The last time I posted, my son caught wind of it and posted a rant (mostly true) about what a loser I am. I am going to attempt another essay and hope for the best. This is about memories.
I tuned Emmylou Harris' guitar at an open mike show at The Cellar Door back in 1963. She was a local girl and played out in the DC area before moving to Nashville and becoming famous. The point here is, when I look back I realize that Emmylou could tune her own guitar just fine and maybe she was trying to get my attentions. We were 15 and I cared more about bluegrass music and Martin guitars than I did about getting dates. Still for a short time we had a connection long enough to make a memory. I have lots of memories. In fact, I pretty much live on and in them these days. That's due to my staying in bed around 24 hours on any given date, so long as I don't have a doctors visit in the plan. It's not so bad, as I have always been lazy and seeing that I worked hard for many years at jobs which were either dangerous, or jobs with 24 hour shifts. I stuffed music in there as well but I rarely made any serious money at it. Hense the need for the other jobs i.e. high steel painter, and Firefighter /Paramedic . Now some medical folks like to expound on the topic that being a war soldier set the stage for me to desire jobs holding a degree of excitement and danger. Maybe they have a point, although I did not seek employment where I might, by chance, kill someone. (a cop, mobster?) OK?
So go the memories. To me they are bound to little cubes of thought; bright little moments you might say. I can pull up these little films of my time like a personal YouTube. Pretty much true to fact good and bad. I remember women; God I have been in love with every girl who gave me a chance. Thing is, I could not just go and get a date. I was shy. Fortunately the girls liked me and would invite me home after a gig. If I was in a popular band, I might be asked out by a waitress and the word would get out that I knew the drill and soon most every waitress on the job would ask me home. Those memories are all there, sharp as lightning. I don't mean to hang out with the sex, but folks take interest in that kind of stuff. I could probably write a texino sexual suggestion and technique manual. It's been done, besides I spent a longtime figuring out the female mystery and I'm not certain the girls would pleased if I were to blab about how to put them in a state of bliss.
Now I have more to say about memory, but my care givers are on to me with trivial pursuits about whom to call if I croak or take a serious fall. This is directing me to disease central and I do not want to talk about that, so bye for now. XOX Fr Tomas Texino SJ