This is a repost of this blog from 5/17/21.
I was going through my “stats” and evidently my mad computer skillz have once-again hindered my efforts. I will be reposting the others as needed.
As a songwriter and an author, I have occasion to cross over. I love listening to, and playing the “story” songs of the 80’s. I play many of them on my personal playlist including male and female storytellers.
The song I recorded for today was my stab at a Colin Raye Classic Love Me.
Let me know.
I love playing Pam Tillis’ Let That Pony Run as I find it inspirational.
Same with Riding With Private Malone by David Ball.
So songwriters just might be the original storytellers. All through history, songs have reflected the world’s events and our responses to them. It is a never-ending dance repeated by generation after generation.
One of the coolest things about playing high school sports overseas was the ability to travel extensively across Europe and the Orient. In the case of England, there were a total of three American high schools so it was a necessity to travel to several other countries in an effort to fill out our schedule. I wasn’t the star of any of the teams, but I was just good enough to make the travelling team in all the sports, so I received the benefit of travel, without having to actually sweat or get dirty.
I was all set to play blocking back/receiver for our high school team before I pulled my hamstring, preventing me from continuing to train with the team and forcing me to eventually earn a letter in cross-country as I healed my injury and planned my return to the football squad.
On one trip to Brussels, I happened to get lost and separated from the American party I was with. We had our coach, his assistant, a person from the American Embassy, and a local Federal Officer all with us to ensure our safety and well-being. We marched through small flower-adorned neighborhoods with many twists and turns as the narrow road clung to the hillside.
I ended up in a small, shadowy bookstore that smelled like oiled leather and strong coffee. The yellowing frosted glass window was etched with the single cursive word lis.
I walked along the rows, touching every single book with my extended index finger. As I came to the end of the row of bookcases, I caught a glimpse of something shiny.
I approached a woman, sitting in a high back leather chair. She was wearing a veil of some sort, and it looked like one that Audrey Hepburn might have worn in her role of Holly Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. A shiny diamond caressed her delicate neck.
Her eyes were smoky grey and her lips were crimson red. She smelled of flowers and cigarette smoke.
Now up to this point in my young life I had learned the ABC’s of life.
I had yet to learn the DEF’s.
Long story short, I ended staying with Caresse for four days, two days longer than my return flight, so when the smoke cleared, I was in BIG TROUBLE from my coach, my school, my Dad, pretty much everybody was mad at me.
So I was good.