I believe in love and I live my life accordingly. But I choose to let the mystery be.
Everybody's wonderin' what and where they all came from. Everybody's worryin' 'bout where they're gonna go when the whole thing's done. But no one knows for certain and so it's all the same to me. I think I'll just let the mystery be. I think I'll just let the mystery be.
