I wish I could write.
I wish I could play the guitar.
I wish I could sing.
I wish I could draw.
I wish I could take beautiful photographs.
I wish I could make people laugh.
I wish I could tell an interesting story.
I wish I could make a difference.
I wish I could dance.
Like this:
It’s Friday, ya’ll.
Time for something really different. (Spoiler alert: The last link on this page is wild. You really need to watch it.)
The Mystery Hole in Ansted will have your head spinning. I’ve written about it before, but as long as we’re on the road, it’s worth stopping by. Up is down and sideways just doesn’t exist. It’s a crazy experience where the laws of gravity are completely violated.
Or head to Lesage for Hillbilly Hot Dogs, which was featured on Guy Fieri’s Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives. Can a place so crazy really have good hot dogs? Yep.
Or maybe the Mothman Museum in Pt. Pleasant is your kind of place. And what would a Mothman Museum be without the M.I.B?
If all of this seems to tame for you, how about some whitewater rafting? The Gauley River in Fayette County offers truly world-class rapids. Check out the video for some live action. Go here to book a trip.
Hope you’ve enjoyed the tour of my world. We’ll do it again sometime.
That pretty well sums up what kind of traveler I am.
Don’t misunderstand. I wish I had a passport. I would have liked to have traveled around the world. See the sights. Meet people. Learn about their culture. But that’s not my reality, for reasons that aren’t important for this discussion.
I’m just not a world traveler. But I have a lot of friends who are.
I have a friend in Singapore who corresponds with me on a regular basis. Another musician friend in the UK who travels the countryside with his wife and dog and guitar. A friend down under shares her amazing photos of the places she visits. Amos, a writer, goes to Lisbon for inspiration. Want real life in Sydney or New Zealand? Check this out. And my good friend Lily treks all over Canada with her husband. Oh, Canada. I could go on.
People will ask if I have any travel plans for the summer. My running joke is that we plan to take a trip to Marmet, a wide spot on the road about 20 miles away. While Marmet is a fine community, it’s not on anybody’s list of places to vacation.
In my travel fantasies, there are places I would have liked to live. Not just visit for a day, or even a week, but actually live there. Get a job. An apartment. Shop for food. Cook meals. Get to know people. Get to know their culture. Live in the country. Again, I know people who do this. But for me, it’s just a fantasy.
So my travels are typically much closer to home. And I’ve discovered there is much to learn about the different people and cultures within my own country, and within my own state. Not to mention some truly spectacular places.
This week, we’ll travel to some of these places. It won’t be glamorous, but it will be fulfilling. More tomorrow.
The other day I wrote about finding special moments throughout the day in piece called ninety nine miles. At the end, while travelling back home, the narrator finally finds some relief as Scott sings, Salina, I’m as nowhere as I can be.
Did you Google? Did you figure it out?
Who is Scott? Answer, Scott Avett, of course.
The song, Salina. It starts out as just another nice Avett Brothers song about being away from home. Then near the end, the music takes on a symphonic quality.
Click the link and stay with it. No video on this clip, just great music for a rainy Saturday night.
He hopped a train out Quincy way
Rode with his brothers, to earn the pay
Stayed in the city, and worked all day
That’s how it was back then
And he’d do it all again
Just to spend his life with her.
.
She lived a ways on down the road
But went to town, to pay what’s owed
Ate lunch with pie, a la mode
At the big department store
She left there wanting more
Hoping he would come her way.
.
One day he rode the train past town
Jumped off the car when it slowed down
Hurt his leg when he hit the ground
And limped across the street
Saw a bench and had seat
And waited for the pain to fade.
.
The people gave him looks of scorn
His shirt was dirty, his pants were torn
They didn’t like him, he could have sworn
He held his eyes down low
Hoping it wouldn’t show
That he was just a kid from the sticks.
.
Down the way was the streetcar stop
Next to a tiny soda shop
He thought he just might get a pop
And then be on his way
Forget this maddening day
And go back to his home in the hills.
.
She was standing on the other side
Asking what he had in mind
He knew right then she’d be his bride
As crazy as it was
That’s just what true love does
Because their story had just begun.
.
What happened to you, you fall off the train?
You look to be in quite some pain
You kinda slow? Don’t have much brains?
At that he simply smiled
You’re wrong a country mile
I’m the sharpest man you’ll ever meet, today.
.
He bought a drink to quench his thirst
Not sure which was best, or which was worst
His bold approach was unrehearsed
He’d never met a girl like her
His mind was such a blur
But somehow, he’d make it work.
.
He found his wit, they were matched so well
He had fallen, to her spell
Her beauty, he couldn’t wait to tell
To all his friends back home
And he’d never be alone
It was just a matter of time.
.
They were wed for sixty years
Through the laughter and the tears
And then his greatest fear
She was gone in dawn’s first light
And lonely was the night
And his heart would never heal.
.
Now he’s left, he’s gone back home
Not to Quincy, not to be alone
No more trains, no more to roam
They’re walking side by side
Their love again his pride
Together evermore.
copyright 2017, joseph e bird
Not quite dawn.
Early morning drive
to get to where i’m going.
Which is where?
Doesn’t matter.
Just another destination
The gray skies start to lighten.
No dramatic sunrise.
Just light, and a little more.
Ninety nine miles down the road.
Around the bend.
Down the valley.
Up the hill.
Then the golden streaks
shining on the brilliant greens.
Bright highlights and deep shadows
and fog nestled
in the forest.
For a moment
maybe two.
.
A meeting.
Just business.
Keep the project moving.
What city?
Doesn’t matter.
Just another job.
They go their way.
I go mine.
Looking for lunch.
Walking the streets.
A pawn shop.
Liquor store.
Check cashing.
The next block is different.
A coffee shop.
A Mediterranean restaurant.
Great food and friendly server.
It doesn’t get any better.
For a moment.
Maybe two.
.
Day is dimming.
The tires are humming.
Got to get back home.
Where?
Doesn’t matter.
Home is home.
The radio is droning.
Two hours of talk
numbs the mind.
Even the music
that always brings relief
has been playing
much too long.
Then Scott sings.
Salina,
I’m as nowhere as I can be.
The most beautiful music.
And all is well.
For a moment.
Maybe two.
copyright 2017, joseph e bird
Along the road, on the shoulder.
Her strides are even
Her pace is steady
She is young, in her prime,
and I envy her energy.
Along the road, on the shoulder.
Her hair bundled together
bounces from one side to the other.
Of course she catches my eye.
She’s a confident athlete.
Along the road, on the shoulder.
She dodges a pothole with a stutter step
and then she’s running again.
She’s so relaxed
And makes it all seem effortless.
Along the road, on the shoulder.
She’s a runner, not a jogger.
She’ll get taunts and catcalls
But she’ll keep running.
Because it’s all about the running.
My prime is a memory as I run
along the road, on the shoulder.
yet there are those days when my
strides are long
and my pace is quick
and time is a myth
and I run as she runs
gliding over the miles
as if
I could run
forever.
copyright 2017, joseph e bird
talk to me now like you are my friend
talk to me now let the stories begin
we walked through the storm till we saw the bright sunshine
kicked sand in our shoes and we danced on the coastline
we talked of our dreams and slept under white pines
took a train to the city and sang songs to the skyline
but the cold north wind, it came in like a thief
blew away all my trust and broke my belief
and i don’t care
i don’t care
i can’t care
anymore
.
talk to me now like you were my friend
talk to me now let the lying begin
it’s not what it seems, what you see it ain’t true
you said give it a chance, but I knew we were through
the things that you did i just couldn’t construe
then you tossed me aside like a ragged old shoe
and the cold north wind, it came in like a thief
and chilled my old bones and left me in grief
and i don’t care
i don’t care
i can’t care
anymore
.
talk to me now i said to my friend
talk to me now i can trust you again
i’m older and wiser and now i am strong
we try to do right but we know we’ll be wrong
whatever we have it won’t be for long
and love only lasts when it’s sung in a song
and the cold north wind, it came in like a thief
but i bundled up warm, cause you’re my relief
and i don’t care
i don’t care
i can’t care
but i do
copyright 2017, joseph e bird
Note: Again, not autobiographical. Just another somebody done somebody wrong song.
Heather is on her way to Houston to see her father, who she hasn’t seen in ten years. On her way, she took a detour to Galveston to try to find the pier that was the scene of her mother’s death. In Galveston, she is befriended by Lucas, a no-nonsense oil rig worker probably 20 years older than she is. He helps her through a medical crisis and in their brief time together, they become close. In this scene, Lucas is driving her from the hospital to her car, where she will continue her journey to Houston.
Lucas drove a Jeep. Of course he did. The hospital was only a couple of miles from the shore and they rode silently, the only sound the buzzing of the tires on the wet roads and the flip-flap of the windshield wipers.
All necessary information was exchanged back at the hospital. The doctor had been in before Lucas had arrived, so she told him everything, as if he was her parent. It was comforting to talk to an older man, one who seemed gentle and kind and wise. Naivete had left her on a warm Fourth of July evening thirty years ago and she knew that Lucas had an attraction to her and that being with her was more than just an act of kindness. But that was ok. She had a similar attraction to him, despite his age. But she knew and he knew that their relationship, however brief it would turn out to be, was founded on something deeper than a superficial physical appeal. Even so, just as the setting sun can bring a moment of pleasure, or the taste of freshly baked bread can offer a passing contentment, so it is with the inexplicable feelings that simmer just beneath the surface when the ancient instincts draw one to another, despite all logic and reason. Sometimes it’s just there, not to be acted upon, but to savor in the moment and to store away as a memory for the lonely, hollow days that surely lie ahead. And as they stood in the rain and hugged, Heather knew that it was more than a courteous embrace that they shared. Maybe she could stay a little longer. Maybe she could return to Galveston when the business with her father was complete. When she kissed his cheek, she thought it was a real possibility. It wasn’t until she was driving along the Gulf Freeway that reality started to nibble at the edges of the romantic vignette that she had allowed her imagination to paint.
He had to be in his sixties and though he appeared healthy, heart disease or cancer or some other ailment was likely lurking around the corner. His future was short. Not that hers was any better, and she was already showing signs. Hers would be a lingering illness; his, one and done. Not a very promising future, for either of them.
She drove west, knowing she would never return to Galveston.
copyright 2017, joseph e bird
Joseph E Bird 