FUN...

Was This Fun, a Horror Show, or Both?

It was a late night type of place where Eric and his band were playing. My cousins were there and we had traveled all of the way to Montgomery to see him. They were in town for a family reunion and determined to attend a show while they were here. We worked out the plans and caravanned ourselves to Montgomery. Thankfully we were able to get rooms at the same hotel where the band was staying. It was located in the heart of downtown Montgomery and only a couple of miles from the venue.

This was years ago and the place no longer exists as I am told. But I believe it was called Off The Wagon. I had not seen some of my cousins for a long time and it was a happy, enjoyable trip, interspersed with a bit of insanity. A recipe for a great time.

I have a cousin named Brenda that is outspoken and says anything that passes through her mind. I have to tell you some really crazy stuff passes through her mind. When we arrived at the venue, the band was outside getting a breath of fresh air before the show began. They needed this because it was a dark and smoky bar. My son proudly introduced me and all four of my cousins to the bar owner. We all stood crowded together on that sidewalk, talking. Suddenly my cousin, Brenda blurted out; “I was wild when I was young, all a guy had to do was pat me on the head and my pants fell off!” 

A very brief silence followed her words. This was not something any of us expected to hear. We all burst out laughing. Some laughed because they were nervous and embarrassed; it was an awkward situation. Others laughed because it was funny!

When things calmed down. She piped up again by saying that she had told the pastor at her church this same story. Since then, when she goes to church, the pastor stands near the doorway as the parishioners enter, saying, “Don’t pat Brenda on the head, please”.

The band started playing and filled every inch of that bar with uplifting music. People were dancing, gyrating and laughing for hours. Everyone had a great time. A couple of my cousins had a little too much fun, which I was certain would cause their heads to punish them the next morning.

It is unfortunate that the bar is now closed. It was small, it was very smokey, the actual place was not anything special or unique but it had a vibe about it that was rare…

This bustling, busy, noisy, bar pulsated with a vibration of its own. As the night was ending, many of the people in attendance were so intoxicated that they could no longer form a proper sentence. Conversations were nearly impossible. As I watched them, they looked much like people ice skating for the first time. They searched for things to hold onto for balance; grabbing anything and anyone to steady their movements. They seemed to be confused as their words were falling loosely and incomplete into the air. 

It was very entertaining yet very frightening at the same time, much like a good horror movie.

Love is Blind

                                                          

Love is Blind, but does it have to be....

I have heard many times that love is blind, but does it have to be deaf and dumb too? I asked myself this question one night.

It was at a bar on Dauphin Street that no longer exists; well it has reopened a couple of times, each time with a new owner, with a new name and with great hope and dreams of success.

At this time it was called Burlap Jack’s and it was a rowdy, crowded bar on Tuesday nights when we were there. My son played solo gigs at Burlap Jack’s and the crowd would swell so big that it would spill out onto the sidewalk and some nights into the street.

I squeezed between people, while saying, “excuse me,” “excuse me”, “excuse me” as I made my way to the crowded ladies’ room. I could hear someone retching in one stall and it made me feel weak. A couple of girls were leaning close to the mirror, checking their makeup and fussing with their hair. The stalls were all full and three people were in line ahead of me. As I stood there waiting; suddenly an adorable girl popped right up in front of me. She was very close even for a crowded bathroom. It was too close for comfort and I pulled my head back as far as I could to feel less claustrophobic. 

She leaned close, robbing me of this new found comfort and she said, 

“Hey, that band is good!” I smiled and thanked her but explained it was not actually a band, just my son singing solo. She replied, “What is their name?” I said, “His name is Eric Erdman.” She glared at me with a scrunched up face and said, “That’s a funny name for a band!” I nodded in agreement, then it was my turn for the next stall and I stepped forward and into that stall for some relief. Relief from my full bladder and relief from this young lady.

Soon, I was done, I had pushed and wiggled my way back to my safe spot to continue watching Eric play. That was when I saw a guy who worked with me at the time. He was delightful, but young and a bit naive (in those days) in my opinion. I knew that he was crazy about one of our coworkers and she liked him but was not that into him. For some reason these young people tend to talk over their troubles and seek advice from me, (I suppose because I was the oldest employee in the ER at the time; some people think with age comes wisdom). 

This fellow had been drinking but was still coherent; not altered at all as far as I could tell. He had a couple of voice messages from the object of his affection and was distressed about it. He said that was what had driven him to come out and relax with a beer or two. Also he heard me say I was coming to see Eric play, and he wanted my advice.

He asked me to step out on the sidewalk so we could talk; I did. He said “please listen to these messages she left me today and tell me what you think.” He added, “I know what she is saying but Do You Think She MEANS it?”

I listened to two messages. Those were the most straight forward, strongly worded messages with plenty of expletives included; even a blind man standing in the dark could see it.

As I listened, he asked again, “Does she mean it?” When I was done, I put my hand on his shoulder and said “There is zero doubt in my mind, she MEANT it!” “You need to move on, it is over.”

I know it is said that Love Is Blind.  I do understand, but we cannot allow it to also be deaf and dumb. We must hear what the other person says; hear it with our ears, our minds and our hearts. Not every love is reciprocated, sometimes love is unrequited and when we force ourselves to accept it, then we can have peace and move on with our lives. Love, good or bad, is never easy. He moved on; she also moved on and they seem to be happy today.

Love should not be more work than pleasure. It should not be more pain than joy. Love should lift us up, if it does not we should lay it down.

Marry me....

Absolutely, I will and "I do"...

The violin music danced through the air and carried with it the hearts and minds of all who were there. Some were excited and filled with anticipation, while others were speaking in whispers to one another. A young mother fiddled with her daughter’s hair bow, then ran her hand down the front of that gorgeous blue taffeta dress to straighten the edges of the ruffles so they all lay evenly. A small boy nearby was picking, pinching and overall annoying his big sister in every way he could find. Then I noticed a teenage couple who seemed filled with young puppy love as they reached their hands to each other and joined them, followed by smiles that could light up a room. 

Soon, we were all standing in honor of the beautiful bride who slowly walked in and up the pathway that had been created for this moment. If ever there was a beautiful bride, it was this one. She has the face of an angel, flawless skin and the sweetness of honey. I have been to many weddings over the years, seen many brides in that process. I could see and I could feel that this one loved her groom more than anything.

The father of the groom officiated and he was so nervous that he held the microphone away from his mouth most of the time. I could still hear because I was up close but I was certain that the greatest percentage of those in attendance could not. It was all ok, he was participating in his son’s wedding and I could feel his pride at that moment even through his nerves.

The ceremony was soon over and the bride, her fabulous daughters, and her groom were jubilant and festive. They were now ready to meet, greet and be merry. 

My son and the violinist played music to entertain all who were there. A few even called out requests from time to time. The groom grabbed the hand of his bride and they danced alone, whispering and smiling at each other. I have seen many couples and I must say that this one truly loved and respected one another. Odd as it may sound, I could feel their love all around them and I was close enough that it touched me.

The setting was a wonderful Italian village located in downtown Fairhope, Alabama. If you closed your eyes and when opening them you were unsure where you were, Italy would be a first guess. The wait staff was pleasant and seemed to feel they were part of the wedding party, which added to the amazing atmosphere all around.

When it was time to cut the cake, there were those in the crowd that were goading them to smear the cake in each other’s faces. I am happy to report that neither did. They fed the cake to one another, very politely and sweetly; the way I believe it should be done. I was proud they did not give in to those who wanted otherwise.

The groom, whose name is Matt was the star of the show for me. Before the wedding began, he came through and checked to be certain everything was as planned. He then set up a couple of vases that were fabulous. He placed them on pedestals at the front of the area where the ceremony was to take place. He fussed a little with them, and remained apprehensive about the uneven brick floor where they were perched. Even as the night went on and pictures were being made, I noticed he warned others not to touch them for fear they might fall and he continually reached his hand back to them to see that they remained in place.

His mother took the microphone and read a three page heart-felt story she had written for this moment. I knew she wanted to be a part of the whole thing, it was important to her. I could feel his apprehension, but he made it through. An important thing the mother said was that her son calls her every day to make sure she is ok. That hit home to me and solidified my thoughts of what a great guy he was and is.

I have known both the bride and the groom for years as they have come to my son’s performances many times. Each and every time I have seen them together, he has been very attentive to her needs, very polite to everyone and just an all around fabulous guy. When he looks at and interacts with her two daughters, I can tell he genuinely loves them and honors them.

Of all the weddings I have attended, I feel this is the one that true love was exhibited. I heard no complaining, no nipping at each other over trivial things that did not go perfectly, I only heard the sound of real love. They were mature enough to understand that life does not have to be perfect to be wonderful. This will be a happy union for many years, even for a lifetime. 

Love

Looking for Love in All the Wrong Places

He sauntered in without a care, cowboy hat and greasy hair

Silence filled the room, all those present could only stare

The music touched every inch of the place

A large crowd occupied each semblance of space

Sliding onto a stool, he spread his elbows like an eagle readying to fly

Claiming this little space was important, who knows why

He was perusing the crowd like a predator examines his prey

Perhaps he was deciding whether to go or to stay

There she was, the girl of his dreams

Tight-fitting jeans, a low cut shirt and eyes full of schemes

The moment each spied the other was magic for sure

Was it love at first sight, or some tragic allure

Destiny is elusive and not something conclusive in the grand plan

Would it be “happy ever after” or another one night stand

Their elation was apparent from the start

Something was tugging at their hearts

It was great while it lasted, the magic was just as they envisioned it to be

Love lasted for about four hours, by 3AM, it was clear to see

True love was not at the reigns and there was no one to blame

Both knew what it was, not love, not trust, but instead it was lust that fueled this flame

As she slept, he turned with a twist and out the door he was gone

On the night table he left a note and a ten dollar bill, now she was alone

Her eyes popped open when that door was closing, the note, what did it say?

“I appreciate your time, I left you a dime, maybe next time I can stay.”

Up she jumped with a jerk as she charged that door 

It was in that moment she stopped, sat on the floor 

Then she began to think, what should I have done

Was he THE ONE? I don’t care, I had fun

Tonight I will change my ways when I go to the bar

No more cowboys for me, “I want Mr. Right, not Mr. Bizarre!”

He sauntered in without a care, motorcycle helmet and greasy hair

Silence filled the room, all those present could only stare

The music was loud, so was the crowd, and she was ready to go

She needed a man, was he the one, in a few hours she’d know.

Celebrate Life...

It was a Festival

Walking a greater distance to an event, along with others who excitedly head towards, food, fun, crafts, gadgets, art and the promise of great music. It is an uplifting experience that accompanies almost all festivals; this one was no exception. The location is magnificent, right on the beautiful white beach with a view of the massive blue Gulf waters that expand as far as the eye can see. It is so much to absorb that you want to hold onto that glance of utopia. It seems magical.

With my "All Access" pass, hanging from a lanyard around my neck, I felt mighty special. It was a powerful feeling, yet it was humbling at the same time.  Life is a wonderful thing.

First impressions are all we have when someone new enters our space and often those turn out to be wrong. So I have learned to go slow. I tend to keep everyone with a clean slate as they approach and as they speak and move about, I begin to write on that slate of the impression they make on me. So many times in my life I have initially misjudged; it is a process filled with land-mines that must be avoided to get through it safely.

Few people were back stage, the workers, the musicians, and me at the time. Then I realized there was a guy standing closer to me than I was comfortable with and I looked up to see if he was familiar. He was a tall, slim guy dressed like he was from Texas. Complete with boots, straw cowboy hat, and western shirt. His hair was blonde and it peaked out and poked out from all around that hat. My thoughts were that he had an almost comical look as I stepped back to have more space between us.

He stepped forward and said, “I found Jesus”. I had never laid eyes on him before and was amazed he was sharing such information before even introducing himself; which he never did.

I awkwardly said, “Hi,” then I said “I am happy for you.” He continued to talk as though he wanted me to be mute while he was deaf to all others around. I quickly got his message that he wanted to be heard, not to be listening. It was like he had information he was getting out no matter what and it had to be a one way conversation, which it turned out to be.

This perfect stranger shared with me the fact that he first found Jesus when he was serving a 5-year sentence in prison. Unfortunately, almost immediately after he was released he fell away from Jesus and went back to his old habits of bad ideas and bad behavior. By that time my participation was a smile and a nod interspersed with his talking. That was the only interaction he seemed to want from me. 

At one point during this situation, a friend walked up to hug me and speak for a moment. I was so relieved to have my attention on a smiling, familiar face and just knew my interaction with this stranger was now over. Yet, the moment my friend headed on her way, he tapped me on my right shoulder, saying, “I’m not through with my story.”

“I got into trouble again,” he said. “This time it was really bad stuff and I had 15 years to serve. Only a few days after going back to prison, there he was, waiting. Jesus was waiting on me inside those prison doors.”

I looked up at him and said, “That is wonderful”. By this time I wondered if I would ever find a way to end this conversation and have some fun. My son had finished tightening his guitar strings by then. They had been loosened when he caught his flight home from New York the afternoon before. He said, “Hey mom, its time, I’m about to head up to the stage, Do you need anything?” I told him no and I turned and went out of the fenced in area and to the audience area in front of stage in anticipation of his show. 

I did not talk to the cowboy any more but I did see him talking to others at the festival. I wondered was he sharing the same things with them he had shared with me.

I must admit I was nervous as I stood there. It was certainly not because he was speaking of Jesus, it was due to the fact he had a very tense, very deep and dark sort of vibe about him. I could feel great tension and even an angry feeling coming from him that made me uneasy to say the least. 

Hey, we were at a festival, I wanted to be festive, eat good food and hear some good music, so that is where my attention drifted. I had a great time.

Sometimes we just need to...

 Let it go

Was it a costume or was he a farmer who just finished plowing the field? 

He walked into the bar just after the music began;  I had seen him before many times and he always gave me an uneasy feeling. He seemed very popular with the boisterous crowd that frequented this bar. Dressed in old-time bib overalls, he made me think of my great Uncle Elijah from mom’s home town in Winfield, Alabama. The bib of this guy’s overalls had little pockets that were visibly full  early in the night and by the end of the evening, those once puffed out pockets would be laying flat and empty against his chest. It took several weeks of watching the interactions between the overalls man and the kids at the bar to make my thoughts go to a dark place of thinking there was something unusual happening. 

Months passed and as I enjoyed the music and the shows, I also enjoyed the kids and their jubilance and desire to just have fun. I still felt a little bit of darkness enter along with this man each time I noticed he was there. I hoped I was wrong in how I felt back then. I hoped he was innocent and his pockets were filled with peppermint candy that he dispersed throughout the crowd those nights. Yet I remember frequent visits he made out to the back patio with one after another for brief periods of time. I told myself it was none of my business and I knew that most of the crowd was there to dance, sing and be entertained for a few hours; there was nothing mysterious about that.

One night I was there early and the manager/bartender made a pot of coffee so that we could visit a little and catch up on the happenings in our lives over a fresh brewed cup before the craziness of a noisy crowd cranked into high gear. We drank that coffee and talked like friends that had spent a lifetime together. I learned so much about this lady who was older than me and had spent her entire adult life in bars. She had been a bartender since before she was legally old enough to drink alcohol, and she remained in this same work for more than 45 years. This location was a second job for her, the main bar where she worked full-time  was located in west Mobile, a few miles from Springhill College. So she was very familiar with college kids and their behavior when they are out partying.

The coffee time ended and the crowd poured into Southside Music Hall. I waved and smiled toward her from time to time throughout the night. She stayed busy but somehow seemed more anchored knowing I was there. 

Hours into the night I looked up to see the overalls guy walking towards me and I felt a little uneasy. I had no plans to mention to him or anyone else that I suspected he was possibly "up to no good" as my grandma used to say. Yet, in my heart and mind the certainty grew each time I observed him mingling in the crowd. Seconds passed and he was standing right there next to me, he reached out for my coffee cup and asked if I would like a refill. I thanked him but declined. He stood there awkwardly and I sat there just as awkwardly, not sure what the next move would be. He smiled and said he had seen me here several times and just wanted to say “Hello”. We spoke about nothing in particular, and he seemed to be a nice guy. I felt like he was testing the waters to see what I thought of him. Drama and true knowledge of anything illegal going on were the farthest  from anything I wanted. Our brief conversation ended and he walked off into the crowd. I still saw him several times over the next year but not as often.

It is very possible even probable that it was all innocent and the overalls guy was just a likable, carefree man who loved the crowds and the kids just like me. I don’t know why I had these eerie feelings about him and it is unfair to judge him, yet I sure had those thoughts way back then.

One night when the band began playing one of my favorite songs, “Jenny Says”. I began to sing along to the top of my voice and returned my mind to only thoughts of why I was there. After all, the music was my driving force, supporting my son was my reason to be there.

We are all different, we dress different, we act different, we think different and the world can get all out of shape if we assume the worst about each other…. those thoughts filled my mind as I shouted the chorus. “Let it go, Let it go. Let it go!”…That was exactly what I did at that moment, I let it go!

She remembers...

Having nothing and wanting something

The wrinkles in her face reminded me of busy road map with many lines running in every direction. I quickly learned underneath all of that was a lovely soul. It was by chance that we met one night when my son was playing his solo shows on Thursdays at Southside Music Hall on Dauphin Street. Those Thursdays had been very successful so the owners decided to expand that show to Sundays as well. Sundays happened to be her day off from her primary bartending job, so she was ready and eager to take this extra day into her schedule. When she told me that, my first thought was, it is always nice to make a little extra money, but I came to understand she also did it to fill her time and keep herself busy.

Until I met her I never knew this place even had a coffee pot. No one had ever made coffee there when I was in attendance for the past couple of years. So I liked her from the start. For this story I will call her Sue.

I have met and continue to meet many memorable people over the years as I attend gigs with my son. My life has been filled up with excitement, adventure, shocking and even amazing things both on the stage and in the audience. It is like two shows going on at the same time and it is often a challenge just to keep up.

Sue was a few years older than me but we basically grew up in the same timeframe. We talked about everything from styles and behaviors to the assassination of President John F Kennedy. I found myself looking forward to seeing Sue on Sunday evenings and hearing more of her stories from all those years working in a college bar that catered mostly to kids from wealthy families. She told me she felt like a babysitter many nights. She loved those kids and it broke her heart that they were pouring their hearts out to her instead of their parents. It seemed that many of them were given mommy’s credit card and dropped off at the bar. The parents had other events to attend or things to address that were important, while the kids were expected to use the cards, have fun and stay out of trouble. That was not the way it went most nights.

Sue could be a gentle, soft spoken lady but if someone misbehaved, she could instantly transform to a potty mouthed tyrant screaming orders to the top of her lungs. This is how she had learned to regain control. She said you have to bow up and be larger and louder so that you get their attention. I listened but I knew she could only bow up so much, I bet she never weighed more than 90 pounds.

I learned that she had pretty much raised herself along with her brother and sister. They had nobody to see or care that there was food, water, clean clothes or any of the basics that we all take for granted. As a little girl, she was without pretty dresses and hair bows, or even a decent meal. There was no warmth in her home in the winter and no cooling in the summer, yet she made it through all of that and was standing here in front of me propped on her elbows as she spoke with tears welled up in her eyes.

I found it ironic that she grew up empty, completely devoid of love and kindness, in the abject poverty she described with absentee parents. Now she was working in a bar, trying to reason with kids who had everything the material world offered and all of the comforts of a king, yet many of them were in a different kind of abject poverty of a sort with absentee parents and devoid of real love.

Everyone has a story to tell. Sue was unique amongst the crowd of ordinary people with ordinary lives. I could feel her pain and she knew that, as she reached out her wrinkled hand and patted the back of my hands while I listened to her that night over coffee. It was her painful truth, yet she was  making an effort to comfort me as I heard her words.

This lady had the heart of a princess and the spirit of a tiger, I felt honored to have spent those evenings in her company.

Inside her was still that little girl who had nothing and wanted something.

Fly On The Wall

I am a FLY on the Wall!

“If I could just be a fly on the wall”, these are words I heard before I could even understand them. Now as I think of the years I have spent following my son to his gigs, I have come to realize that I HAVE BEEN THAT FLY ON THE WALL for years!

Eric Erdman (my youngest son) began playing gigs when he had just finished high school and had just begun his journey to a degree in statistics at the University of South Alabama. The music provided him with spending money, most of which he spent on more guitars, amps, cables and etc to enhance his burgeoning music career. 

His first official gig was at a music venue/bar on Dauphin Street called Southside Music Hall. It was located on the south side of Dauphin, hence the name. Many college kids and college aged kids attended this bar that buzzed with their goings and comings as they were learning about life and trying to become adults. I met most of them and remain friends with most of them today as they are full fledged adults. It has been quite an experience watching them go through their lives, some with great perspective and focus, others not so much. Yet, all of them are wonderful.

One night Eric's cover band, Method To Madness, was playing and the place was filled. I found a spot to sit a little bit back from the closely packed group of kids that were sometimes  prone to get rowdy as the night progressed.

It turned out there were other people who wanted to stay out of the fray and had found the same area. This area of the room gave us a sense of relative safety, yet allowed us to still feel that we were a part of it all. The show was going great when a cowboy came in; he made an entrance much like what you see in the movies where they saunter through the swinging doors of a saloon and size up the situation. All of us nerdy people in our safe zone saw him at that moment and our eyes stuck on him like a bug that smacks into your windshield at 80 miles per hour; we were not letting go any time soon. After the cowboy looked around, he headed over to the bar and slid onto the first stool available, spreading his elbows on the bar as if to claim that space as his own. We all sorta figured he would get a big mug of beer with a foam on top, but he ordered a glass of red wine. What a shock! He was a large guy dressed all in black with leather chaps, silver tipped boots, a fancy cowboy hat, a huge belt buckle with a horse emblazoned on it, drinking a glass of red wine with his pinkie finger raised as he sipped. For some reason, we looked at each other and burst into laughter. It was just odd. There was 5 or 6 of us but our minds were in sync most of the time.

As the night progressed, the cowboy had loosened up with all that wine and he began to slip into the crowd. He had been sizing up the young ladies from across the room and it appeared that he now had enough liquid courage to approach a couple of them.

It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion. The cowboy approached a cute little red headed girl near the stage who had been dancing to “Love Rollercoaster” and I suppose he liked the way she danced. She shrugged him off and would not give him any consideration.

After three or four failed attempts, he spied his perfect match. She wore boots, jeans, a big silver belt buckle with a horse shoe on it and it was like peanut butter met jelly. They meshed immediately. I watched them dance off and on the rest of the evening and when it was near closing time, they slipped out the door, arm in arm, looking like they had been together for years.

I don’t know if the cowboy and that girl are still together or even if they finished that night together. But to me they sure seemed to have met their Soulmates (if there is such a thing). If I was playing a game and it was a challenge to match puzzle pieces, these two would have been a perfect match. 

But life is a more complex puzzle, with consideration for more things than looking alike, or dressing alike. So many things must be in place to make a lasting relationship, especially one that is happy. I have enjoyed the reaction and interaction of people for years now and it is all fascinating to me as I remain this little fly on the wall of life.