GOOD TIMES BAD TIMES

In the days of my youth
I was told what it means to be a man
Now I've reached that age
I've tried to do all those things the best I can
No matter how I try
I find my way to the same old jam
Good times, Bad times
You know I’ve had my share
When my woman left home
With a brown eyed man
Well, I still don't seem to care

So sang Led Zeppelin in 1969, in their song “Good Times Bad Times”. As an 18 year-old, I stupidly thought I could relate to that first stanza and still do--until you get to lines 9 through 11. Trying to ponder those lines today, I'm sure that if My Amazing-Missus were to leave home with a brown-eyed man, I would care deeply. Would I blame her? I'm not even going to speculate.

I loved this song. I loved the whole album. I remember playing it in a loop on the 8-track player in my 1940 Ford. While the poetry of the lyrics was worth the price of purchase, John Bonham's drum licks were the thing that kept me coming back. Just listen to what he does on Good Times Bad Times! At 18, those times seemed more simple, more good. Easier.

Of course the fact is that 1968 and 1969 and 1970 were some of the most tumultuous times in our nation's history: the assassinations of John Kennedy, Robert Kennedy, Martin Luther King Jr. Race riots, political unrest. A war with no end in sight. Protests over that war and the Kent State University killings.

And today? Are you ready for some good times or at least some good news?

These days, in my head, I'm drawing parallels between that Summer of '69 when I was 18 and this Summer of my 69th Year. I can say without doubt that in every season there are Good Times and Bad Times at the same time.

“We cannot be happy if we expect to live all the time at the highest peak of intensity. Happiness is not a matter of intensity but of balance and order and rhythm and harmony. Music is pleasing not only because of the sound but because of the silence that is in it: without the alternation of sound and silence there would be no rhythm.”

— Thomas Merton from essays published in 1955 titled "No Man Is An Island

That title, "No Man Is An Island", reminds me of the Simon & Garfunkel song, "I Am A Rock. I Am An Island". So, which is it?

Think about where we are right now, if we assume that we are where the headlines of the day put us (although there’s some question about that). Now read Paul Simon's lyrics:

I Am a Rock
By Paul Simon

A winter's day
In a deep and dark December
I am alone
Gazing from my window to the streets below
On a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow
I am a rock I am an island

I've built walls
A fortress deep and mighty
That none may penetrate
I have no need of friendship, friendship causes pain
It's laughter and it's loving I disdain
I am a rock I am an island

Don't talk of love
I've heard the words before
It's sleeping in my memory
I won't disturb the slumber of feelings that have died
If I never loved I never would have cried
I am a rock I am an island

I have my books
And my poetry to protect me
I am shielded in my armor
Hiding in my room, safe within my womb
I touch no one and no one touches me
I am a rock I am an island

And a rock feels no pain
And an island never cries

Let's consider the coronavirus as one of those current headlines. Some wisdom says isolation is prudent, and while it comes to physical contact at least for a time that may be true, but if we hunker down and bunker down and say stupid stuff like: "Not my Circus, not my monkeys" we sound as crass and naive as Simon's protagonist. I saw a report of a few politicians calling this the "Wuhan Virus". That is irresponsible, destructive and brings nothing to the quest of finding solutions. The solution, whatever it is, will be found as a community through cooperation, honesty, wisdom, scientific knowledge and prayer; not in idealogical isolation and fortress-building.

I was idealistic at 18. I am idealistic at 69. I believe that Good Times and Bad Times come and go together. Like Merton said, "...without the alternation of sound and silence there would be no rhythm."

Too Much Reality

Occasionally we had vertical hold issues at our house. If you grew up in 50s and 60s as I did, the Reality of television was that it was quirky, not only problems with vertical hold, but horizontal hold too. There were little knobs you could twist that helped sometimes to slow the roll of the image on the screen. Soon or later though, the man of the house would take the pegboard cover off the back of the TV set, jerk the tubes out, and take them to the Humpty Dumpty, Piggly Wiggly, or Snap-E-Sak to “test” them. Inevitably they would have gone “bad”. Hopefully we could get the new tubes and get them inserted before “Leave It To Beaver” came on.

Sometimes the problem was a fuzzy or snowy picture. Usually a twist of the rabbit ears would fix these issues. Sometimes drastic measures were called for. More aluminum foil had to be added to the telescopic ears. As I said; that was our television reality, if not reality television.

While I’m not an avid fisherman, I do enjoy wetting a worm or flinging a fly. Especially fly-fishing, standing in a cool stream hoping to outsmart a trout. I have a friend who makes regular trips to Alaska to fish. When I see his pictures from those trips, I envy the manliness of it all. I suppose if I were to go to Alaska to fish, I would hold in high regard the endorsements of Sarah Palin regarding a good fishing guide, places to go, bait to use, etc.

I remember as a kid fishing the waters of Lincoln, Union and Ouachita Parishs in northern Louisiana with my Uncle Steve and cousin Danny Roy. My Dad’s roots are there, down the road from the Robertson's of Duck Dynasty fame. It would be fun to go backand listen to the Robertson's tell stories of fishing and hunting there. I would love to hear them swap stories with Uncle Steve. When it comes to fishing or duck hunting I can’t think of any one’s advice I would respect more than that of Phil Robertson, the patriarch of the Robertson Dynasty.

If Phil and Sarah were ever to visit Oklahoma, and want my opinion, there are a few fishing/hunting resources I could recommend to them. Probably, if I were to give them a call to let them know who I might or might not be endorsing for President they would tell me they don’t give a duck’s quack or polar bear’s ass whom I’m considering. And, to be honest, the feeling’s mutual.

Back to reality TV. How in the world have we come to the point where the most cherished endorsements for presidential candidates come from cartoonish “reality” TV stars? I am completely at peace and entertained by the relatives of these celebrities being on “Dancing With The Stars”. But something’s not right here. Maybe we need some more foil on our rabbit ears or a new vertical hold tube.

If I were going to choose a “reality” TV star to trust for a presidential endorsement, it would probably be Dale Gribble. I know, I know. Dale is just a cartoon neighbor to Hank Hill, but he is just as passionate about his worldview as are the other “reality” TV stars: Phil, Sarah and The Donald. And while Ted Cruz doesn’t have his own show, I have no doubt he would if given the opportunity. Show me a guy who will make a mockery of the U.S. Senate by standing on “the Senate Floor” for hours in a pretend filibuster, reading “Green Eggs & Ham”, and I will show you a guy begging for his own TV show.

Since Dale Gribble has not gone public with an endorsement, you might not be familiar with his views and opinions. Allow me to share a few gribbleisms:

“If all you’re goin’ on is my confession, forget it, I’m simply not credible.”
 
“That’s code for U.N. commissars telling Americans what temperature it’s gonna be in our outdoors. I say, let the world warm up! See what Boutros Boutros-By-Golly thinks about that! We’ll grow oranges in Alaska!”

“Guns don’t kill people. The government does!”
 
“If you want, I can teach you how to make a bomb out of a toilet paper roll and a stick of dynamite.”
 
“Whoa! Hold on, son! I want you to keep an open mind so you can make an informed decision! If you want, you can read a bloated government report on smoking, or go straight to the horse’s mouth and get the facts from the tobacco industry.”

“20 years. If your marriage was a murderer it would be out by now.”

“I’d like to live in your fairy-tale world, Hank, but the Fair Play For Cuba Committee is retro-fitting my mower to power Fidel’s one-man escape sub.”

“If you want to elect me, Dale Gribble, president of the Gun Club, running on the ‘Save-Your-Sorry-Ass’ platform, say aye.”

“They wanted to see me wet my pants from fear… but they’re too late!”

Amen Dale!

P.S. Maybe you’ve seen this image floating around the WWW (which of course means it could be true). Makes you wonder if Mr. Cruz has bigger heritage issues than just being born in Canada. Like Ricky used to say to Lucy back when TV wasn’t pretending to be “real”, “Someone’s got some splainin to do.”

candidate cruz and grandpa munster

Pops Goes To Washington

I know, I know, I promised that on this blog I would steer clear of politics, religion, and NCAA Football Conference alignment. So, let's be clear, although I am mentioning Washington and politicians, this is not meant to be a taking of sides or partisan commentary.

Could it be that I have some superpower for negotiation, something Washington could use right now?

This story may make it sound like I'm comparing our elected "leaders" to a two-year-old in the toy department at Cracker Barrel, well...

Understand this: I want the love and unwavering devotion of my grand-girls more than anything, and I'm not above buying it with cheap junk and trinkets. Heck, we (the human collective) have used those tactics forever. But occasionally a line must be drawn (oooo, so tough!)

This is Harper animatedly making her argument for five new purses. At least I think that's what she was telling me. Most of it was in an unknown tongue.

Recently I had to call on my negotiation gifts and some half-truths to get out of Cracker Barrel without solely funding their fourth quarter profits. YES, you read that correctly I went toe to toe with a two-year-old at Cracker Barrel, left the building with nothing but the pancakes and apple juice in our bellies AND she still loves me.

Maybe I'll write a book. 

My only hesitation in posting this is I don't want to give anyone the impression that my youngest grand-girl is in any way as stubborn, unreasonable, selfish, arrogant, delusional, and pouty as the politicians I am suggesting need professional help.

In the event I may be slipping into political commentary. I'll stop, now.