speaking of twenty one pilots, i love this song and video.
twenty one pilots’ Tyler Joseph playing the old Elvis song on the uke. It’s cool and it’s sweet.
I just bought a ukulele. What kind of music do you think of?
Hawaiian music? Tiny Tim?
How about Eddie Vedder?
Kind of looks like Hawaii, but it’s definitely not Don Ho.
Or this.
Yeah, the ukulele is cool.
I ran today for the first time in a couple of months. Last November I started having some soreness in my right knee. I cut back, but the soreness persisted. So I tried some cross-training. Went out on my bike. But then winter came, so I joined the local gym to continue my rehab. Hours on the bike, some leg extensions and curls, and every now and then, a few minutes on the treadmill. Leading up to today.
It’s a cool 50 degree day. A little bit of sunshine. Perfect for running. I only did two or three miles and my knee was getting a little sore by the time I finished, so I know I’m not finished with rehab. Still, it was good to get out there again.
I hate the gym.
I hate the Precor bike. I’d hate the Peloton bike. Not that they’re not effective. I get a really good workout and I like that I can program different courses to ride.
But even with that, it’s so boring.
I play music on my phone when I’m riding indoors and I need music with energy. I’m a big Foo Fighters fan so that’s what I started out with. And you know how Pandora is. Those darned algorithms. Next thing you know I’m listening to Nirvana, the great grunge band of the 90s. I was never a big fan, but I’ve come to dig their music. I’ve even learned the opening guitar riff to Smells Like Teen Spirit. Dave Grohl, Foo Fighters founder and front-man, was the drummer for Nirvana, so that’s the connection.
Then I’m hearing Weezer. Pandora’s nudged me into the new century. Then Jimmy Eats World. Fun, high-energy music. Then I guess Pandora figured I need a cool down. So it’s The Reason. Nice song. By a band called Hoobastank.
That’s got to be one of the best names for a band.
So I went around the next day asking people if they remembered Hoobastank. I got a lot of laughs, but nobody knew what I was talking about. When I played the song, they usually remembered.
I asked Lexi at Coal River Coffee. She knew right away. A song was playing on their sound system. Who’s this, I asked. The Fray she said without hesitation. I like Lexi. She knows her music.
Go buy some coffee from her. And get out on the road and put in a couple of miles.
If that Nirvana video was a little too much for you, watch this Weird Al parody.
“Get busy living or get busy dying.”
— Andy Dufresne, from The Shawshank Redemption, screenwriter Frank Darabont. Based on the short story, Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption, by Stephen King.
Neither have I.
But after another visit to Lignum Draco’s travel blog, I feel like I have.
Draco beautifully captures the everyday life of the places he visits. Like NatGeo in the old days when it was a thick magazine delivered to your home.
You’ve no doubt read about the passing of Jim Lehrer, the PBS mainstay and presidential debate moderator. His day job was a journalist, but this, from the Robert D. McFadden writing for the New York Times, tells what Lehrer did in his spare time.
“Writing nights and weekends, on trains, planes and sometimes in the office. Mr. Lehrer churned out a novel almost every year for more than two decades: spy thrillers, political satires, murder mysteries and series featuring One-Eyed Mack, a lieutenant governor of Oklahoma, and Charlie Henderson, a C.I.A. agent. ”
He also wrote four plays and three memoirs.
So, occasional writer, what do we learn from this?
Heather dropped by today.
I make it sound like it’s no big deal, but she drove two hundred miles. She’s on her way to Texas to fetch the old man and I’m in the general direction of heading south, but she had to veer a little east and tack on another couple of hours of driving time, so it’s something, even if it’s not a big deal.
She’s looking a little rough. Tired. She’s wrinkled around the eyes and her hair has lost its fire. But look at me. A little more belly than I ought to have and my whiskers come in with more grey than brown, and who am I to talk about hair? Then again, I’ve got twelve years on her.
She pulled into the driveway mid-afternoon. I’d been to the store that morning and picked up a couple of steaks, among other things, not because I was expecting company, but they sell them by the pair and that would take care of two meals for the week. So here comes Heather and I grab the steaks from the fridge and act like I’m Emeril and douse the steaks in olive oil and sprinkle on some salt and grind a little pepper and I can tell she’s digging this man-at-home-in-the-kitchen act. But it’s no act. I don’t have much of a choice if I don’t want to eat out every night. I scrub a couple of potatoes and wrap them in wax paper and put them in the microwave. I offer her an iced tea.
Tea?
Yeah.
That’s all that needs to be said. In the old days we would have shared a few beers. She’s probably a wine drinker now. I’m sober and aim to stay that way. Maybe if I’d quit ten years ago, things would be different.
I drop the steaks in the skillet and they sizzle and pop and release a faint cloud of steam that fills the room with the primal smell of meat on a fire and as I look at Heather sitting at the counter sipping her tea, I imagine we’re on the roof of that building on Westwood with the sun setting across the bay behind us. Me grilling and Heather reading a book, and I wish I had a beer. Funny how smells can throw you back in time.
Remember Westwood?
She smiles.
And she’s twenty years younger and her eyes look softer and her hair is smoother. I’m still in my thirties. And I really wish I had a beer. I’d give it all up, start over, just to go back in time with Heather.
He’s staying with Owen, she says.
Abrupt change of subject. She’s not interested in the way we were. Smart woman.
She’s talking about the old man. He’s been paroled. Going to stay with her brother, apparently.
How’s Owen feel about that?
They wouldn’t be letting him out if he hadn’t agreed to it. He’s an idiot.
I decide not to argue with her.
The boys have moved out of her house. Robbie’s got a family of his own. Micah’s finishing up school. I think, anyway. Don’t hear much from him. Don’t hear much from any of them.
Which is why Heather dropping by was as big a surprise as they come. Good surprise, though.
The old man killed her mother. Mercy killing, though the judge didn’t see it that way, or if he did, he didn’t give a crap. She was suffering bad. Huntington’s disease. Now they’re letting him go.
Like I said, I’m older than Heather. She was a kid when we met. We ran off to San Francisco doing dope and drinking all the time. Then here comes Robbie. So we got married and tried to act like family, but we were still partying. When Micah was born we left California and moved back to West Virginia. Heather straightened up and I tried, but my roots were deeper than hers. It took me a while. She ditched me and I moved to Charlotte. And there you go.
I think Heather has Huntington’s. She’s never come out and told me but I can put the pieces together. Her hand was all trembly. Her right hand. Or maybe it was her left. And she looked so tired. I reached across the table and touched her. She drew back. I guess she thought I was making a move. She doesn’t know how much I still care about her. She told me she was seeing a photographer, but I don’t believe her. She’s driving to Texas. Alone. That’s why I touched her hand. She’s alone. I’m alone. I needed to feel her skin, feel her warmth. She needed the same thing. I know her better than she knows herself, even though we’ve been apart for so long. And I know we’ll never be together again. But she’s still my Heather girl.
copyright 2020, joseph e bird
There aint but one truth, said John Grady. The truth is what happened. It aint what come out of somebody’s mouth.
-Cormac McCarthy, All the Pretty Horses
Joseph E Bird 