Digital Cowboy

My bathroom reeks of fruitiness. There are multiple fluffy robes hanging on the back of my bathroom door. I have plants hanging - hanging! - on my porch. There’s stuff in my shower that I can’t even identify - and a lot of it. There are curtains now and everything has been rearranged. I don’t know where to find anything anymore and I’ve been informed that I’m supposed to stay out of the kitchen - I don’t belong there.

Also, most of my stuff is crap and needs to be taken to the dumpster (by me, of course) whenever the pile at the back door warrants a trip.

Hannah Montana seems to always be playing somewhere in my house. Not just the show, the music. And not just in the house. It’s on Mommy’s iPod so we can listen to it in the truck, too. Suddenly picking songs on Daddy’s iPod in the truck isn’t great fun, it’s old news. Daddy’s iPod doesn’t have any Hannah Montana or Emily Osment. Mommy’s here with the good stuff.

My youngest daughter has informed me that I’m now outnumbered and the girls are in charge. In fact, she says, “Girls go to college to get more knowledge and boys go to Jupiter to get more stupider.” (I’ll leave that irony to the reader and address it with her later. For now I just respond with “Boys rule and girls drool.”) I get no love around here anymore. Those cute little ones that used to crawl into my lap a couple times a day for Daddy hugs are now threatening to throw me out if I don’t shape up.

I thought we were getting Mommy back. Now I see that they were planning a coup. I just respond by telling them that if I don’t start getting the normal daily dose of hugs and love from them that I’m accustomed to, I’ll throw their mother out and when Mommy’s living in a box under a bridge it will be all their fault.

For the love of all that’s holy: I just broke the kitchen rule and went to make coffee… My prized Hamilton Beach Brew Station - the best thing I ever bought for my kitchen - smells like… like… Oh, God help me. The coffee maker smells like vanilla. Sure enough, after I got it cleansed and disinfected from all of the “girl” on it, I went to make coffee and there was some foil pouch of “Vanilla Biscotti blend” where my COFFEE is supposed to be! (Fortunately, I found actual coffee right next to it.)

On the flip side, I never cared much for the kitchen anyway. Also, not only have I not been going hungry lately, I’m eating better than I have in years.

I could do a whole separate post on that. That woman ain’t just eye candy in a kitchen. She’s a creative genius there. She concocts things on the fly that I would pay extra for in a restaurant. Most of what I eat these days has no name - “This is delicious, Baby. What is it?” (her laughing) “I dunno. Something I threw together. I just call it ‘My Mexican Chicken Shit.’ You really like it?” (What perplexes me is that she often does it just with stuff I already had here and makes it look easy.)

I have to admit the place looks a whole lot better, too… if you can block out all the yucky GIRL stuff everywhere. I only just now noticed that the coffee maker smells of vanilla because I haven’t made my own coffee in weeks. And I’ve never asked for coffee; it’s just been made by the coffee fairies while I sleep, I guess. It’s just there when I wake up, usually. Sometimes the fresh coffee smell is accompanied by the smell of frying bacon when my eyes open. (Bacon fairies? Who knows? No tellin’ what she had packed in all those boxes when she moved in.)

I complained to my mother about some of this girly infestation recently and she said, “You’re not foolin’ anybody. You LOVE it!”

She’s right. This briar patch is so awful. I demand that for all my sins and in the interest of justice, I be sentenced to remain here forever.

“When they carve my stone
All they need to write on it is
‘Once lived a man
Who got all he ever wanted.’
Tell me something: Who could ask for more
Than to be livin’ in a moment
You would die for?”

I’ve been listening to this song over and over tonight. It’s amazingly appropriate for my current situation and - no kiddin’ - I’ve had it for months in my iTunes library and had never listened to it once until I stumbled across it accidentally tonight.

I don’t know how The Red Rocker does it; it seems like no matter what I’m going through in my life - good or bad - he’s already recorded lyrics that match, years ago.

The relevant part of this one is:

Tell me now, tell me like it is.
No one has to give.
Amnesty is granted.
And what’s done is done.
For everyone.
Come on baby I want to start again.
Right now.
Amnesty is granted.

And I think a lot.
Yeah, I’ve been thinking a lot.
I’ve been thinking about you baby.
Lord knows I’ve been thinking a lot.

I’ve been thinking love should last forever.
Been growing tired of feeling like I do.
Oh yeah
There’s a time, and there’s a place.
A change of heart, about face.
It’s about love, it’s about forgiveness.
It’s about our destiny.

Tell me now, tell me like it is.
‘Cause no one has to give.
Amnesty is granted.

Yeah. What he said. What’s done is done. For everyone. It’s about love. It’s about forgiveness. It’s about our destiny. C’mon, baby. I wanna start again. Right now.

(If you have the time and can, click the link and listen. You can’t get the power of the song reading an excerpt of the lyrics. Sammy’s voice adds very necessary passion to the words. Then go to iTunes and buy some of Sammy’s music so he doesn’t sue me - This is a promotional link. };-))

My love life didn’t turn out the way I planned it. Not yet, anyway. But it hasn’t changed my romantic view of life. Maybe that’s why so many people in my life seem to get so frustrated with me.

The Red Rocker once said:

How do I know when it’s love?
I don’t know, but it lasts forever.
How does it feel when it’s love?
It’s just something you feel together.

…

When it’s love,
Nothing’s missing.

There’s a lot of wisdom in Sammy’s searching. He’s a little confused, in general, but he’s very, very honest and he seems to sorta, kinda know what he’s looking for. (It’s interesting to note that the last line of that lyric is the best English definition of the Hebrew word “shalom” which is translated most often in the King James Bible as “peace.”)

There’s nothing missing in my life. I’ve got it all. It’s not really organized exactly the way I would like it right now, but it’s all here. That “romance” part of my life is just a matter of patience and rearranging now.

I was fortunate. I found Her. Too many people make do with what’s convenient or readily available. I was never willing to settle so I never did. She’s flawed but we all are. She’s perfect for me and perfect TO me. Isn’t that what really matters?

I judge no one else by my experience. I really, truly, honestly, cross-my-heart, just don’t. But at the same time….

How do you know when it’s love?

It lasts forever.

I’m aware that it’s possible that I’ll never hold Her again until everyone else that wants her drops dead of old age and I’m all that’s left. That’s OK by me if that’s how it has to be. It gives me a goal: I just have to outlive them all.

And that’s worst case. I’m not resigned to that.

(I know it’s early but consider this my Valentine’s Day post. I’m not going near this topic again until well after February 14.)

I foolishly taught my girls the stupid, redneck saying, “See ya! Wouldn’t wanna be ya!”

A few days ago, on a beautiful day, they were running out the door to play and Emily said, as she was closing the door, “See ya!” The door slammed and then opened again. She stuck (just) her head back in and said, “Wouldn’t wanna be ya!” Door slammed again. Opened again and she stuck just her head in again and, with a very different tone, said, “I really wouldn’t wanna be you, Daddy. Know why?”

“Why, Honey?” (I said in a patronizing tone. I was busy. I just wanted them to go play.)

“‘Cause you work too much. (pause) I’m going to play now. You should play more, Daddy. I hope I don’t have to work as much as you when I grow up.”

And then the door slammed again. And she was gone?

I wept when the door slammed and I can’t write this post without weeping.

“And the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon….”

That child is precocious. Memories flooded back. I have vivid memories of often laying in my bed at night when I was supposed to have been asleep hours before. Watching my Dad in the kitchen when the Johnny Carson monologue was over. (My bedroom door was always open and my doorway faced the hall.) He was getting ready to go to bed and had to be up early. He worked as hard as any man I’ve ever known.

Even then, as a very small child, I saw how hard he worked for us. At least once I prayed, “God, please don’t make me grow up. I can’t do that.”

Then he died young. That’s another story.

As I got older, I swore I would never do it. I was going to be rich! I didn’t care what it took or how much it cost or what I had to do. But I eventually realized that the people that get rich the world’s way neglect their families worse than those who, like my Dad, just work so hard to provide that they don’t have time.

Now I’ve found a third way. The right way.

“The Blessing of the Lord makes me rich and He adds no sorrow with it.” - Prov. 10:22
“Seek ye first the Kingdom and His righteousness…” Matt. 6:33

I am working hard but it’s a short-term commitment. I’ve found a better way. My daughters will never have to work. They’ll always have a good reason to. So they will only work in freedom, when, where, how and at what they choose.

If you wonder where this came from…. I turned 37 yesterday. My Dad was dead at 37 (anniversary… a couple days, too close to my birthday). I’m not the slightest superstitious. If he knew then what I know now, he would still be here and I have no fear at all. It’s not about that.

But a kid that lost his Dad at 12 can’t possibly avoid remembering the greatest man he ever knew on this birthday, especially when the anniversary of his going home is coming up soon, too.

I can’t wait to see him again.

“… When ya coming home son?”

“I don’t know when, Dad. We’ll get together then.

“Ya know we’ll have a good time then.”

And I’ve got two beautiful little ladies that are looking forward to meeting their grandfather, too.

Lord knows I’ve tried
But I keep looking into
Your empty eyes

Don’t take for granted
I’ll be lyin’ here
When the morning comes

If there’s still a chance
Tell me now…

But don’t think I’ll be waitin’ ’round
While you treat my love
Like it’s all a dime a dozen
You don’t feel the pain
Baby, you’re the lucky one

Every day and night
I keep wondering
Should I just tear out these pages
Can’t you see it, girl?
You’re the lucky one

Who have you been lyin’ to?
Is it me baby?
Or is it you?

How long would you trust
Before your Lady Luck
Gives you up?

Any truth to your promises
Washed away before the war began?

If there’s still a chance
Tell me now…

But don’t think I’ll be waitin’ ’round
While you treat my love
Like it’s all a dime a dozen
You don’t feel the pain
Baby, you’re the lucky one

Maybe it’s true nothing lasts forever
So they say. So sad.
Baby without your love
No sun would rise again
But girl these open arms are gettin’ tired
Pretty soon I’m gonna walk away

No you don’t feel the pain
Baby you’re the lucky one
And don’t think I’ll be waitin’ ’round
While you treat my love
Like it’s all a dime a dozen
Can’t you see it, girl?
You’re the lucky one
You’re the lucky one

Every day and night
I keep wonderin’
Should I just tear out these pages
Can’t you see it, girl?
It’s you
Yeah, you’re the lucky one

Just to clarify, I’m not nearly as weak and pathetic as the guy in the tune. My “open arms” never get tired and my sun rises brighter every day, with or without you. But my pain isn’t my own and I never get used to the empty eyes. You hurt, I hurt.

As Wyatt Earp once said, “That’s the damnable misery of it.” I don’t think there is any “lucky one” in our story.

It’s a new year soon, 2006 was very good to me and 2007 will be better. The girls and I have a good life that just keeps getting better. They and I wish you were here to enjoy it with us. The door’s always open. There’s nothing but love here. It’ll all be easy after you make the decision.

Ring, robe, fatted calf.

Gonna change the way I think.

“Hey, puttin’ you down won’t square the deal.
Least ways, you’ll know what I feel.
Hey, take all the money in the bank.
I think I’ll just stay here and drink.

Listen close and you can hear,
That jukebox playin’ in my ear.
Ain’t no woman gonna change the way I think.
Think I’ll just stay here and drink.”

Maybe Karnal Promotions should try and sign him.

You see it all around you.
Good lovin’ gone bad.
And usually it’s too late when,
You realize what you had.

And my mind goes back,
To a girl I left some years ago.
Who told me,

“Just hold on loosely, but don’t let go
If you cling too tightly,
You’re gonna lose control.
Your baby needs someone to believe in
And a whole lot of space to breathe in.”

Back in the days where I should’ve lived, these were romance issues. They still are to me. But it seems nowadays they’re too often custody issues that involve much more than the parents.

It’s damn sad.

Me and my brother-in-law, J.D.
Drove to Bristol, Tennessee.
To watch that Goody’s race,
Beneath the lights.

Sky was dark.
It looked like rain.
Left over from that hurricane.
J.D. said, “Lay back. It’s wet tonight.”

Now ol’ J.D., he’s a real nice man.
Even though he’s a Rusty Wallace fan.
And won’t drink nothing
But Miller Genuine Draft.

He said, “Number two’s goin’ all the way!”
“Ya won’t beat Rusty.”
“Not today.”
“He’s the short track King.”
I just had to laugh.

I’m an Earnhardt man, ya see.
I live and die by number three.
And any fool knows,
Ya always bet on black.

Me and J.D., we argue some.
I say he’s crazy,
He says I’m dumb.
But just like Rusty and Dale,
We always take it back.

Mother nature
Give us the shaft.
We sat in the rain,
For a hour and a half.

It was just too doggone wet to race.

When they dried the track
And dropped the flag,
Me and J.D.’s
About half in the bag.
He was hollerin’, “Rusty!”
And gettin’ all in my face.

Long about lap 32,
Car three caught up with number two.
They touched and
Rusty went up in the wall.

J.D. hollered,
“There, now see?”
“That no-good, cheatin’ SOB!”
“I hate his guts!”
“I can’t believe his gall.”

I said, “That’s just racin’.”
“He got tagged.”
Then the man in black got black flagged.
They stuck him at the tail end of the pack.

J.D. said, “Now whatcha gonna do?”
“Just sit back and watch number two.”
I said, “We’re down but,
We’re comin’ back.”

Sure enough,
Ol’ ironhead
Came through the pack
Like a needle and thread.

(Though he might have bumped a few on the way.)

Meanwhile, Rusty’s efforts came to nil.
He got tangled up with Awesome Bill.
Forty-six laps down.
It wasn’t much to see.

Terry Labonte was in the lead,
When that three car poured on a burst of speed,
And knocked him in the wall at the checkered flag.

Terry come up smilin’
Just the same.
Said, “No hard feelin’s!”
Down in victory lane.

It was just another game of NASCAR tag.

All of a sudden,
Minutes later,
Rusty walked up to the Intimidator
And said, “Darlington’s next week! I’ll see ya there!”

He looked about as mad as Schwarzenegger.
And said, “I ain’t forgot about Talledegar!”
Then he throwed his water bottle through the air.

You could see it there,
In Rusty’s face.
The boy had had him a real tough race.
That explains his anger,
I suppose.

He got so mad,
That things got scary.
But I don’t think it was necessary,
To bounce a bottle off Earnhardt’s nose.

Me and J.D looked down in the pits.
J.D. said, “That’s what he gets!”
“Go on, Rusty! Break him right in half!”

I said, “J.D., you must be bent.”
“That thing was all a accident.”
Then he hit me in the head
With his Miller Genuine Draft.

I turned around and looked at him,
And he looked back,
And I looked back,
And we just stood there lookin’ at one another.

I felt my face gettin’ red.
And then I went upside his head.
And said a few choice words
About his mother.

We was whalin’ on each other hard.
And this big, ol’ fat security guard
Come whacked us both
With his big, old wooden club.

He put an end
To our debate.
Throwed us both out,
Through the back gate.
And said, “Don’t y’all never come back in here, Bub!”

Well, Rusty and Dale’s
Longtime friends.
I reckon that they’ll
Both make amends,
And do the right thing.
If ya give ‘em half a chance.

Ol’ Earnhardt’s a real tough mother.
But him and Rusty
Like one another.
And besides,
They’re both scared o’ ol’ Bill Frantz.

Me and J.D.’s friends again.
This weekend we’re gonna take a spin,
Down to Darlington
And watch ‘em go real fast.

My brother-in-law’s
Still my best friend.
But if he ever hits me with a bottle again….

I swear I’m gonna kick his ever-lovin’ ass!

I still miss Dale and that black number three.

Now white is black,
And black is white.
Got politicians
Smoking crack.

Wanna finish that lyric?

I shook hands with the devil.
Looked him in the eye.
Seemed like a long lost friend.

Anything you want,
Any dirty deeds.
He’s got everything.
‘Cept what I really need.

Keepin’ me,
Temporarily satisfied.
But not one thing I’ve tried,
Filled me up inside.

It’s not mine.

Staring at the sun,
Lookin’ for the light.
I almost ended up blind.

We see a man,
Takin’ the Word of God,
Proven to be a fraud.
His whole church applauds.

Stop lookin’ out.
Start lookin’ in.
Be your own best friend.

Sammy missed it. Are you gonna miss it, too?

Before ya answer, you probably should know that Sammy and Eddy met while they were having their Lamborghini’s serviced at the same joint.

Yesterday,
I saw my love light shine.
Straight ahead.
In front of me.

You never really know,
When love will come or go.

But yesterday,
I was alone.
Suddenly,
I walked her home.

I never really knew,
What love could make me do.

I’ll send a message in a bottle.
Trust in the mercy of the sea.

Stormy weather.
Oh, yeah.
Waiting for love
To set me free.

Every day
I watch the tide roll in.
Stay until
It rolls away.

Though nothin’s on the shore,
I’m runnin’ back for more.