Serenity in Three Part Harmony

We are one full day into the New Year. Yesterday, I celebrated, but in a subdued manner as far as those things go.

Schmoop and I began the day as most others who celebrate the New Year. Food, drink, football on the TV, and hope for the future.

But…It wasn’t until about eight o’clock New Year’s night that I discovered what the future is about.

It was about then that I put a CD on. It was, The Best of Pete Seeger. That sounded good, so after that, I put on a two CD collection of The Kingston Trio.

Just before Schmoop went to bed I played a compilation CD of Folk musicians. Ironic. Here we were celebrating 2010 and I was playing music from the 60’s.

And not just any music…I was playing low tech, bare bones and soul, hobo traveling folk music. Oddly enough and in spite of the “advanced” decade in which we now live, it made sense.


Pete Seeger was singing, Michael Row Your Boat Ashore.

He sings it in a way that describes the arduous journey across the river Jordan with optimism in his voice, and it takes me back to the carefree feeling of sitting on the cold, hard, tile floor of my second grade classroom.

All of us eight year olds holding hands, smiling and singing…our only concerns being what we would do at recess and what mom packed us for lunch.

When I put The Kingston Trio on, it wasn’t so much their humorous lyrics and great harmonies that struck a chord with me, it was the fact that Schmoop had bought the CD for me some four or five years ago.

We are not big on buying Christmas gifts for one and other but that Christmas some years ago, she knew that I liked them and she got the CD for me. Not because she had to, but because she wanted to.

Last night, with beers in hand, and trails of smoke coming from the ashtrays on the coffee table, we sat next to each other on the couch and in discordant harmony probably only pleasing to us, sang the, Reverend Mr. Black along with The Kingston Trio.

We smiled…a lot.

After that was done, I played the Folk CD and we sang along with the likes of Ian and Sylvia, Joan Baez, Donovan, and my fave, Ramblin’ Jack Elliot.

After that, Schmoop got up, I smacked her on the ass, she smiled, and then went to bed…without a word.

She didn’t have to say anything.


After our brief New Year evening singing engagement, the smile that she threw me was an indication that no matter how good or bad this coming year may be, we both have a crutch to lean upon should we need one.

And I hope that this is the case for all of you as well.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I am going to put some Johnny Cash on. Just like the other groups I mentioned, the man is good for the soul.

Cheers, and once again, Happy New Year!!

Sunday Morning Church Disservice: Folk Music and Bagwine Don't Mix

It’s Sunday in Bagwine, Ohio. Somebody kill me.

Last night turned out to be Folk Music night at the Bagwine digs.

Hours of music by the likes of The Kingston Trio, Ramblin’ Jack Elliott, Pete Seeger, and Gordon Lightfoot among others filled the room.

Unfortunately, while the tunes sounded smooth, the Bagwine and beer went down even smoother.

Matt-Man has himself a freakin’ hangover.

On top of my hangover, I am once again blessed to have sinuses that are plugged up tighter than a Scotsman’s wallet.

My morning has been one I hope I never relive.

As my head pounded and my hands shook, I managed to make coffee. The coffee maker evidently was under the weather as well.

It puked all over the counter in a display of projectile water and grounds vomiting unseen since the time that the Columbian drug cartel whacked Juan Valdez.

I managed to salvage a few cups. With my coffee and cigarettes in hand, I drug my ass to the couch and stretched out.

I flipped on the TV, and Corky, our cat, popped herself up on the arm of the couch and stared at me.

I began flipping through the channels when the batteries on the remote control died.

To add insult to injury, the station it ended up on was showing The Doodlebops. I wanted to cry. I reached for a smoke.

I put the smoke to my lips and then I spoke my first words of the day…“Fuck, where the Hell is my lighter?”

Tears, tiny, tiny tears…

Evidently Corky sensed my pain and anguish and began licking my bald head with her 80 Grit sandpaper tongue.

So here was the scene...

A 43 year old man lying on a couch in boxers and a T-shirt, with an unlit cigarette in one side of his mouth, drool coming out of the other side, watching The Doodlebops, as his cat performs oral sex on his sweaty skull.

Holy Baby Jeebus, take me now.

And now, let us bow our heads and pray…On second thought, bowing my head may make me puke, so let’s just say…

Grand Poobah of Glory and Salvation, bless us one and all. Amen, and Amen.

I want to thank Starrlight for a fine suggestion for this week’s Sunday Serenade™, but alas, it must wait.

I need to play a little of the hair of the dog that gave me this hangover. Ladies and Gentlemen, Pete Seeger.



Cheers!!

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