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More Random Conversations With A Three Year-Old

As promised, the Little Diamond continues to educate me. As a bonus for you, dear readers, I’ve also included some of the running commentary I’ve had with her seven year-old brother, the grandchild formerly known as Beatle Baby. I hope you enjoy reading these as much as I enjoyed hearing them.

As part of our regular routine on days when it’s just the two of us, LD joins me at the coffeehouse (where the baristas spoil her with “bunny cookies”. These are small butter cookies shaped, as you may have guessed, like bunnies, and they’re a big hit) and after my daily latte fix (I may have a problem. Except it’s not a problem) we go to a park of her choosing. One of her favorites has a long slide. The other day, as she finished one of her trips down the slippery surface she proclaimed, to anyone listening, “Best. Slide. Evaaar.”

She’s also fond of facepalms when I (or any other adult she spends time with for that matter) says something she finds unbelievable. And, while that’s pretty funny to watch, my favorite LD special effect has to be either the sad trombone noise she’s perfected (“Wah, wah, waaah”) or when she says something she considers hilarious, and wants to ensure a reaction she feels is suitable, will finish it with “Anybody? Anybody?” I’m waiting for her to recommend the veal and to remind me to tip the waitstaff next.

Lastly on the LD front, apparently Jojo Siwa is a thing at that age group. I had never heard of her before, apparently she owes her “fame” to some reality tv show. But she’s quite a thing in LD’s eyes. If you’re unfamiliar with her, you should probably avoid GTSing her or your search suggestions may get flooded with teenage “musicians” and I’m guessing nothing good will come from that.

Moving right along. This happened one day last week. Actually all of it did. It was quite a week.

Former Beatle Baby “Grampa Joe, are you married?”

Me “Nope.”

FBB “Cause you’re too old, right?”

Me :-l

Or this- While holding his sister’s lip balm.

FBB “Can Lilly lick this?”

Me “No pal, that’s not for dogs.”

FBB “Oh.” “She kinda did.”

Me “She kinda did?”

FBB “Uh huh”

Me “Ok, then.”

In case you’re wondering, I washed off the lip balm before I gave it back to the LD.

This came from the bathroom yesterday-

FBB “Don’t stop, believin’…” Which, btw, sounded better than Journey since, you know, Journey. But I’m not sure why he felt compelled to sing that song, let alone to sing it in the bathroom. Also, at random times yesterday I was treated to Coldplay’s “Paradise” and possibly “Livin’ On A Prayer” by Bon Jovi? At least that’s who I think it’s by. I don’t care enough to look it up. I get enough off-base music suggestions (artificial intelligence my ass) as it is. I’m beginning to question his parenting though. Not really. But kinda.

Finally there was this, at a fundraiser breakfast for the fire department where I got my start lo those many years ago, and where we were joined by his Aunt, the Oldest One. Tossing a sugar packet in front of his Aunt, FBB said

“You dropped your name tag.”

As you might imagine, the table erupted into some pretty hearty laughter. But the best part was when he leaned over to his Mom and asked

“What does that mean?”

Peace

PS- I’ve got another one of these brewing, but first I need to figure out how to whittle a video down to a size that will allow me to embed it into a post. You’ll know it if I’m successful…

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Random Conversations With A 3 Year Old

This one might be long on column space, but it’s pretty short word-wise. And if the subject keeps up the entertainment value of comments, I’ll do another one of these.

One of the obvious bonuses to coming out here a week earlier than I’d planned is getting more time to hang with the littles. Even the not so littles. One of the surprise bonuses (I’m not sure how many there will be, since, you know, surprise bonus) is the opportunity to glean wisdom from a certain three year-old. The Little Diamond and I have been hanging quite a bit this week and these are some of the pearls she’s dropped on me…

Little Diamond from the back seat of the car after a morning of running errands – “Are we almost home?”

Me – “Almost. Are you tired?”

LD – “No, I’m hungry.”

Me – “What do you want for lunch?”

LD – “Chips!”

Me – “You need to eat more than chips.”

LD – “Ummm peppers and tomatoes! And chips!”

Me – “How about some bbq too?”

LD “Yeah, whatever.” I could almost hear her eyes roll at me with that one.

Then there was the time I was singing along (poorly I might add) to the theme from SpongeBob SquarePants…

LD – “No Grampa, it’s SpongeBob Triangle.”

Me – “When did they change it?”

LD – “Last Friday.”

Me – “Ok then.”

I have learned over the past week that this phrase precedes some very unusual comments…

LD – “Ummm Grampa Joe, I have to tell you something.”

Me – “You do?”

LD – “Ummm I saw something blue on the floor and it was from Lilly’s toy.”

Me – “Did you throw it in the garbage for me?”

LD – “Umm yes? *with an impish grin*

Me – “LOL are you sure?”

LD – “Yes?”

Me – “Ok then.”

Or this.

“Grampa Joe, I have to tell you something.”

“Ok, sweetie.”

“I’m hungry, can I have a snack?”

“Sure, what would you like?”

“Nutella.”

“Nutella and what?”

“Nuffing. Just Nutella.”

“Ok then. I’ll get you some Nutella.”

LD, describing game pieces from Candy Land –

“This one doesn’t have a face.”

“What happened to it?”

“A puppy did it.”

“Really? What puppy?”

“Ummm Sherlock.”

“Who has a puppy named Sherlock?”

“Ummm Daddy.”

“Really. Daddy has a puppy named Sherlock?”

“Uh huh.”

*Pro tip* Daddy does not, in fact, have a puppy named Sherlock. Or anything else, for that matter.

This next comment I hear, at random, roughly forty to fifty times a day and that’s not an exaggeration. And each time melts my heart.

LD – “I love you Grampa Joe.”

Me – “I love you too sweetie.”

If you’ve got grandkids, or for that matter, kids around this age, I’m sure you’re familiar with this type of running commentary. Probably to the point that you could fill up one of these posts with similar tales. So you can relate, I’m sure. Through all the hurdles life can put in our path, moments like these always seem to help get us focused back on what’s truly important. Like, for instance, did you know My Little Ponies have cutie marks and NOT beauty marks? This is important.

Peace.

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And Here We Are

So, I was cruising through the Jewels the other day, picking up a few things, one of which being body wash. I had many varieties? Blends? Styles? Types? Kinds? Yeah, maybe kinds, from which to choose. I mean of the brand I like. And Jesus, when did shopping for body wash become like shopping for wine? Have you ever really stopped and looked at the aisle full of cleaning products for your body? It’s staggering. So, when the maker of my brand apparently decided to drop my preferred kind (kind still doesn’t sound quite right) I was left with a quandary. I mean, of course, getting clean is the primary target. But I’d kinda like to smell nice too, right? I don’t think that’s a crazy request, either for myself, or for others that may end up in close proximity to me. Now, a complicating factor, for me anyway, is the inability to smell much of anything. The result of having polyps removed, twice, about twenty years ago, so I can’t tell how pleasant or unpleasant a blend might be. So, when I looked at the label of one and saw “Dark Pomegranate and Sandalwood scent” I thought two things…

A.) Do I want to smell like a candle? and…

B.) Oooooooh pomegranate!

Don’t judge me.

In case you missed it, I kinda buried the lede up there, I’m back in Illinois. It’s baseball/softball/dance recital/graduation season and I thought it might be fun to surprise the fam by getting in early. Mission accomplished, btw! Now if Mother Nature would only cooperate. Not likely, right? Although I suppose it’s only fair that Illinois weather should return to crap within days of my arrival.

#LillyNO was again a trooper on the road trip home, she slept on the back seat (in her new car harness) the whole trip with not one peep out of her. So that’s also a win. Speaking of troopers (see what I did there?) I thought for sure I’d gotten nailed by radar in Ohio, just west of Dayton. Traffic had been pretty great until I got to the Greater Dayton Area and then it started significantly sucking. Or maybe sucking significantly. Either way. So when I got up on I-70 westbound I tried to get around a particularly aggravating cluster of knuckleheads. And as I got up to cruising speed, I noticed an Ohio Highway Patrol squad sitting on the shoulder with the trooper shooting radar. As soon as I saw him, he dropped the speed gun and got into his car, lighting it up. I muttered something (fun fact: I don’t know how many words #LillyNO understands, but she has figured out eff bombs aren’t happy words…) and moved into the right lane, anticipating I’d need to pull over. Much to my relief, he pulled in behind a Jeep Cherokee a couple cars behind me, so, Yay Me! I waited a couple miles out of courtesy and then got back on it. The miserability factor of the traffic flow however, continued past Indianapolis. Pretty much until I got off the Interstate at Remington and hit two lane roads the remainder of the drive home. That adds time to the trip, no doubt, but traveling through northwestern Indiana and through the south/southwest/west suburbs is so hit-or-miss I try and avoid it. In perfect conditions it’s probably 60-90 minutes faster than the two lane route, but conditions there are rarely perfect, at least not at the time of day I typically go through there. So I choose to preserve what little sanity I have left.

It’s almost like Mother Nature is reading over my shoulder (which, I’m told, is rude af btw) because looking out the window I can see that Winter Storm WTF (not it’s real name. I don’t think.) has descended upon northern Illinois. And apparently #LillyNO is as done with winter as I am. She’s whining to go outside yet, both times I’ve tried to let her out, she refuses to set foot out into the snow/sleet/whatever the heck it’s doing at the moment. I hope she’s not holding out for sunshine, her bladder isn’t that strong. But then, who’s is? She’s now going back and forth, from front door to back door, only to find it’s doing the same thing at each stop.

This may get interesting…

Peace

PS- Because, well, you know, we’re now 0 for 3.

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In Between Shows

That’s probably not the most clever or original thing I’ve ever titled one of these, but it’s been quite some time since I’ve been here and, frankly, I’m stagnating a little on my side project and I thought I might get the creative juices flowing if I knocked out one of these. Obviously they haven’t started yet…

So, as the title implies, I went to a concert last night, Patty Griffin at Saxapahaw (not a typo) and I’ve got Gary Clark Jr. tomorrow night in Durham. Both concerts are my first time seeing the artists and if last night was any indication, I’ve got a pretty good week here. Patty Griffin was amazing, she has the one of the most beautiful voices on the planet and it was a really nice night.

The evening is also notable for a few other things too. I discovered that I apparently have a deep-seated aversion to standing in line. Note I didn’t say I was opposed to waiting. There’s a difference. Somehow. The doors opened at 7:00, a pretty typical time for that venue. In my previous visits there I was resigned to parking in a field a short walk (between a quarter and a half mile) from the Ballroom. This is not a huge deal in and of itself, but it can get complicated by things like rain (picture the scene in My Cousin Vinny where the Cadillac gets stuck in the mud) or people that are unclear on the concept of parking with no lines painted on the ground to guide them and you get an idea of my frustration. So, to solve this, I determined to arrive an hour before the doors open. There are two restaurants on site, so I figured I’d get a bite to eat while I waited for the doors.

Ha.

I pulled into the main lot to find it filled already. I did however, heed the advice of some folks I’d met at the last show I saw there and quickly found a spot in a parking lot a half block away, yay me! As I walked up to the door of the first restaurant, I saw a line of people, stretching from the counter where orders are placed, to the back of the joint. Undeterred, I walked to the next place only to find an even longer wait. I chose to pass, again. So rather than taking my place in line like a rational person, I chose to walk down along the Haw River, which borders the property. It’s really a pretty area, and I enjoyed myself thoroughly, hunger be damned. As the time approached for the doors to open, I headed back up that way. A line had already formed, so I chose to take a seat on one of the park benches lining the area. It’s General Admission and I’m not one to fight a crowd in front of the stage, so I was fine with my choice. But as I sat there, people watching, it occurred to me that I seemed to be going out of my way to avoid lines, even though had I waited I could’ve had a lovely meal and gotten a reasonable place in line. It also occurred to me that I was fine with my choice, but I have to admit, it got me thinking. Of course, I didn’t come up with any answers, so…

After I got inside and wandered about for a bit, since the show was still 45 minutes-ish away from starting, I made a trip in to the men’s room. Now, if you’re of the gender that doesn’t necessarily visit the men’s room, let me explain to you that there is kind of an unwritten protocol for these things. As in – Keep the conversation to a minimum. If at all possible, leave a one urinal buffer space between yourself and your co-urinators. Don’t make eye contact while taking care of business, under any circumstances (with the possible exception of a major medical emergency) (Maybe). So, as I entered, the middle of three urinals was available. Stepping up to the plate, as it were, the fellow on my left departed, opening a spot. It was quickly taken. And as I, uhhh, finished up, I swear to god I heard the guy next to me say, very softly, “come onnnn.” Now, keeping in mind the rules, I fought the urge to look at him, but peripherally, I’m pretty confident he was looking down at the source of his concern. I’m also fairly confident in assuming his frustration was based on either a shy bladder or a temperamental prostate. I’m one hundred percent certain I didn’t care enough to ask him. Other than joking around with friends (bathroom humor, get it!?!?) that is the first time I’ve experienced something like that. I’m all about sharing here, so I thought you’d appreciate my little insight. And, no, that’s not a euphemism.

A short time later as I was again milling about pre-show, I heard my name being called. This, as you may imagine, does not happen often in this part of the world. I turned to see one of my favorite baristas from my coffeehouse. We exchanged pleasantries briefly, but didn’t run into each other again after that. This was her first show there, I’m curious to see what she thought. So that was nice.

Lastly, as I was heading home, just getting into my town, I saw the outline of someone walking along the shoulder of the road. It was about 11:30 by this time, so while unusual, it probably isn’t terribly uncommon. The thing that struck me though, came about as I moved over into the oncoming lane (Walkers, yes; cars, no. Not at this time of night) to give him (or her, but I’m pretty sure it was a him) room I noticed the walker was wearing a cape. My first thought was superhero but I quickly flushed (see what I did there?) that idea, cause really, why would a superhero be walking? My second thoughts streamed (get it?) towards that it was a bold fashion move. Are capes even in style now? Is this cape season? Who wears a cape? I decided to let it go before my mind turned into a Seinfeld episode.

But if anyone has any answers for me, as always, I’ll be happy to entertain them.

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Musicalitious

For starters, I’m pretty sure that’s not a word. It is however an apt description for my upcoming weekend. I’m off to Athens, Georgia to see two shows as part of the Drive By Truckers annual HeAthens Homecoming. I’m stoked. I’ve also got an extra ticket for the shows on Friday night and Saturday night, if you can make it, let me know.

If you know me IRL you may already know I tend to over purchase because the eternal optimist in me tends to buy more than one ticket to concerts. I may have even written about it here before. I’ve gotten better about that since I moved down here, not having ready access to multiple concert-loving friends has helped. #LillyNO will be in the capable hands of my next door neighbor for the weekend, so other than a relatively short commute (I mean, in the last year I’ve driven to Memphis, Nashville, and Chattanooga for concerts, so Athens, GA is like going across town) I have an excellent weekend on my horizon.

And, before that my favorite sister is coming to visit for a couple days. I’m kidding about the “favorite” part. Mostly. I mean, she does read this stuff, so that counts for something, amirite? My other sister (and/or my brother) might read it though, so I’d better add the disclaimer that I, of course, have no favorite siblings. I won’t even mention the fact that only one of them has come to central North Carolina for a visit. Twice.

Moving right along…

I’ve truly been fortunate since I left the old DGFD as far as sampling tasty live music, and I plan on riding this wave as long as I can, you know?

I’m jumping back to the if you know me IRL part here. I was chatting with one of my neighbors yesterday and she dropped the phrase “functional procrastinator” during our conversation. I immediately told her I was stealing that line, since it applies almost perfectly to me. And I’m mentioning that because the first four paragraphs of this were written last week before I left for the concerts in Athens. I started it at the coffeehouse Tuesday, the day the Cheesehead members of my family were due to arrive. And promptly sat on it until today. Functional procrastination.

This is not a new phenomenon for me. I first became aware of my tendencies to put things off until the last minute in high school. Specifically the last part of my junior year. I started that year taking an Electronics course at the local vocational school. I soon learned Electronics were not my forte. Not by a long shot. I figuratively crashed and burned, but I’m pretty confident had I stayed in the class for the second semester that would have turned literal. At least the burn part. So I dropped the half-day class at the vocational center and instead filled my day with English classes, since they were plentiful then. One of the classes was, oddly enough, Creative Writing. Now my details may be a tad off since I went to high school a million years ago, but, as I recall, it was a half-semester class. The other half may have been Speech, but that’s not particularly germane to where I’m going here. What is relevant is that back then, progress reports were sent home at the six week mark, to let your parents know what a slacker you were. My teacher informed me on a Friday that if I didn’t turn in roughly 20 pages (hand written) worth of assignments on the following Monday, I’d be receiving one of those gems in the mail. So that weekend I cranked out the required page count. And got about four hours of sleep. I did really well though, my grades were all in the 90’s. Except for Haiku and Iambic Pentameter; two things I couldn’t wrap my 16 year old brain around. I took zeros on both.

Now, one would think that a lesson was learned here, right? Do the work as it’s required instead of working like a dope all weekend long and things will go much smoother. Not me. As the end of the grading period rapidly approached, my exasperated teacher once again advised me if I didn’t get my assignments (15 pages or so) in “on Monday” I would likely fail the class. Can I just add here that Mr. Perry was the absolute shit? I loved that guy. Anyway, I again wrote my ass off all weekend, and again scored in the 90’s on everything I turned in.

There are likely several other examples I could relate here, but I think I’ll hold off on them for now…

Peace

PS- because, well, you know… The concerts KICKED ASS! Jesus it was a good weekend! Met some cool people; a firefighter from north Alabama, a couple from outside Nashville and a guy that works at the public library in the Deeg, of all places. Small world, no? I went to an annual charity event the band helps out with on Saturday, to benefit Nuci’s Space and in a total fanboy move, took a selfie with Patterson Hood of the Truckers. That’s out of character for me, btw. But I told a friend I’d relay her greeting to Patterson and figured I’d get photographic proof of said encounter. He was very gracious, I must say, for having an elderly boob approach him as he was chatting with someone and ask for a picture.

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An Open Letter to the Ricketts Family

I’m 60 years old. I’ve been a Cubs fan, literally, for as long as I can remember. My earliest recollections are from after school. I was young, certainly not more than 10 years old, standing in front of the television, doing my best impersonation of Pat Pieper, the old Public Address announcer at Wrigley Field, as he told the crowd who the next batter would be and I followed my version of the introductions with a live-action reenactment of each swing; Kessinger, Beckert, Williams, Banks, Santo, and on down the line-up. Looking back, I’m sure my Mom would have thought her young son had lost his mind. Except for the fact that I learned my love of the Cubs from both Mom and Dad. She probably thought my actions were perfectly logical.

There’s just something about baseball, you know? I mean I love the Bears, and I’ve been a big fan of the Bulls and the Blackhawks since back in the 1970’s too. But it’s different with baseball. There’s just something about the game that endears it to me. Far better writers than I, have waxed poetic about baseball’s romanticism, the soul of baseball, for generations. I’m not going to try here.

I lived and died with the 1969 team, never believing, (I was too young to grasp things like mathematical elimination then, so I truly held on, like a condemned man picking at every scrap of his last meal) until the last day of the season that the Cubs were not, in fact, going to the World Series.

That was most likely the first time I said “wait till next year” a phrase which had become synonymous with the Cubs long ago.

It wasn’t the last time, not by a long shot.

I celebrated when Tribune Company bought the team back in the 1980’s. Surely their financial resources would bring success to the team, I thought. And there was promise, brought by Dallas Green and Jim Frey and Don Zimmer and some really good teams they assembled and coached back then. I remember vividly, the joy of watching the Cubs clinch a playoff spot after Rick Sutcliffe’s gem in Pittsburgh. This, I thought, this is what it feels like! This is wonderful! And then, the NLCS against the Padres brought me back to earth. Wait till next year! From that magical season to 2008 the Cubs made the postseason six times in total, a number that pales in comparison to successful franchises. As a Cubs fan, it was the most successful run of my lifetime. Or my parents lifetime.

And then, in 2009, the Ricketts Family bought the Cubs.

Everything was seashells and balloons as family frontman Tom took to the airwaves and described how he came to love the team and how much it meant to him to bring a winner to the north side of Chicago. And I was all in.

Sure I heard and read things about the family’s political leanings which, except for Laura Ricketts, are polar opposite from mine. I was able to remove them from my fandom. This was baseball after all. It was different. Somehow.

I couldn’t believe it when Theo and Jed came on board, followed by Joe Maddon. As I watched the core of the team grow into actual bona fide stars, I felt the same feelings I had back in 69 and 84 and most other years the Cubs made the postseason. But all the previous years had firmly embedded in me a feeling of impending doom. And despite my best efforts, 2016 did nothing to dispel them. That was a wonderful team, powering through the first half of the season like no Cubs team I’d seen. And then, they brought in Aroldis Chapman. The same season he served his 30 game suspension from MLB for domestic abuse.

And I chose to look the other way. And I have to admit, I felt a little dirty for my fandom.

That fall, in what may well be the greatest sports-related moment of my life, the Cubs, my Cubs, won the World Series. I got goosebumps just writing that. Over two years removed from the event.

Last night I read about the emails written by Joe Ricketts as revealed by Splinter and I feel like the camel’s back may have finally met the last straw. Here’s the deal; I wish the family would release the funds to sign Bryce Harper, Manny Machado, and as many other free agent as needed to increase the odds of this team winning as many World Series’ as possible. However, I am willing to (grudgingly) concede that the family has every right to make as much money as the cash cow at Clark and Addison will deliver. You guys want to buy whatever part of Wrigleyville you don’t own already, that’s cool. If dumping generational wealth on someone not named Ricketts gets in the way of your doing those things, so be it. As the old saying goes; it’s your bat and your ball, you get to make the rules.

But I don’t have to like those rules. Truth be told, I haven’t been to a game in years. It’s not like the family will miss all the revenue I generated for them. But at least I’ll no longer feel the need to take a shower after I watch a game. It’s actually gotten to the point where I don’t know if I can tune in to a game without thinking about the hate-filled rhetoric a majority of the family embraces. That, friends, is a gut punch to my baseball sensibilities.

Hate is a strong word. I really try hard not to use it. But I hate the fact that I feel like I have to make this choice.

The more I think about this, the more I wonder what sap made a Faustian bargain to bring the Cubs a title, only to have fans endure X number of years of bile flowing from the mouths, and computers, of the family in charge. I’ll say this much for the White Sox, Chairman Reinsdorf may well support every statement ever made by Joe, Pete, or Todd Ricketts. But I don’t know because he keeps his opinions to himself, best I can tell. There’s something be said for that.

Peace.

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Tempus Fugits

Wow, the last two months really have fugited the heck away, haven’t they?

After fielding countless questions from faithful readers of this site (wait, 1… 2… 3… yup, 3. So I guess countless is no good) I figured I’d better get back to it. In all honesty, I have been writing the last couple months, just not on this thing. I’ve been trying to see if I can make something else work. I’m not quite ready to go public with it yet. And maybe never, it’s still too early to say. I will say though, that if anything ever comes from this side project, you all (still not saying y’all) will be among the first to know.

So, what to say, what to say?

Here’s something. One of the things I’ve noticed down here is the apparent reluctance to pull abandoned vehicles from along the interstate. It’s really kinda crazy. In the 30ish minutes it takes me to get to the coffeehouse from home, almost all of it on highways, it’s not at all uncommon to see as many as a half dozen vehicles sitting on the shoulder of the road. I’ve mentioned this phenomena before, I know, but, really, it kind of blows my mind. I’m not sure wherein the blame lies either. I noticed in the buildup to the snow we got last month. the electronic message boards along the highways were posted with an emergency towing message. As in, your vehicle will be gone if you leave it on the side of the road. I don’t get why they aren’t removed sooner on the regular. I mean, it doesn’t impact me one way or the other, but inquiring minds, right? I mean, back home my interstate travel was a lot less frequent, but I don’t ever remember seeing a vehicle sitting unattended for days, let alone weeks like down here.

Here’s another thing. And, quite likely, my favorite thing of the week. You know how you know when you’ve found the right coffeehouse? When you get a standing ovation upon entering the premises. Which is what happened to me today. For real. I walked in to applause. And, one of the baristas refused to take my money, comping my latte. During one of my early visits here, this particular barista asked me if I had a punch card. I told her I didn’t. She asked if I wanted one as she started to reach for it. I told her no thanks, that I’d never remember it and would, as a consequence, end up with ten different punch cards at home, each with one or two punches. She looked at me like I had threatened a puppy. I apologized and told her it was a “me” problem and not a “you” problem, but that I had embraced this weakness on my part. She shrugged and said she wouldn’t bother me with it again. And she didn’t, until yesterday. She asked if I had a punch card and I laughed and reminded her of our earlier conversation. She laughed said she thought she’d try it again. I told her, and her manager, standing nearby, that for as often as the staff slips me a discount, I’m probably coming out ahead anyway. I meant it too. These folks are straight up wonderful, all very personable and good at what they do too. Another reason I know I’ve found the right place, btw. So, when I walked in this morning and attempted to pay for my latte, my money was refused. I tossed it all in the tip jar, I figured that was the least I could do for them. But yeah, you could say I got the good end of the warm, fuzzy, feels today.

And that was before I became an objet d’art one day last week. I had no clue this had happened until the next day, she I walked in and one of the baristas very excitedly told me she had to show me something. She pulled out her phone and pulled up her IG account and showed me this. Apparently a local artist frequents places all over Greensboro, including “my” coffeehouse and she had drawn me the day before while I was writing. I choose to see the cool part of this rather than the creepy aspect of someone watching me unbeknownst to me.

Lastly, I think, after an incredible year of live music (which, as we all know, is better live) I have yet to see my first show of the new year. I do have some irons in the fire though. I just ordered tickets today to see Greensky Bluegrass next week in Raleigh and also to see Yonder Mountain String Band the first week in February in Saxapahaw. Then I’ve got HeAthens Homecoming by DBT in Athens, GA the second weekend in February. There’s potential for a Van Morrison show in April, since he and I will both be in Illinois at that time. I don’t think there’s any connection between the two btw. I mean none of his advance people reached out to me to see if those dates worked for me or not. Or if they did call, they didn’t leave a message. I have been getting a lot of random calls from all over the country with no voice message though. Maybe his people did call. I hope not, cause I blocked every one of these calls, since when I do answer one, it’s someone looking for a campaign contribution…

Ok, I think I’m good. For now anyway. I guess to sum up, if you haven’t seen me on social media, it’s because I haven’t been there, and not because you’ve missed something. I’ll try and kick these out again with a little more regularity in spite of whatever else I may have in the works. But in the meantime…

Peace

PS, because, well, you know, WP has done it to me again. Apparently while I’ve been away from here, they “improved” their site. So now, I can’t insert images the way I had form the day I started using them. Which is why the post looks kind of half-assed around where I inserted the image. I’ve already pissed away 20 minutes trying to fix it. You see how that turned out. Sigh

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Life With Lilly Episode 5 #LillyNO Visits The Coffeehouse

I’m sitting here at my semi-local coffeehouse this morning, trying to compose some thoughts on a variety of things, and I decided to take a break from that to tell you this.

Coffeehouses in general, and this one in particular (since this is the one where you’ll find me) are apparently, and I know I’ve written about this before, magnets for random characters.  For instance, here this morning I’ve seen; what I can only describe as David Lee Roth in drag sipping on coffee and working a crossword puzzle, any number of college students working on, I’m sure, a wide variety of assignments, what I believe to be one of the local homeless highlighting (and by highlighting I mean, underlining verse after verse after verse with a black pen) passages in an extremely well-worn Bible, a couple of collections of local business types holding some sort of impromptu meeting (probably in violation of the Open Meetings Act) and, of course a lovely selection of hipster types.  Hey, I’ve got no problem whatsoever with eclecticism, heck it makes for great fodder for those of us that like to write about random things, you know?

This shop is also, what you call “pet friendly” according to their website and I have, in fact, seen people here with their dogs.  So, of course, yesterday morning, I brought #LillyNO up here for her maiden voyage.  She did great.  Was her usual, charming self, and very well-behaved.  She was a little skittish when we first walked in, but quickly calmed herself once people started paying attention to her.  Tail wagging and belly rubbing ensued in a very short time-frame and she only needed to be reminded not to jump up a couple of times.  I enjoyed a lovely latte while she laid at my feet, eagerly (Oh please, oh please pay attention to meeeeee people!) awaiting someone, anyone, to make eye contact with her, at which point she would get up, thrash the air with her tail, and seek ear scratches and praise from her new adorers.  I think her tail is a little blurry in this picture, and it’s because she just noticed someone coming over to say hello to her.

We then took a little walk around downtown Greensboro, which she seemed to enjoy just as much as she did Nashville, even though there was nowhere near as much in the way of discarded food scraps on the sidewalks here.  Not too many people around on a Sunday morning here either, so with less socialization going on the walk went pretty quickly.  The only issue came when she got freaked out by an overzealous dog inside a parked car.  He or she was not particularly happy to see us judging by the forcefulness of the barking.  #LillyNO tucked in behind my legs while we waited for the walk light to change so we could move on and she quickly forgot about the foul language the dog threw her way.  So yes, I think there will be more trips to the coffeehouse for #LillyNO in the future.  For now, when I try to write, I’ll leave her home.  But when I can focus on her behavior, she’ll be a more frequent visitor, no doubt.

Imma keep this one short today, I have errands to tend to back home.  I’m not sure if I’ll get anything out before the holiday so I’ll leave you  with these thoughts  I’m thankful for each and every one of you that takes some time out of your day to look at this stuff.  You rock.  And, lastly, despite where we are as a country and as human beings, we have much for which to be thankful.  If you’re reading this, there’s a really good chance you’ve got a roof over your head and a place to rest your head each night.  Far too many of our brothers and sisters on this planet can’t say the same thing.  So appreciate what you have, and recognize the thin line between what society sees as normalcy and utter chaos.

Peace

PS- etc. etc. As proof it’s time for me to go, a grown-ass man just walked in here in his jammies.  I shit you not.  I’m out.

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Music, Music, Music!

As I sit here, at the counter of my semi-local coffeehouse, and I feel safe in calling it “my” coffeehouse, since two of the baristas christened me yesterday as a regular (win!), I’ve got Hendrix “Voodoo Child” searing through my brain and it makes me think the I HAVEN’T BEEN TO SEE ANY LIVE MUSIC IN EIGHT DAYS!!!  Ok, maybe that’s a wee bit over the top, all caps and everything, you know?  Still, this has been, and continues to be, one of the more stellar stretches of concert-going I’ve had, like, ever.  It started at the end of October with a trip to Nashville after my niece’s wedding (there may be more about that later.  We’ll see) back in (I haven’t approached the topic with them, and may just leave it be anyway) Illinois.  I saw Jason Isbell at the Ryman Auditorium with my friend Tom.  I’ve seen Isbell a bunch in the last few years, maybe five times, and while I think he’s one of the most talented artists performing today, I hadn’t planned on seeing him again.  But the chance to see him at a historical venue like the Ryman convinced me one more show wouldn’t hurt.

He didn’t disappoint.

I think it was his best performance out of the ones I’ve seen in person.  Just incredible.  The crowd (minus the doofus I wrote about last week that was watching a hockey game) was really into it and that always helps.  He ended the show with a cover of “Little Wing” by the aforementioned Jimi Hendrix and it was spot on, yet also carried enough of his style that you knew who was playing it.  That doesn’t really make any sense to me as I re-read it so hopefully you get what I meant.  And that, boys and girls, is why I’ll never be a music critic…

My next show is coming up a week from tonight when I travel to Raleigh *Andy Griffith voice* to see Manchester Orchestra.  I’d never heard of them before the trip to the Ryman but saw them on the coming attractions list.  Tom suggested I check them out, he thought I’d like them.  Jesus was he ever right.  I’m so pumped for this show.  If you’ve never listened to Manchester Orchestra, please do.  You’ll thank me.  After that, I’m going back to Saxapahaw, (not a typo, that’s really how it’s spelled) about an hour from me, to see Richard Thompson.  I’ve been a fan for literally 35 years and I’ve seen him twice, both times he was acoustic.  This time he’s playing electric and he’s got a band backing him so I’m pumped for that too.  Plus, I really like the venue, this will be my third (fourth?) time there since I’ve relocated.  The next night I’ve got a ticket for Mike Cooley (Drive-By Truckers) in Durham and I wrap up my concert season (I think) a week later when I go to Charlotte to see Patterson Hood (also Drive-By Truckers).  I should probably scroll back through my calendar and see how many shows I’ve been able to go to this year, it’s been a pretty outstanding year from that perspective.  I think I’d rather not though.  Sometimes the not knowing is better than the knowing, you know?  Besides, I’m fairly confident I got over a dozen under my belt this year, and that’s kind of my unofficial goal.  So, if I’m in that neighborhood, I’m good with it.

Alright, I think I’ve taken enough of everyone’s time.  All twelve of you.  I’m off to check out an estate sale and then back to hang with #LillyNO for the afternoon.  It’s sunny again here today, first time I’ve needed sunglasses in a week, but it’s cold in the mid 40’s.  We may find a walk downtown in our future.

Oh, one last thing…  I keep my pocket change in a small bucket.  My pockets get emptied into it every night and when it’s filled I take it to the bank.  I’ve been doing this for a few years now and I usually end up with a couple hundo when it’s full.  Well, it’s full.  I took it to the bank this morning to get it counted and the teller told me they don’t do that anymore unless it was rolled.  Whatever.  I didn’t say anything because I know she’s not the one that made that policy.  But what exactly does the bank do with rolls of coin?  Do they take my word for it that what I say is a full roll is, in fact, full?  I’m fairly certain they’re going to unroll it and count it, right?  I mean that’s just logical to me.  So why not eliminate the rolling part and just take my loose coins?  grumble, grumble, grumble.

Peace

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Veterans Day

If you know me In Real Life, you probably know that I’m not good with statistics.  My mind typically doesn’t process and/or relay that manner of information very efficiently.  Due to my understanding of how my brain works, I almost never speak or write about facts and figures.  It’s far easier for me to relate things from my emotional center than from my logic-driven center.  I’m going to break from that today.  I’m also going to rely heavily on cutting and pasting because I want to get these numbers, facts, and related information correct.  The reason for that is due to another rare occurrence around here; I’m posting on a serious topic.  Today is Veterans Day (the actual day, though it is being observed tomorrow) and in my humble opinion, as well as the opinion of many, many others, the way our veterans are treated is an abomination.  Like, how can many of our elected officials, past and present, look in the mirror knowing they’ve asked these men and women to sacrifice everything, often for not a goddamn thing?

So here’s a batch of facts from Green Doors dot org –

  • The number of homeless female veterans is on the rise: in 2006, there were 150 homeless female veterans of the Iraq and Afghanistan wars; in 2011, there were 1,700. That same year, 18% of homeless veterans assisted by the VA were women. Comparison studies conducted by HUD show that female veterans are two to three times more likely to be homeless than any other group in the US adult population.
  • Veterans between the ages of 18 and 30 are twice as likely as adults in the general population to be homeless, and the risk of homelessness increases significantly among young veterans who are poor.
  • Roughly 56% of all homeless veterans are African-American or Hispanic, despite only accounting for 12.8% and 15.4% of the U.S. population respectively.
  • About 53% of individual homeless veterans have disabilities, compared with 41%of homeless non-veteran individuals.
  • Half suffer from mental illness; two-thirds suffer from substance abuse problems; and many from dual diagnosis (which is defined as a person struggling with both mental illness and a substance abuse problem).
  • Homeless veterans tend to experience homelessness longer than their non-veteran peers: Veterans spend an average of nearly six years homeless, compared to four years reported among non-veterans.

Now, granted these numbers are from 2011, but I assure you this situation has not improved.  Here’s some more current info from a site called Military Wallet dot com  –

  • 89% received an honorable discharge.
  • 67% served 3 years or more.
  • 47% are Vietnam veterans
  • 15% served before Vietnam
  • 5.5% are Iraq and Afghanistan veterans.

You may also be aware that veteran suicide rates are significantly higher than those of the general population.  Again, that’s troubling, and points to a greater need for care than we’ve been providing.  This, from Military Times dot com notes some of the rates, including recent changes –

In 2016, the most recent data available, the suicide rate for veterans was 1.5 times greater than for Americans who never served in the military. About 20 veterans a day across the country take their own lives, and veterans accounted for 14 percent of all adult suicide deaths in the U.S. in 2016, even though only 8 percent of the country’s population has served in the military.

I probably shouldn’t have read these stats at the coffeehouse, because it almost brought tears to my eyes.  This information is ridiculously easy to look up.  But nothing seems to change.  I’ve got a theory or two about the root cause, but I’m not going to politicize an issue like this one.  I promise you I don’t have any answers, other than reaching out to your elected officials and screaming at them to act like a human being and take care of these veterans.  Actually the screaming part is probably not a good idea.  But the reaching out to them part is.  So clicking on this link will take you to USA dot GOV and a page that will refer you to your legislators in both the House and the Senate.  I’m trying to make this as easy as I can for all of us to do something.

Lastly, if talking to a wall is not something you’re prepared to do, I’ve included some links to non-profit organizations that specialize in veteran specific issues.  I encourage you to vet them as carefully as you like, I just took a cursory glance, and if none of these strikes your fancy, it’s just as easy to find organizations charged with caring for veterans as it is to find veteran-specific statistics.

And if you choose to both tell a politician to do the right thing and also assist a vets group, good on you.

Give An Hour  works to match military and veterans struggling with mental health and well-being with volunteer health professionals that can help them recover. The nonprofit has provided 210,000 hours of service with over 858 active volunteers and 390 partner organizations.

Midwest Shelter for Homeless Veterans  is a non-profit agency that provides housing, supportive services and community outreach to help homeless and at-risk veterans and their families achieve self-sufficiency.

Fisher House Foundation  builds comfort homes where military & veterans families can stay free of charge, while a loved one is in the hospital.

Semper Fi Fund  serves all branches of the military, Semper Fi Fund provides emergency financial assistance to post 9/11 vets who are wounded, critically ill, or were injured during their service. The nonprofit also provides support for vets and their families to provide a smooth transition back into their communities.

Our homeless population should be a point of shame for every elected official in the country.  Period.  End of statement.  Now add in the fact that so many of them are also veterans.

We need to fix this.

Peace