Howard Misplaced
6 Day "Drought" Ends
One More For The Road
Last Night, I had a little "scare," after
I Misplaced Howard.After I left the library, I went to the convenience store, where I was readily allowed to busk in front of the store.
It was very noisy, as the heavy traffic on the street seemed to reflect off of the underside of the sheet metal over the pumps and right at me.
Howard remained at the library for another half hour and then walked up, after I had just begun playing (I had stopped for a few minutes to sip down a beer -behind a building and out of sight, because this in not New Orleans and "the police will give you a ticket," according to someone that I talked to, after I walked up to him with an open beer in my hand out of force of habit after 7 months in New Orleans).
I had a two dollar bill in my case, which I had started with, along with the first money that I have ever made in Scotlandville, Lousiana in the form of some change.
Howard stood for a second, looking at the money in my case. He must have thought that I had been playing for the whole half hour since I had left the library and only made two buck and change.
He left to go take a nap at the spot where his bag was hidden.
I played for about an hour and made about 11 bucks, battling the noise with the harmonica.
One black guy asked me to play some B.B. King.
I don't really know any (which translates into: I don't know the words to any of his songs past "They call it stormy Monday, and Tuesday's just as bad..." of course I know the 3 chords) so I played The Sesame Street song and blues-ed it up. I got a buck off one of his friends, via him.
A Little Annoyance
Then, Howard and I walked down to a truck stop which I had found on Google Maps to be located right down the street from us, about a half mile.
I felt blessed to have found the three key ingredients that I was looking for, a McDonalds, a library and a truck stop all in one convenient location. When I saw that the train tracks ran right by the truck stop, which was called the "Mr. Lucky S" truck stop, I thought that we had really "lucked" out.
Arriving at the truck stop, though, I was informed that I really needed to be on the other side of the Mississippi River, in West Baton Rouge, in order to get a ride to Texas, due to the way the roads were laid out. I guess every driver who stops at the Mr. Lucky S, is headed the opposite way.
I then thought about asking people in pickup trucks to transport Howard and I across the river.
Then Howard said "I'm tired; I'm going to go lay down," and off he went, after I suggested that he at least do so by the railroad tracks, in case a train stops in front of us in the middle of the night with an empty boxcars door gaping open at us.
I had "no choice" but to follow him. I couldn't just leave him behind (despite the little demon that was hovering over my left shoulder telling to to do just that).
Then a train stopped about a half mile down the tracks, its headlight winking at me and glimmering off the tracks.
Had I been alone, I would have at least walked down there to investigate, maybe talked to the conductor who might have said "I'm going to San Antonio, there's an empty car about 12 back, do you need some water?" which isn't out of the realm of possibility (its the rail police that you have to worry about, the crew members are your friends...).
But, I wasn't alone. I had a friend whose walking speed would double the time it would take to go and investigate, and who was already snoring.
I started to get a little annoyed and to kick myself for taking the guy along with me.
I decided to take a long walk and do some soul searching.
I left my backpack with Howard and took my guitar along after putting the harmonica in the case. I knew that my long walk would take me past the convenience store, and I might wind up busking some more, especially if encouraged by the owners.
I was gone about an hour.
When I got back to where I had left Howard and my backpack, there was nothing there, no Howard, no backpack with all my worldly posessions in it. Vanished! Kaput! No trace of them!
I knew that I had the right spot because I recognized the ant hill ("You might not want to lay down right there, Howard") that he had started to throw his blanket on top of before I suggested that he move a few feet over.
Then, I was more than a little annoyed. I was kicking myself and yelling out loud "I should have NEVER took him along!"
I wasn't sure what to make of it. I knew that the odds of him moving after he had fallen asleep were slim. I figured that some other agent was involved in moving him. Could we have chosen to lie down on the property of some top-secret, highly classified Federal building (disguised as a stockyard full of cows)?
Had the cops come along and questioned Howard, and became highly suspicious after Howard said "This isn't my backpack, its my friends, he's not here, he took a walk?" ...denying ownership of the bag, eh? ...can't wait to search it thoroughly at the jail...
Mystery Not As Great As Problem
The mystery wasn't as great as the problem, though.
The problem was, I now had nothing but the clothes on my back, which were going to be of little help on a night forecast to be 45 degrees. I thanked God that I had taken my guitar along, and stuffed the harp in the case.
...Maybe this is the way it's supposed to be...maybe I'm supposed to start with nothing but a guitar and harp and one set of clothes and 25 dollars and nothing else and find my way to California, using only my musical skills....is this the time to call my mother in tears and beg her to wire money because I'm stranded in Scotlandville, Louisiana?
I did what I always do in those situations. I prayed.
I re-thanked God for leaving me the guitar and the harmonica, and for having given me a place where I can play; all night if I want to.
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| I am inside here, right now, typing away... |
There was a loud racket coming from a huge heating and cooling type of unit, which had a barbed-wire fence around it. It was chained shut with a padlock. I could notice a difference in temperature when I was standing next to the fence, which was only about 10 feet high. There was heat coming off of the unit. The barbed wire was the flimsy kind with two links twisted together at the top.
I decided that if I could put one foot on the chain and padlock, I would be able to get over the fence without ripping my wrist open and requiring 7 stitches, like I did when I was 7 years old (the scar left was in the shape of the number 7, too, but I digress). I was freezing my ass off already and it was only 10:30 p.m.
I put my foot on the chain and the padlock and started to put my weight on it. The lock popped open and the chain released and hung there, swinging. It hadn't been locked, only rigged up to look like it was locked, maybe by a lazy guy who hates having to carry keys around.
I went inside the enclosure and walked around the unit. It was quite sophisticated with boxes and pipes and valves and hoses and even electrical wiring. Atop it were grates covering fans facing skyward. Following the heat source, I found two pipes about 9 inches in diameter and set about 5 feet apart to be almost too hot to hold my hand on...almost.
I crawled under the unit and managed to position myself so that one hot pipe fit the back of my hoodie-covered neck, and the other hot pipe was right where I could wedge one foot under it, so that it lay across my instep, and the other foot over it, so that my Achilles heel rested atop it. The middle of my body was cold at first, but, I could actually feel my blood warming up with each circulation past my neck and through my brain and then back down through my feet. Thank you, Jesus...
I woke this morning around sunup, still hugging the pipes and comfortable.
Thank You, Howard
I was planning upon flagging a police officer down to ask them if they happened to have scooped up any 67 year old men from any cow pastures the previous night, but, I had to use a restroom first.
I went to the Jack-In-The-Box, and there was Howard, scoffing down a sausage biscuit and a cup of coffee and reading the sports page, like he has been doing every morning since I met him.
"Yeah, the bugs got to be a little annoying, so I moved. I didn't want to just leave your bag there, so I took it with me and hid it real good in the bushes"
It was still there. I have all my stuff back. The End.
Epilogue: "Losing" all my stuff allowed me to really take inventory of everything I have and I think I appreciate it more now. Thank you, Howard...
So .. you have the musical ability to "blues up" the Sesame St. theme song, but you don't know even "The Thrill Is Gone" by B.B. King? It goes: "The thrill is gone ...... the thrill is gone ... yeah". Er, you might want to learn it... it's kinda cool.
ReplyDeleteYou'd already established that Howard is easy to lose, like a puppy, yet you left your backpack with him?
You'd better adopt a series of "layers" of possessions when you're traveling, the most important stuff to stay with you, on your body, at all times. Such as money, cellphone, harmonica. Then less essential things but still important, like your guitar, to live in your guitar case with the guitar or in any pockets etc that are on its case. Then the last layer being your packpack, which remember you may have to ditch in a hurry. This is why army uniforms typically had all those pockets. The most important stuff stays on you. The other gear, the bulky stuff, can be ditched if need be. Essentially the really important stuff in in the pockets, then there are various strap-on things etc like ammo pouches, those and the rifle are the next layer, and lastly is the rucksack which is important but least important. The enemy gets that, they get some socks and spare clothes, rations etc not identity papers, etc. Those are on *you*. (Actually in the military the dog tag takes care of that function.)
Safe travels!
Wow, yeah...It's hard for me to rack my brain for songs, because I am always remembering that I know like, 5 Tom Petty songs, but when someone say's "Do you know any?" I usually only draw "You Don't know how it feels" and "Maryjane's Last dance" and, only at the end of the night, when things quiet down and I'm looking up at the stars do I think, I could have done "I Need To Know," because they seemed like the fast song types, or "Runnin' Down The Dream," 'cause they seemed like the fast song types or, "Here Comes My Girl," because they seemed like the "a medium is better than a slow" types..."The Thrill is Gone" over and over eh? that song reminds me of "I can't stop my leg," by that comedian in the late 70's...he's playing the blues with his right leg exageratingly keeping time, pumping it up to knee level and then back to the ground, and the whole song is about him singing the blues because of that "embarassing nervous tic..."
ReplyDeletebut, B.B. King was always what I was told a "tasty" guitarist...which translated to me: -so he doesn't have to rip like Angus Young does on the very same scales; he can hold slow notes, use vibrato and, most importantly put a look of pain on his face that you just would never understand unless you had to leave the plantation at the age of 10 with only a guitar on your back, ...or something..not to trash Muddy, I mean B.B., but that's a really sweet guitar he has and I wouldn't be surprised if it wasn't just playing itself...:)
I think BB was known for doing chords in one little area of the neck he called the "BB Box" and I'm sure you can look that up. He named his guitar Lucille, and yeah he made a career out of looking sad, playing tasty chords in his "BB Box" lol.
ReplyDeleteI know how hard it is to think of songs. I'm actually planning to take a card with me with simply the titles of songs I'm fairly good at, and maybe the note they start on.