Keep Your Hand Upon The Throttle And Your Eyes Upon The Rail

No "saint" and a sucker for under-dogs, Pops would've enjoyed last night's ball game. As I alluded in the previous post, today he would have been 75. I miss him terribly.

A lot of my battle for some semblance of justice has been for my parents. Mom & Dad did not deserve what got dished out in our lovely little small town (aided and abetted by some of their so-called "friends") any more than I did. And they did not raise me to run from a righteous fight - in life or online.

We played Johnny Cash's cover of "Life's Railway to Heaven" as folks left Dad's funeral service. I remember stepping out onto First Baptist's front steps alone (after giving his eulogy), feeling a cool breeze on my cheek, and turning to look up at the steeple . . . where I sensed Daddy had stopped to linger (another time/another story) before hopping the Paradise Express.

When we got back to my parents' home, all of the clocks in the house had stopped at the same time. I'd like to think that meant Pops approved of his send-off.

I had not seen this video of the recording session (with Earl Scruggs and the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band) on You Tube before last night. There's a riff towards the end with a fiddle/accordion/ukulele (at least that's what my ear picks up) that always brings a tear to my eye . . . as it reminds me of some very special times in New Orleans.

One day our circle will be unbroken.



Unless something earth-shattering happens, I'm taking a break for the rest of the day.

2/11 update: I am informed (by my Blogfather P) that what I thought was a ukulele is actually a mandolin. A country band, you see, would not be caught dead with a ukulele;)