Two B. B. King Stories

1970 or 1971, the public TV station I worked at got a grant to produce folk music shows in various locations from Maine to Virginia. We did a coal mining-themed concert (locals were always invited) in Eckley, PA, where "The Molly Maguires" was shot. B. B. King was one of the singers and he was a delight to work with. Merle Travis was also on the roster to sing his "16 Tons" and some other songs. Problem was, his guitar was damaged in transit. B. B. said, "Here. Take Lucille." TAKE LUCILLE!?! You don't lend Lucille. Travis was hesitant, but B. B. assured him she worked like any other guitar. That was an act of sharing, graciousness, and trust that I obviously have never forgotten. Travis was an OK guitarist...mostly he was known for his songs. Lucille brought him up a notch...and she sounded very happy back in the hands of Mr. King.

Many years later an associate producer for that series, Joyce Keener, was invited to be the featured reader at a Paper Sword poetry reading in Harrisburg.  She had moved to California by then but returned to the area from time to time to visit her family.  My partner, Jack, produced the readings and invited her to read next time she was here.   the three of us knew each other for quite some time.  Joyce wrote good poetry, but she wasn't used to reading in public.  She started coughing and couldn't stop and finally lost her voice.  I volunteered to read for her.  I was an announcer and trained myself to read ahead so I wouldn't make a lot of mistakes.  I apparently read her work very much to her approval.  She wrote to us shortly thereafter.  She said that while I was reading for her, she thought about that concert when B. B. King gave Merle Travis Lucille.

Funny.  I read professionally, I was a friend, and it was the most natural thing in the world to offer to read for her "until she got her voice back."  B. B. King and Merle Travis were musicians and Merle ran into a severe problem...his guitar wasn't playable.  B. B. King offered Lucille.  I'm sure that offering Lucille to Merle and offering to read for Joyce were pretty much the same thing.  It's what you do.  If someone needs help, you help.  It shouldn't be noteworthy, yet it is.  Sad.

Thinking It Through

One of the on-going conversations on JoeMyGod (also on blogspot) is about how unlike Christians the bigots are while wildly professing their Truly Religious status. Many of the JMG readers are atheists; some are Christian despite what other xns are up to.  I really haven't a clue what I am.  I've said before that I don't believe in coincidence, and that means something or Some Thing is putting helping me.  I also differentiate between a Christian (one who's trying her/his best to follow Christ's teachings), a christian (one who says s/he's trying), and a xn (one who couldn't care less what the bible says and succeeds in instilling hate and fear in others).

It came around again the other day, after a particularly despicable pronouncement by one of The Truly Religious.  Someone asked "exactly what is a 'real' Christian?"  It made me think, because there are people I know whom I consider to be Christians.  But why?  I tend to think best at a keyboard and wrote this:

"Yeah, I'm trying to figure that out, too.  I think it's possible to try one's best to live one's life according to what Jesus said, or at least as it was recorded.  There are great challenges in those 4 books, and I think 'real' Christians try to live by those challenges.  You don't give up thinking, you don't give up your intellect, you don't give up science or art.

"After Luke's recounting of the story of the good Samaritan, the exchange between Jesus reads: "'Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell in the hands of the robbers?'  The expert in the law replied, 'The one who had mercy on him.'  Jesus told him, 'Go and do likewise.'"

"I think that's what 'real' Christians try to do  I realize that this is also not only open to debate and can be generally disregarded.  I do not profess to be a Christian or a christian or a xn.  Still, I do give credit to someone who tries to live by Jesus' teachings and who does not then say, 'Hey!  Look at me!  I'm just like Jesus!'"

I don't know why I want to defend Christians, except that I think there are those who sincerely believe in what Jesus taught and try to live their lives accordingly, and that doesn't include condemning, hating, and excluding their fellow humans. Actually, I tend to admire someone who sees all of us as children of their god. Their teacher said that the first great commandment was to love their god completely, and that the second great commandment was to love the other people on the planet, too.  I don't place myself above Christians (I do find xns as a despicable, hateful lot, however).  

Am I thinking about this because there are more days and years behind me than there are before me?  I don't know.  It could be.  It takes way too much time and energy to hate, so maybe I'm trying to hone my love or acceptance skills. Whatever it is, it's an interesting exploration.

Lilac Time Again

The single most lovely scent in my world is the lilac.  Whether lilac or white, they smell about the same...which is nothing short of intoxicating, almost like ragtime for my nose.

Although it's not my most favorite of the seasons (that goes to summer), I admire spring.  I enjoy the first gradual change on the ground from Andrew Wyeth browns to patches of green.  One day all the crocuses spring up and bloom.  Forsythia, no longer fooled by the odd warm day, blossoms and little blue-and-white flowers appear on the fringes of grass. Daffodils, hyacinths, and other early bulbs arise and the upward migration begins,..the migration from green grass to budding bushes to flowering trees to buds pushing the petals off the branches to make way for the leaves.  The green keeps rising until the leaves explode out on the trees.  Along the way, the dandelions' green leaves get greener and one day their unique yellow dots the landscape.  Look a little close and the yellow is accented by the beautiful violets.  And then the dandelion seeds sprout and beg to be whooshed into flight.

Sounds change, too.  Along with the sparrows and wrens, winter is the time for the crows to be songbirds, as well as the geese that now stay through the winter honking on their morning and evening exercise flights.  I don't know why I think they sound mournful or melancholy; a flock ten or twelve nevertheless is a welcome change from the winter stillness.  One morning, however, I hear the wonderful, welcome, and somehow weird sound of a huge flock of geese following the Susquehanna River north.  Later that morning, I hear another flock.  Geese tend not to get it wrong, and a throng of geese flying north has no melancholy attachment.  It is, rather, joy and hopefulness.

Then, one morning, there's a different sound. I can't differentiate among birds, but it's a sound I haven't heard since September or October.  Another morning I awake to see a mob of robins in the old cemetery across the street...robins feeding and -- who knows? -- making plans for who gets which tree and which mate they'll have.  That congregation of robins won't happen again until next year, but it's a definite sign:  There may be another snow or two, but the robins are here.

An afternoon's walk to the library brings with it more birdsong.  The morning walk to the bus stop is accompanied by the music that I've missed.  Our forsythia bush is fully green and may host a nest.
Other flowering trees bloom, the dogwoods display their off-pink and beautiful white flowers.

And then comes the scent, the scent that here in central Pennsylvania means it's the end of April and the beginning of May.  As I awaited the green migration from the ground to the top of the trees, as I've enjoyed the return of bird music, as I enjoyed the burst of colors around me, the lilac crowns it all, it is the grand finale, it is what I've been waiting for...and it's right on time.

Ahead, I hope, are languorous warm and even hot summer days, dark evenings pierced by lightning bug flashes, the incredible smell of new-mown hay and the refreshment of warmish water, the power of thunderstorms and the peace after them (cleaning up after them, not so much).

My favorite season, which will come along in a couple of weeks, is heralded by the most lovely scent in the world.  The lilacs are in bloom again.

Todd Starnes: Opportunist, Liar, Fear Monger

In response to “Todd Starnes: Christians Are The Face Of The Modern Civil Rights Movement” on JoeMyGod 5/1/15

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k1K_jYwIit4

Selma should have reminded you how many of your fellow travelers have insulted, threatened, assaulted, maimed, and killed countless numbers of my tribe. The asshole conservative whites were assaulting the African Americans then and the AAs won. Now you feel you must declare war on us...apparently because you need to feel superior to someone. Discovering that the US actually means it when its hallowed documents say things like "ALL men," "We the people," "liberty and justice for ALL, rather than "some" or "a lot of" is scary. But it's the ideal and there a lot people who want to see that "ALL" mean "all law abiding citizens."

I watched We Were Here last night and have been stewing ever since. First, the xn response was that AIDS was god's punishment for homosexuals. The xn response was hate, fear, and utter, unabashed ugliness. Who responded with love, caring, compassion? We did...gays and lesbians. Thank god for the lesbians. Who sought and demanded cures? Not the government, not Big Pharma, not the xns, who discovered that AIDS as god's punishment was an incredibly successful money maker. And even now, in the clip at the top, you mention "my new book."

When did we say we were martyrs? Despite the death, the pain, the illness, the sickness, the loss of so many friends and lovers, I don't know that "martyr" ever became part of the lexicon. We were, even more than usual, discriminated against by The Truly Religious. We were the ones dropping dead and being laughed at. In the parable of the Good Samaritan, we were the Samaritan...The Truly Religious were the ones walking around on the other side of the road.

And you say you are being discriminated against, you are the martyrs. Not even close. I will concede one thing: Hate is a horrible thing to be afflicted with. However, you hate by choice, so that's not really martyrdom, is it? You have been shits for decades. You have abnegated your deity's commands for decades, centuries, and yet you are the martyrs, you are being wronged.

I think not.