Civil War Sunday--The Civil Wars - Poison & Wine

The Civil Wars - Poison & Wine: Barton Hollow

Dreamers on the Rise

“How’s the salad, David?  When you told me you were a strict vegetarian, I just couldn’t resist asking you over for dinner tonight.”  I looked at David in horror.  Caught.  Trapped.  He was the grand embellisher and this time it cost him.  David fancied himself a vegetarian, although he hated vegetables.  Strict vegetarian indeed.  This from the man who regularly met me at The Criminal for breakfast and ordered cheeseburgers smothered in chili.

     “Oh yes.  David is quite the vegetarian,” I said, looking down at my plate trying not to explode into laughter.  I glanced up at him and took the offensive.

     “David, why don’t you tell them about some of the delicious vegetarian delights that you’ve concocted.”  All eating stopped.  Attention was riveted on David.  He squirmed in his seat and then proceeded to choke on his last gulp of water.  He coughed uncontrollably again.  Rejoyce repeatedly hammered him on the back with her six-year-old fist.  David, looking around in a panic, finally knocked over his chair, backed up against the hutch, dishes rattling, and managed a feeble “excuse me” and made it out the front door where he hacked away. Rejoyce ran after him. Charly and Hanna went to get up and I motioned them to stay seated.

     “He’ll be fine.  I’ll check on him.” I got up and looked out the door in time to see David deposit a microscopic bit of green goo on the front lawn.

     “Bleeeech,” I heard Rejoyce say.  I went back to the table.  David and Rejoyce came back in and sat down.  David’s face was chalk white but he acted as if nothing happened.

     “David threw up!” Rejoyce announced.

     “Did not!”  David said.  “It was just the result of the coughing.”  He patted his mouth with his napkin.

     “Did to,” Rejoyce said, under her breath.

     “Okay, enough, you two,” Hanna said.  Chastised like a mere two-year-old.  “Are you okay, David?”

     “I’m fine, really.” All respect gone, the lad might as well pick up an accordion and start playing Frankie Yankovic’s greatest polka hits.

How Life Imitates the World Series--Thomas Boswell

The story is now old. . .in this day of twitter. . .instant messaging. . .the internet. . .The St. Louis Cardinals won the World Series about thirty minutes ago. . .already old news. . .

Last night, twice they were down to their last strike. . .how many times have you felt like you were down to your last strike?

Don't tell David Freese:

He knows all about last strikes. . .He's was drafted in the 9th round in 2006. . .272 players were taken before him. . .eight rounds after the Cardinals took

Adam Ottavino.  .  .who is no longer on the Cardinals 40-man roster. . .

. . .but, Freese, last night, did this:

No. . .you're probably not going to hit a walk-off home run. . .you may not even have the privilege of seeing 272 people picked ahead of you for a chance to wallow in obscurity for the Fort Wayne Wizards, the Lake Elsinore Storm, or the Memphis Redbirds before being given a chance in The Show. . .

But, your life could imitate the St. Louis Cardinals in the World Series for 2011. . .They were a Wild Card Team, winning a chance to face the dominating and favored Phillies on the last day of the regular season. . .in late August they were 10 1/2 games out of the running for a wild card berth. . .that's like finishing second at a chance to dance with the lonely hirsute girl sitting on the bleachers in high school who has rings under her armpits. . .so that maybe the runner-up to the homecoming queen might notice you for being such a good sport. . .but, they beat the Phillies and then beat the Brewers to take them to the Series. . .and they won. . .

Don't tell them anything about luck. . .don't tell them they don't deserve it. . .

Because, to quote Boswell. . ."the best players, the best teams, usually digest the game and then dream about it, at a different level."  Sort of like a life extraordinary. . .you have to be a dreamer. . .and you have to do it at a different level. . .

. . .or Boswell's reference to Toby Harrah.  .  .he had just been traded to the Cleveland Indians. . .former Indian Dick Bosman said. . ."I pity Toby. . .that town will beat you down.". . .

Harrah's response:  "I'll make it. . .I've learned that you can never stop believing in yourself in this game.  .because you're the only one that does.". . .Colbert Dale Harrah went on and played five years with the Tribe, making the all-star team in 1982.  He last played twenty-five years ago (tell me that can't be true!). . .

For all of us die-hard baseball fans we only have this for the next four months. . .until pitchers and catchers once again report. . .

We don't really care about basketball. . .we don't really care about football.  .we only care that people like David Freese can be a hero. . .There won't be much sleep tonight in St. Louis. . .and once again, in seven glorious evenings of entertainment, baseball has proved itself to be mystical, reliable, and effortlessly beautiful.  . .for us in Cleveland, time begins on April 5th. . .in sunshiny Cleveland. . .bring the blankets. . .have a hot dog. . .settle in . . .because, who knows, next October, it could be Tribe Time.  .

Teenage Symphony to God. . .November 1. . .

Fab Four Friday--Lady Madonna

I worked at the old Ridge Record Shop at Parmatown in Parma, Ohio when this came out in March of 1968. . . .it would be my last month working at the store. . .my dad got transferred to a small town in Pennsylvania soon afterward. . .but, I still remember the day we got this in the store. . .

Two minutes and sixteen seconds of perfection. . .

McCartney's piano a tip of the hat to:

See how they RAWWWWWN!

Indeed!

I will spare you the Gary Puckett and the Union Gap version. . .there will be no Gary Puckett Fridays, Saturdays, Sundays, Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, or Thursdays. . .

Dreamers on the Rise

In closing the front door, I inadvertently shut the back half of the cat between the door and the jamb.  She screamed in protest.  Her tail puffed out to resemble a bristle brush (a foreign object to me, but I had heard rumors of their existence for the purpose of toilet cleaning). I went back inside.  Amber didn’t even look up.   I remembered I hadn’t fed Chuckles in three days.  The cat looked around sullenly, first at her empty food dish, then to her dry water bowl.  She started licking her bruised tail. Amber looked up.  “I’ll feed her.” She slid her chair back and went to the cupboard.  She shook the bag.  “Maybe another three days.” 

     Or, a week, by my measurement.  The cat was on a diet.  The I Haven’t Made it to Pet/Smart yet Diet.  I went to the cupboard above my filthy sink and opened a fresh can of tuna while Amber doled out the dry.  We placed the bowls in front of her royal highness.  The cat scarfed down the tuna in the time it took me to look back up at Amber.

     Amber looked at the filthy sink and then back at me.  I nodded.

     “It’ll cost you.”  She smiled at me.

     “The Snickers are in their usual place.”

     “Venerable!”

     I fished in my pocket once again for my keys.  “I’m locking you in.” I headed for the door.  She waved, not looking up from her paper, deep in concentration, pen stuck in her mouth in anticipation of a viable thought, followed by the motion of writing.  

. . .from the forthcoming novel. . .Dreamers on the Rise

Poison and Wine--The Civil Wars--Letterman--Last night. . .

I hope they never get tired of singing it. . .