Singin' the blues

When we started off on our motorcycle ride Saturday, we happened past an arena in St. Louis (or perhaps it was in St. Charles) where B.B. King was scheduled to appear. Now I like me some blues, and in spite of the fact that I was battling a bit of U.T.I. (is that TMI?), I suddenly felt like singing some blues. In fact, I felt like composing some blues.

Unfortunately, when I start singing blues, it ends up sounding like something Woody Guthrie or Jimmy Rogers would have written... not anything B.B. King would endorse.

If you want something easy to compose, just try the original blues beat: first line, then repeat that for the second line, then rhyme it, for the third line.

So, thanks to the mics in our helmets, Cliff got to hear my original composition as I made it up; here are some samples:

"I'd rather drink muddy water, sleep in a hollow log (repeat).
Than to ride a motorcycle that people call a hog."

"If your baby left you and you're feeling low (repeat),
Buy you a Gold Wing, get on that bike and go."

"G for Gold Wing, G for get 'er done (repeat),
If you have a Gold Wing, you're gonna have some fun."

"I got a Gold Wing, some folks wonder why (repeat),
'Cause me and my man get on that thing and fly."

"I'm from Missouri, that's the Show-me state. (repeat),

And we all know that Gold Wings are great."

That's only a sample; I probably made up fifty verses as we rode along.

Now here's the sad part; my little blues song was so countryfied that after every verse, I felt compelled to yodel. "Yodel-a-di-oh, di-lay-di-oh, di-lay-di!"

Poor Cliff.

Christmas will soon be over

I have written before about the fact that I'm pretty much ignoring Christmas this year: No tree, no cards, no Christmas letter (although I have a "Jesus is the reason for the season" sign out in the front yard). I had, at one point, decided to write a Christmas letter telling family and friends about Cliff's heart surgery, and expressing our gratitude to God for his full recovery... then my printer quit working. Perhaps when I get another printer, I'll send out a New Year's letter. Or not. At the request of two grandchildren, I agreed to cook a Christmas dinner for the family; that will be tomorrow, and I'm preparing what I can today. As I get older, cooking a big dinner wears me out. Who knows, maybe as I devil eggs and make pumpkin pie and Oreo Delight, a bit of Christmas spirit will creep into these old bones.

I've had people express concern at my holiday funk, and ask why. Gee, if I knew, I'd gladly tell them. It just happens, that's all.

Seasonal depression is not new for me, and I patiently wait it out, knowing it's temporary. Every year on New Year's Day, my attitude takes a turn for the better. New beginnings, taxes paid, propane-buying season half over.

Resolutions form, and usually about a quarter of mine actually work out. One of them always has to do with weight loss, and this year is no exception: The only difference now is that I have five pounds to lose, instead of the usual 20 or 40 or whatever. Evening snacking and my new TV-watching habits (thanks a bunch, Joanna) have taken a toll, but not such a huge one after all.

God bless us, every one.