Category: Retired Life

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They Came (and are coming) From Afar

First things first…

This past Sunday marked two years since my last day in the firehouse. Where does the time go? I mean, it does, what it does, marches on, but still. Two years have flown by. And, I must say, I’ve enjoyed almost every single minute of it. We’ve had bumps in the road, of course, everyone does, but all in all, I still highly recommend retirement.

So as you’re all well aware, I’m nothing if not a smooth segueist (I think I just invented that word btw) and as I find myself in the midst of a visitor-y part of the year, I must point out here that the first of the visitors came from the aforementioned firehouse. Last week TJ and Bob (or Bob and TJ if you prefer) came out for a visit. We had a great time, I got caught up on most if not all of the shenanigans that tend to take place around a firehouse, introduced the fellas to some excellent examples of southern dining, showed off the highly regarded NC Zoo (more on that in a bit) and in what was maybe the high point of my year so far, was treated to some of Bob’s home-made deep-dish Chicago-style pizza. In fact, I’m not sure what was better; actually eating the pizza or the warm fuzzy feeling I got when, as we were unloading their bags from the car they mentioned that Bob brought along the stuff he needed to make me a pizza. And I’m not even joking about that. It truly was the coolest feeling to know they thought enough of this old retired guy to bring a taste of homemade home out to me. The pizza was, not surprisingly, wonderful. Pizza notwithstanding, Wednesday may well have been our best food day. I took them to Lexington, NC for some authentic western North Carolina BBQ served up with local slaw and hush puppies. We ate way too much. Then that evening I took them to a place here in Asheboro, Magnolia 23, for some down home, southern style soul food. TJ had Chicken Pie and I wish I knew how to describe it to you but it tasted wonderful. Bob and I each had Fried Chicken and it was really top notch. All of the food is prepared from recipes passed down from the owners mothers. We gorged ourselves almost to the point of regret, but it was too good to push back from the table. Speaking of which, we followed that up with a short walk to (lol) The Table, the local bakery/coffeehouse/restaurant for dessert and coffee. My choice of restaurants was very well received, so yay me.

A few days or so before the boys arrived, I got a text from TJ asking if there was a zoo close by me. I said there was and that we could certainly go check it out. Neither of them struck me as “zoo guys” necessarily, but hey, who am I to judge? Besides, I didn’t really have a solid plan in place for entertaining them and the zoo is a good way to spend a day here. A couple days later I got another text telling me they had gotten an AirBnB in town, to which I responded with something along the lines of “You fine gentlemen will do nothing of the sort.” *hint* the real version had a lot more profanity. Long story short I told them they were staying with me and not to waste their money. Based on my interpretation of our conversation (you would think red flags would have started waving in my brain, but, well, me) on Tuesday we walked around the zoo for several hours in 90º heat, sweating profusely. The next evening, as we were chatting in my carport, letting our too large meal digest, the conversation turned to my surprise that there was actually an AirBnB in Asheboro. TJ informed me it was near the zoo. And that was why he had asked about its proximity to me. Insert stupid face >here< but at least it confirmed my hunch that neither of them are particularly “zoo guys”

The final part of my visitor-palooza starts this afternoon when the Quiet Child arrives with the Boy Genius and the Reigning Princess. To say I’m looking forward to seeing them is a gross understatement of epic proportions. I just checked their status (technology is occasionally my friend) and they’re about four hours out, so woohoo! We’re going to check out the Civil Rights Museum in Greensboro and maybe a couple other civil rights sites in the area. There’s a rich history in this part of the state for the many battles waged back in the 60’s to end segregation and Jim Crow laws and I’m happy to share those things. We’ll wrap their visit up with a couple days out at Carolina Beach. With no hurricanes in the forecast, it should be really nice.

So, with that, I’m going to hit the “Publish” button and go run a couple last-minute errands before they get here.

Peace

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Where It Began. Or Maybe, When.

So, I alluded to this several times over the last little bit, but ten years ago today I hit the “Post” button for the first time. This was the result, such as it is. It was viewed by a whopping 26 hearty souls. But I didn’t really care about quantity (some would argue I wasn’t concerned with quality either) so much as I wanted to get something out there. In the years between then and now, I’ve written on a few different topics, some intensely personal, some random observations, and some, well, some place in the middle of those two poles. It’s really been a lot of fun, I must say.

And, at times, a little painful.

For today, I’d rather avoid the painful part.

I know, let’s get a little old business out of the way. My unpaid research assistant (a.k.a. the Oldest One) did a little GTSing for me and found out there are no less than fifteen towns named Acme in these here United States and that one is, in fact, in North Carolina. Named (according to Wikipedia fwiw) after a local manufacturing company where I believe they made earthquake pills, rockets, anvils, time machines, portable holes, and other anti-roadrunner devices. So there’s that.

Also, there may or may not be a hurricane bearing down on my part of the country again. At this point it’s too soon to know with any real certainty where this one will go, but as of this morning the track seems to keep it off shore and we’ll only get an inch or two of rain. If a hurricane is going to hit, I think we can all agree one that comes at you like a Girl Scout desperate to sell one last box of Thin Mints is far better than one that comes at you like you owe it money after a string of unsuccessful wagers, if you get my drift.

I know, let’s do a travelogue! I haven’t done one of those in a really long time.

Yesterday, I took a short (two hours or so) road trip to Boone, NC. Located in the Blue Ridge Mountains in the western part of the state, it’s nothing like the region I chose. While I am quite fond of where I landed here, let me just say, that part of NC is just stunningly beautiful. This picture was taken at one of the scenic overlooks along the Blue Ridge Parkway, and this really doesn’t do it justice. Standing there, looking out towards the horizon was one of the most peaceful moments I’ve had in a really long time, and I didn’t want to get back in the car. The town of Boone itself was pretty cool, a nice little college town. I enjoyed a wonderful shrimp po boy (Labor Day weekend shout out), walked around the downtown area for a bit and then found… a coffeehouse, where I enjoyed a lovely vanilla latte. Due to it’s elevation (a little over 3,000 ft above sea level) the temperature was in the mid 70’s which was about 10º cooler than here by me. Walked around a small lake at Moses Cone Park, checked out Blowing Rock, NC (that’s got to be high on the last of all-time great municipal names btw) and spent part of the drive home on the aforementioned Blue Ridge Parkway. It seems like that would be a pretty cool way to spend a weekend, it’s about 400 miles long running from Asheville to Rockfish Gap, VA and the maximum speed limit is 45 mph, something that would be particularly helpful to anyone that has, say, a tendency towards a heavy right foot *raises hand* and often needs reminding it’s about the journey and not the destination *keeps hand in the air*

Well, as often happens around here, I got side-tracked and ran completely off from where I intended this thing to go when I started. But the weekend really was amazing, so…

I know many of you have stuck around here from very early on and for that I am grateful. I also know many of you have just recently discovered this literary hot mess so, welcome! But to each and every one of you that’s ever read what I have to say here, I truly appreciate it. I’m thankful for every single like, heart, share, comment, basically any and all interactions you have with my humble, little, blog. I’ll do my best to keep us all entertained for another ten years.

Peace.

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High Times

So, as I was driving up to the coffeehouse today, I passed an exit (as I do every time I drive up here) and the names of the two towns at said exit gave me (not literally) pause, as they often do, making me wonder how people choose to name places. In this instance the two towns are Climax and High Point. Now, as far as I’m concerned, climax IS the high point, amirite? But, in addition to these two towns, there are also towns named Apex and Pinnacle out here. I haven’t bothered to look for an Acme, NC or a Zenith, NC or an… well you can probably guess where I’m going with that one. But it wouldn’t surprise me if either existed. Except that last one. I’m pretty sure there’s no town out here named that.

Speaking of altitude (I crack myself up sometimes) I spent a recent weekend in suburban Denver, CO. The youngest son of The Great Vincenzo, my long-time partner at the firehouse, got married out there and they asked me to perform the ceremony. Long time readers may recall from this post that I got myself an online ordination a while back so that I could be the officiant for my niece/goddaughter’s wedding. Which, of course, sounds better than saying I officiated the wedding since I don’t wear Zebra stripes and a whistle as part of my ensemble. Although that might be something to consider moving forward…

I followed up the wedding weekend five days later with a trip to Lexington, KY where I attended the first ever Railbird Festival. Thirty bands over two days headlined by the Raconteurs, Brandi Carlile, Gary Clark Jr. and St. Paul and the Broken Bones, the weekend did not disappoint musically. I also got the chance to listen to a handful of bands I’d never heard of (or hadn’t paid much attention to) before and decided as they come to my area I’ll definitely check out Ona, Futurebirds, and Drew Holcomb and the Neighbors. I had pretty decent food too, including something called Burgoo which is a kind of stew. I must say it was pretty tasty even though the weather wasn’t exactly what I’d call stew weather. 90º and humid both days is typically not weather I’d eat something like that, as it feels more like a cool weather meal. However, as I think I pointed out here, the fact that I am becoming more repulsed by the thought of waiting in line as I get older, when I saw the Burgoo line was basically nonexistent I stepped right up. And was rewarded with a lovely, reasonably priced meal I might add. As an added bonus I found not one, but two wonderful little locally owned doughnut shops very close to my hotel. I also picked up some sunblock since my newly-shorn dome would be more susceptible to burning. Yes, you read that right, I went back to shaving my head. The novelty had pretty much worn off after letting it go for as long as I have. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized the time was right. I didn’t want Drew and Ang to be showing someone their wedding pictures ten years from now and have that person ask them how in the world they got Doc Brown to marry them. So, yeah, it was time.

Getting back to the weather, I know there are some (you know who you are) that might feel the urge to make a comment about the weather I experienced in Kentucky. I will just say this about that. If I have to lose my derriere, I’d rather sweat it off than freeze it off.

Random side note; as I was leaving Lexington the morning after the festival I noticed a sign in front of a law firm- Somebody, Somebody, Somebody, Mains and I thought, well that’s not something you see every day. Between my self, my siblings, and my cousins, there’s not a lawyer in the lot of us. Just sayin’.

Ok, I started this several days ago, but the 21st being what it is, I decided to push this back a bit so I could pay attention to that particular day and produced this one. As it turns out the titles are similar-ish but thanks, of course, to Colorado, have totally different meanings, if you smell what I’m burnin…

Hey if you can’t make yourself laugh then what the heck good are you, ya know?

So to take this thing to its conclusion, last night I went to (cue the Andy Griffith voiceover) Raleigh to see Judah and The Lion. I’d never heard of them before last year’s road trip to the Moon River Festival in Chattanooga and I really enjoyed their set. They recently went back out on tour to support a new album and yeah, if they’re coming by you, check them out. So, last night’s tour was in an outdoor amphitheater in downtown Raleigh. Nice place. The openers had recurring technical issues, but whatevs. Judah and The Lion came out and just. lit. it. up. for the first five or so songs. And then Mother Nature did the same and the show got cancelled.

Sigh.

Like I said the last time I had an epic fail concert experience– ya pays your money and ya takes your chances. Especially at an outdoor venue. At least this time there was no hotel expense and only a one hour vs a four hour drive each way. My fails are getting less fail-y maybe. Here’s hoping.

Peace

PS. etc, etc. In the time between wrapping up this post and making time to actually, ya know, post it, I got an email from the promoter regarding the above-mentioned concert. It’s been rescheduled to September 4th, so yay me!

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Senior Moments…

So, from the title it should be pretty much obvs where I’m going with this. And while I did have to correct the Oldest One when she tried to stick a label on one of my foibles (More on that later. Probably. Maybe.) that’s not where I’m going with this one.

Tonight is Senior Night at the Heir To The Throne’s baseball game. These aren’t a new phenomena, I remember mine (Although in my case it was Senior Day since the football field didn’t have lights back then. And to the smart asses that might be reading this, it wasn’t because it pre-dated Edison’s invention. The school just didn’t have lights back then) from mumble-mumble years ago, standing out on the football field flanked by my parents, as were all of the other senior football players and cheerleaders. I also remember being alongside the Boy Child at his Senior Night mumble years ago. So I figured my time for this stuff was gone.

Wrong.

I was talking to the Oldest One the other day and she told me the HTTT wanted me to join them on the field. Of course I’m honored to do it. I’m also incredibly thankful she gave me a heads up, otherwise I might’ve gotten some dust, or something, in my eyes. She said she wasn’t sure if he wanted to surprise me or not so I should act surprised. Ok then. I’m not positive, I may still lose my shit tonight. As I’ve written here lately, this is his last year of playing baseball, and I don’t know if he feels any emotion on that front yet, but I sure do. I know the OO does too. I’ll let you know how it goes…

So, I wrote everything you just read yesterday. And, as it turns out, the Oldest One and I both made it through Senior Night unscathed. I can’t however, say the same about my truck. Top of the 4th inning, one of the batters lifted a high pop up into foul territory behind home plate. And as I watched it drift back, high overhead, arcing up and then back down, the thought occurred to me that it would land very near my vehicle. In fact, it landed this near-

I guess if I’d been thinking I could have taken a close-up so you could have seen the little remnants of the thread from the baseball embedded in the glass. As aggravating as this was, I almost instantly realized there was nothing I could do after the fact. I also recognized there was no little irony that, after all these years of going to his baseball games and parking in roughly the same spot for each and every one of his home games, that on this, his final home game, I “caught” a foul ball. I suppose the perfect irony would’ve been if he’d been the batter, but hey, nobody’s perfect amirite? The only thing more aggravating came when, after about 30 minutes on the phone with a nationwide auto glass repair/replacement company that promises on their website “Broken glass? We’ll fix it fast.” See, here’s the thing about that; my definition of fast is worlds away from theirs. According to this company, eight days is a perfectly acceptable answer to the question “How quickly can you get me in for a replacement?”

Needless to say, I’m waiting to hear from another auto glass repair/replacement company to see if they can get me in faster and for less than the $750.00 I was quoted. Sigh.

So, back to the Oldest One and her failed attempt at maligning my mental faculties. I’ll admit, I tend to say things like “I was just going to tell you something but whatever it was vaporized…” I tend to say things like that because things like that tend to happen to me. Typically the thought returns in due time, although not always. My Mom was well known in the family for cycling through about five or six names when talking to any of her grandkids before she’d land on the correct name. We lovingly and laughingly referred to it as a “Grandma Ellie moment”. So, the other night, when good old OO experienced a lapse of what she wanted to say, she tried to pass it off as a “Dad” moment. Now, I’mma tell you something right now. This will not fly. And I told her that in no uncertain terms. Laughingly, of course. Still, things like these must be nipped in the bud.

Lastly, before I leave you with the impression nothing good came of yesterday, it was really a wonderful day. To be able to share this moment-

with these two meant the world to me. And I can’t wait to see what the future brings for him.

Ok, one last thing. Since I’ve been back I’ve done, basically all of my writing at a lovely coffeehouse in Algonquin. And one recent day, one of the baristas and I were chatting and the topic came to this humble little blog. So, when I ordered my Daily (not a typo btw) vanilla latte, she told me she would craft a duck into the foam. Lo and behold, I give you the I Can Relate To Ducks (not its real name) latte –

Pretty cool, no?

Peace

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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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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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More From The Live Music File

A quick bit of housekeeping before I get to today’s missive…

Five of you are truly wonderful human beings, thanks so much for clicking on the “SUBSCRIBE” button after my plea last time out here.  I truly appreciate each of you, more now than ever.  For the rest of you; if you’re on a computer look over this way⇒⇒⇒⇒⇒  If you’re on your mobile device, look here⇓ ⇓ ⇓ ⇓ ⇓

Now then, I went to a concert last night, a bluegrass band up at the High Point Theater in, not coincidentally, High Point.  It was a good show.  A fine show.  Fine.  I’m still trying to decide if the band or the venue was responsible for repressing the vibe, but it just felt, I don’t know, off, last night.  I’m leaning toward the venue though.  I think it would be a great place to see a play or a musical, but it just didn’t feel right for a concert.  Actually, let’s back up here for a bit.  C’mon, I’ll lead the way backwards.

For starters, I think the seating was designed by a sherpa.  I mean, great sight lines, but the ramp down to the seats felt like I was falling forward.  On the way back up the aisle, I was wishing I’d had a tow rope to make the climb.  For you White Sox fans, imagine the upper deck at about 43º steeper grade.  With no stairs.  But the seats were comfy, so I guess that counts for something.  I get the feeling this place doesn’t get a tremendous amount of concerts.  The guy that emcee’d the band onto the stage made a couple obligatory comments about upcoming events there, including (perhaps you should sit down before continuing) a Journey cover band!!!  And I said to myself, “Self” I said “I wouldn’t walk from my kitchen into my dining room to see Journey, I can’t imagine the chain of events that would end with me going to see a Journey cover band.”.  And I had to agree with myself, because I brought up a really good point.

Moving right along; I was comparatively underdressed, by like, a lot, last night.  Sport coats?  Sweater vests?  Really people?  I went back outside and double checked, there was, in fact, no red carpet.  And no other rock show t-shirts in the crowd.  And only a couple of flannel shirts, so.  Granted this was my first bluegrass show since I saw the great Chuck Bilskey at a bar in Elgin back in the day, but in my blue jeans and Los Lobos t-shirt I felt like I couldn’t have been more out-of-place if I’d been wearing Scandinavian Death Metal garb to an art show.  That’s a thing, right?  Seriously, I don’t know.  Scandinavian Death Metal.  It sounds like it should be a thing.

Speaking of wardrobe, this reminded me of something I saw at the Isbell concert in Nashville a few weeks back and I’m more than a little disappointed in myself for forgetting to mention it then (see my last post.  Insert eye-roll emoji anywhere you like).  Dude next to Tom was watching the Predators (Nashville’s hockey team for you non-hockeyers) game on his phone.  For real.  The whole game.  Oh, he was also wearing his Preds jersey, because of course he was.  Now, don’t get me wrong, if we’re talking Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals, I could entertain the argument.  This was, like, the 8th or 9th game of the season.  W. T. F. dude.  I really wanted to know what was going through the mind of his significant other, seated on the other side of him from us.  On soooo many levels.  Look, I love sports as much as the next person, and I recognize the challenges inherent in any interpersonal relationship.  But at some point there’s got to be a bit of negotiation going on, right?  And if that’s the successful conclusion of said negotiation, I really want to know how that all went down.  Ok, I couldn’t take the suspense anymore so I GTS’d Scandinavian Death metal and found this.  So, we’ve learned something today, haven’t we?

Oh yeah, this was allegedly about live music, wasn’t it?  Uhhhh, let’s see… Kate Rhudy, Lula Wiles, and Chandler Holt were the openers for Mipso.  All pretty bluegrassy, all pretty talented, all intermingling with each other over the course of the evening vs. a traditional opener/headliner kind of thing.  I would probably go see most of them (I wasn’t thrilled with the banjo guy, but that’s a “me” issue more than a stone thrown at him) again, but it would have to be in a different venue no doubt.

Circling back to where I kinda started this thing, I regularly check the analytics that come with this program and apparently the other night some random person in Canada viewed the shit outta this site.  So, Mr. or Ms. Canadian person, thanks, I think?  I mean without getting stereotypical, Canadians are supposed to be among the most polite people as a whole on the planet, right?  So you read 80% of my posts because you were enthralled with my literary prowess, right?  Not tryna find a back door into my banking shit or anything of that nature?  Also, Mr. or Ms. Canadian person, if you’re, like, a literary agent or some such thing, yes, I would in fact be interested in talking to you.

Peace