"Wrote a song about it, wanna hear it? Here it goes."

Waking up from a dream and looking at the clock to see that the late night had turned into early morning happens so many times. Helping hazy thoughts surface. Those that linger between sleep and awareness of being awake. I have effortlessly tossed things around that I know are the things that are always on my mind. Subtle thoughts that sometimes become prayers or something to laugh about. That is the way my mind works.


It's funny that it's always people that have intrigued me and over the years I have met some interesting people. Interesting people that have helped to make me interesting, if in fact I am. I know why that is to. With roots in a small town I have never met a stranger and in many ways I think I was trained to be that way. Later on in a college sociology class I learned that that I was not trained or taught but socialized. Words.

From my roots in Western Kentucky to Austin, Texas and all the places in between. The little pieces of life that I have left out there. All the times well spent, the laughs well laughed, all those people and all the words that I could use to describe them. Who thinks of things like this?

I was talking with someone a few nights ago who said something that really resonated with me. Something to the effect of: "If you don't have good friends what really matters?" And here I am being so damn considerate that I think to myself…"what about family?" But they are already there, from the very beginning and for life. Essentially we become so interconnected that even if we wanted to break ties it would be so difficult that we would probably just give in and stop. But friends on the other hand don't have all these ties going back to our birth. Those distant handshakes and introductions can be forgotten if need be. That particular thought make me even more happy that he said that. It almost validates my thoughts about life and things happening because they are supposed to at certain times and in certain places. And although this may not make a lot of sense…it does to me.

I guess some morning in the haze of another night's sleep I might think of my family and how they socialized me to want to meet people and know people. I mean really know them. People that would later become good friends of mine. Lifelong friends that sort of understand who I am and why I am the way I am. A cycle that we can be describe so simply but is so difficult. Life. Who could do it without friends?

Maybe I should write a song about it.

Happy New Year

From a balcony overlooking Lady Bird Lake, while fireworks boomed, I rang in another New Year among friends. As people cheered and yelled out when the clock struck midnight, I for once was at a loss for words. This year went by so fast and with each day new things, people and ideas came into my life. Joni Mitchell's brilliant song "Both Sides Now," describes it so well. "But now old friends are acting strange, they shake their heads they say I've changed. But something's lost and something's gained in living every day.

Of course I thought up some usual New Year's resolutions including aspirations to eat healthier, exercise more and save more money. Blah, Blah, Blah. I say that every year. But I go farther than that this time. One of my resolutions or goals this time is simple and should be easy to achieve. I hope that in 2011, more than any other year of my life I allow myself the freedom to experience more of the goodness this world has to offer. I am going to make a huge effort to infuse more of our local music into my schedule. I also hope that I can continue to meet awesome people that fill the homes and streets of this city. And this is just part of that list. However, with these continued additions it should be inevitable that my life improves and that I grow. That’s corny, right?

Yesterday afternoon I spent the day with a couple of friends downtown. The sun was shining and there were many laughs. At one point before the night ended I thought to myself - this is great. Life is suppose to be great , it can't be all of the time. How about most?

I welcome a GREAT 2011!

My Traveling

When I started writing this blog I was listening to a James Taylor CD at my old apartment and heard the song "Traveling Star." It might have even been the first time I had heard the tune, if it wasn't the first time it was the first time that I had actually listened to the words. In a way that song was the inspiration for many of the stories and profiles that I have shared through my blog. So many words in this song explained the way I was feeling and gave me the sparks or epiphanies, if I may, to write about the topics that I chose.

"Never mind the wind, never mind the rain, never mind the road leading home again, never asking why, never knowing when, every now and then - There he goes again."

So many days I felt like that. Trying with all my heart not to worry about how these entries might make me look to others and just write. Not always knowing why, or how, or when, just writing about how I felt and the things that make me happy and make me tick. Three people that I have respected to the highest degree in my life were and are storytellers. Not to be confused with the art of telling tall tales, but real story tellers. People who could just as easily catch your attention with a story about going to the grocery store as they could with a story about climbing a mountain. I can't begin to imagine how much time I have spent listening to these three tell stories. Often about their life, people that they knew and the way it all happened. I learned a long time ago that people tell stories and reunite with the past and to bring back good memories. Memorable stories that go on and on through families and groups of friends are usually a memory that that family or group just could not let go of. And when I would sit down at my desk and begin to type the words "Traveling Star," reminded me of where I was going and many times of where I had been.

Words click with me - and once I read in the book "Wonder Boys" a phrase that one character used to describe his girlfriend that stuck with me. He said that she was "a junkie for the written word." I associated with that immediately and never forgot that very literal description. I enjoy few things more than reading or listening to words about life. My Papaw, my Step Grandfather Buddy, and my Great Aunt Aminell have told me stories all my life. Stories that connected me with family members that they felt I needed to know regardless of the fact that I would never meet them in person. They each told these stories differently and I am not so sure that they would have ever labeled themselves in this way. However, when I look back on our many conversations that was exactly what they were doing…telling stories. They were my inspiration as well. As I get older and after moving away from my home and my roots these stories and memories have become more and more important to me and to who I am. Sharing them with others by talking has always been something that came easy to me, but writing them down has been difficult at times. Some stories are sad - but sad can be valuable too. No matter what the pretense or what the topic has been my goal was not to create something that would be monumental or perfect, not at all. My goal was to share with others the wealth of stories, good times, people and love that have been a part of my journey.

As this year quickly nears its end and I look back over many of the blogs that I have written throughout it, I noticed that I told many stories about other people's lives. The incentive to do this was to shine some sort of light of people that I have know over my life that were awesome. Borrowing that idea from my Grandfather, Decola Franklin, who did the exact same thing in a series of stories published in the mid to late 1970s in the Dawson Springs Progress. His articles were titled: "Characters I Have Known." Having an affinity for some of the same things and ideas that he did, in another time and place, intrigued and pleased me due to the fact that I never had the chance to meet him. I would be typing away and think to myself: "I wonder what he might think of this?" And so was the case with every blog I wrote that became a profile. My thoughts would linger to the person I was writing about and what their feelings might be about my thoughts of them.

Interestingly enough many of my Facebook friends from home would read these blogs and comment on how they knew this person or that. Giving me yet another impulse that this was not all for me. I found that in writing a blog about my Nannie or Decola, both family members of mine who passed away years ago, brought them up in a sort of conversation. Like the age old saying I have read on so many dreary funeral wreaths: "Gone but not forgotten," comes to mind. The response from my friends, acquaintances, and some complete strangers has been very uplifting and well received. Knowing that often I hadn't dotted every "i" or crossed every "t," and that wasn't the point. The point was and is, that over the course of my life the people and places that I have known, impacted me in ways that are hard to explain. Regardless of that difficulty I have tried to explain it anyway. Taking thoughts that swirl around in my head and giving them to others has been something that has been extremely beneficial to me. Going back down roads that are too many miles away from me with some people that I will never again see on this Earth, just because I felt it was too great of an experience not to share. So I have.

I have been so blessed. I woke up to a world filled with love and opportunities for me and I know that so many people haven't had it so easy. As this year closes and we begin a new decade I know that I have left on the web a piece of my heart. If you were ever curious as to what makes me smile, laugh or what I love, read this blog. Sitting on the sofa with my Dad growing up while he strummed his Fender teaching me songs from his heart and introducing me to the music that would always be with me - I realize that we shared a love of words as well.

"Soft as smoke but as tough as nails…my Daddy."

That is the way James Taylor described his Dad, and again I connected with that phrase immediately. Dad used to play a song by Gordon Lightfoot called "The Edmunds Fitzgerald," and while exploring Lightfoot's albums I found the title for this blog: "If you could read my mind…what a tale my thoughts would tell." My Mom would be cross stitching on the other end of the sofa while my sister and I would sing along to Dad's favorites, favorites that become ours as well. Never minding the wind and never minding the rain I go back there to that treasured memory so much. I go back to our house on Rosedale Lane where in their youth they created a safe and loving place for my sister and I. I know now that way back then it was there that I developed the confidence that would help me to leap off of creative plateaus, like this one - not allowing my fears to stop me or hold me back. My Mom and Dad - there's not enough time for me to go there. They inspire me too.

All the thoughts that I have expressed, all the people that I have discussed, all the time and all the focus that I have put into this reveals a part of me that for some reason is hard to reveal. I don't know where this blog will continue to go. But I do know that I am not finished telling stories or writing them down for that matter. And I am certainly not finished making memories or meeting new and inspiring people. I wrote over a hundred blogs and those stories took me too good places in my mind and in my heart. I think that is so important. Being able to identify with where you have been helps to figure out where you're going. I came from such a wonderful place and I am proud to say that, but more than proud, I am very grateful.

I hope you all have a Merry Christmas and I hope that the New Year brings you good health and happy days. Follow that "Traveling Star" next year, it's out there.

God Speed Elizabeth Edwards

Yesterday as news hit the airways regarding the death of Elizabeth Edwards a soft sigh seemed to be in the air. People from both sides of the party lines took this news as sad news indeed. In recent years the reportage regarding the Edwards' has been more of terminal illness and of extra marital affairs. However, earlier in this decade she and her husband, John Edwards, were known more as politicos in the John Kerry campaign and later in John Edwards' own run for the White House. Regardless of the publicity the couple received Elizabeth Edwards' has maintained her highly regarded reputation of a strong mother, a stealthy advocate for our country's healthcare system and a warrior against the disease that ultimately has taken her life. Always leaving her audiences and supporters with a sense of hope and a charge to fight for life and not succumb to death.


Refusing to hide the fact that she had cancer, she became the voice of so many Americans. Americans who struggle each day to find the balance of living with a deadly disease. Always bringing to the table the essence of resilience, grace and strength, among the very trying times that she faced over the last few years. Elizabeth Edwards was a famous woman that died of a famous disease. And as our hearts go out to her family for their loss, I am reminded of the many people that are faced with these situations each day. The many people that are not famous. I think that Elizabeth Edwards was mindful of these masses too.

Mrs. Edwards life reminds us that gaining a place in the hearts of others has little to do with the problems that you face or the struggles that you may go through in life. In fact many of her supporters might argue that they gained their affinity for this public figure because of the way she handled life's problems and daily struggles, not just because she was plagued with them. I think the important lesson to learn here is that what defines us can never be a disease or marital scandal. What defines us is in our hearts and souls, and the integrity that those two parts of our being allow us to have. Yesterday I feel that we lost a voice that spoke out to the darkness, a person that advocated the things that are hard to deal with and almost impossible to change. But what we did not lose was her message, a message that we should all carry forward. Gracefully telling us that we don't have to give up - a message that will most certainly live o

Give a little bit!

This morning as I climbed on the bus and I swiped my bus pass bidding a good day to the driver - the Indigo Girls song: Galileo began to play. My morning ritual is so intact that I could do it in my sleep and I often do - for those of you that know me well, you know that mornings aren't a peak time for me. But this particular morning was different in several ways, so when this particular iTune began to play I knew that the day would be a good one.


My Aunt Judy always comes to mind when I hear this song, she is among a group of people in my life that I owe a great deal. Our life's paths have crossed so many times at just the right juncture. It is funny how that happens. Times when you know you need something or someone and you just can't pin point what or who that may be. Each time I learned that that person was Judy a grin would appear on my face and the thought: "this should be fun," would pop into my mind.

With an innate ability to come to a higher understanding she tackles life's ups and downs with grace and always humor. And over the years she has opened my mind to so many ideas and so many things that seemed off the beaten path that shouldn't have been. I love her for that but not that alone. I think in time we learn that there are times in our lives when we need a co-pilot, so to speak, a sort of guardian to our own life. Times when our mind becomes clouded with the dreariness of problems and insecurities. Thankfully she was the guardian to mine during one of those short lived dark periods. In a time that I felt very needy and helpless at the same time, I struggled to dignify my place in the world and understand what it was that I had to offer, she gave me these wise words. "Sometimes all you have to give is your time." How true.

We all live through those periods and we certainly need those people that conveniently pop up to lend a hand. Sifting through boxes of her life's travels and treasures we came to a greater understanding of one another. With alarm clock radios turning on and off in the back ground and the occasional outburst of laughter we both worked diligently through separate hard times. Not knowing which direction the wind would blow us next, we patiently waited for that breeze to rise and when it did we smiled again. But this time a wider smile.

Words about time coming from a lady who has given her time to loved ones, friends, and all those who come into her company for a lifetime: time. The same person who told me with a laugh that if she won the lottery she would give it all away, and I believe that too. It's usually not one thing that draws you to person it's the collection of qualities that make a person unique and interesting. Judy has a myriad of these types of traits. That's why when hearing "Galileo," this morning my mind went straight to a thought of my dear Aunt. A song that illustrates questioning, growth, and thought - things that MY Aunt Judy is never afraid of. Thank God for people like her, wildflowers that bloom over and over again, raising their heads to the sun as if to say: "Thank you!" Thank God for her!

The best part of knowing these types of people is that you have the opportunity to learn from them and their journey. I have distinct privilege of knowing many people of this kind. When I look upon these kind souls, deep within I hope that I may have the opportunity to touch and reach out to others as they have. It's people like Judy that remind me to live life to the fullest, to smile wider, to try harder, and to go farther. Knowing all the while that my time is valuable to others and in certain situations that is worth more than anything. Knowing this to be true after having experienced it myself. After a lifetime of benefitting from others giving of their time to me. What a simple concept from a not so simple lady: Judy Tomlinson.

Treasure

I dance very poorly, but I still love to dance - a blessing and a curse I suppose. One of life's very small obstacles that I have repeatedly stepped over, around and on the feet of so many to enjoy. I guess we can learn from even the smallest things, that we are better off to know the joy and feeling of dancing even, rather than never trying it at all. I would even go so far as to say that I am somewhat reserved and a little shy at times - an unbelievable statement I know! However, sometimes I have to push myself to speak first or join in - but it never stops me.

Life is a collective process of which we are always learning and growing - simultaneously adding to our wisdom and our persona. A process that so few expose - our motives, our insights, our passions, strengths and weaknesses. The things that we know and often never share make us mind boggling creatures to think about. We begin our lives knowing nothing and we end it knowing "only" everything that we allow ourselves to learn and experience. The lives that touch us so ordinarily throughout our time here make us who we are. The things that we come to understand help us to develop our own perceptions of the people and places that surround us. Uniquely, we create our own ideas and personalities, no one is the same. Isn't that wonderful?

Saturday night I enjoyed time with friends as I often do - thank goodness for friends. I laughed so much and felt so happy to be alive. The company definitely had a great deal to do with it - maybe the weather added to it too. Maybe the atmosphere, who can tell? Regardless of any of these factors, days and nights like Saturday stand out to me as days that I lived fully from the time I opened my eyes until the time I closed them to sleep in the evening. And if I could go back through my mind and remember every conversation I have ever had, if I could remember the long talks I have had with strangers on bar stools or in waiting rooms - what would I do but smile. To go into that thought and march around a bit like it were a room with furniture and pictures hanging on the wall. If I could go there and think more about those conversations I would realize that it was these scenarios that taught me or even made me force myself to open my mouth and speak first. The thought of missing something. That same desire to know and hear and live that keeps me up at night reading one more paragraph or talking to another friend a million miles away. I realize sometimes that on a daily basis we push ourselves to go farther, to think harder, to overcome certain insecurities that would normally hold us back. We often refuse to let that happen.

I am more proud of my friends and family than they know. I am proud to know them, to share in the experience of life and to be a part of the time period that we all share. Knowing that ages from now when the pages of history open to a section of time that we call "now", a section that will be thought of as an ancient "then." I know that I would not want to walk life's path with any other group and this time will be marked how we live and how we progress. The sadness of knowing that we can't go on forever evaporates in the idea of the things out there that I have yet to know. The people that I have yet to meet and the laughs I have yet to have.

It shouldn't be a challenge to live life - it is our treasure. Every day I know that there is more out there, but I don't know exactly what is out there for me. What will be there for me today? And if goodness and mercy have followed me thus far, why should it not keep following me? As I type these words I listen to music created by a friend. I hear in that music her vision - her insight and her love for music (Molly). The magic of it is too splendid for me to put into words - although my excitement is very deep. The thought of creating something that would urge people to dance…amazing!

Words, what can I say about words to magnify my love for them. My love for the poet who can pour his or her heart into phrases and imagery that change lives and spawn romances. The writers who describe dew drops on a lilac leaf - something so pure yet insignificant. Why do they bother? It's beautiful, that's why! My Grandfather is a poet - words spinning in his mind that are also spinning in mine. Do we share that gene? Should I even put us on the same plane? Probably not - but the thought of it makes me proud. The well spoken phrase - there's nothing like it. Changing sentences into perfect compilations is a wonder to me. And should life be explained in this way it might resemble a picture of little pieces of paper spread out on a million tables with scraps of fortune cookies lying about. I hope someone takes a picture taken by someone who refused to forget the moment. Or maybe not. Life being the mystery that it is, keeps ups running the race - fighting the fight - working hard for all those passions, using our strengths to fight our weaknesses. We blink, October is gone and now November, what next? I suppose the only thing we have to learn is not to bury our treasure - there will be no joy in that.

New Deal - Cemetery

When I was growing up our house was on the same street as the towns Cemetery. Rosedale Cemetery a dignified garden of stones and artificial flowers arranged among old cedars and walnut trees. The cemetery was one of the gifts left to the city by the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) or the Works Progress Act (WPA), who can remember? Now that I think of it I was never afraid of living a couple of doors down from the cemetery. That said, I don’t remember ever going over there at night either, and maybe that wasn't out of fear as much as out of respect.

As parts of Franklin Roosevelt's "New Deal," the CCC and the WPA were a work relief program specifically for men between the ages of 18 and 33. This program existed from 1933 until 1942 due to the lack of jobs for men of this age during the Great Depression. I have heard of many stories about the CCC and the WPA's Camps coming to Dawson Springs bringing men that would work to repair and replace streets, build the state park, the cemetery and other landmarks of my small hometown.

Rosedale cemetery is surrounded by a rock wall and rock retaining walls made from native stone and now seems like a sea of granite divided by concrete paths. Monuments of all shapes and sizes dot the terrain with names to be read silently noting the presence of he or she or both. I use to ride my bike over there and many people walked the paths for exercise - my Mother included. I, as almost everyone in town have family members buried there and I remember as a child often seeing widow creeping through those paths in long cars, somberly checking on the resting place of a husband, a father and mother, a child or even a friend. My own grandmother was one of those diligent ladies. An emblem of our temporary existence right down the street.

The CCC built those walls along with a grounds keepers work shop, a crypt, a pavilion and a grand arch to mark the entrance. What a depressing job I think now - building a cemetery - but these things must be done too. I wonder if those young men knew the importance of this small southern town's cemetery…and if the events that would take place there couldn't possibly resonate? The rainy days and green tents covering green chairs and Astroturf? There is no way that they could have really known the important moments that would go down there.

Driving into Dawson Springs from the Western Kentucky Parkway, those that come and go there drive past Rosedale Cemetery, where an American flag waves day and night. Where the names of those that founded, built and lived in my hometown now lie and even though this might seem crazy, Rosedale Cemetery is a peaceful place. A dignified place to rest for the ages under stones that have not the space to list all the things done in one's life and I suppose that is the point. Epitaphs should exist in the minds that are touched and not etched on any stone. I don't know why this came to mind today…maybe it is the dreary weather that has been lingering. Who knows?

Regardless, why not? Who says I can't write about cemeteries - I'm still not scared of them.