Oh Dem Blues

Well I was out there this morning. Walkin and talkin and listening to the Buddy Guy and Junior Wells album called "Alone and Acoustic." I love Buddy and had the chance to go to his club "Legends" in South Chicago once...what a great experience. Buddy wasn't there but we saw Luther "Guitar Junior" Johnson who was amazing. I got into the Blues back in the early 70's when my heroes like Clapton and Zeppelin all attributed their music to the Delta Blues from the 40's and 50's. Guys like Muddy, and Robert Johnson, and BB, and Lightnin, and John Lee. Well I started listening and saw it really change me...for the better. Let me explain.

I grew up in a culture and an environment where feelings were kept to yourself. If you had a problem...work it out by yourself. The idea of sharing how you feel or being honest about pain and hurt was problematic in my family. I began my journey in this life under the impression that we just don't connect with people on that kind of level...so I didn't. Now I don't fault my parents...it is what they learned about life from their parents. It was and is I believe a hold over from the Western European societies that propagated the "keep a stiff upper lip" mentality. No sign of any emotion what so ever...very proper.

And then you have this culture who is all about expression. Whether it originated from the tribal dances or it was inherently a part of their make up I don't know. But when African people began to be "integrated" into this predominantly white stoic culture, it was like oil and water. They sang of their troubles and their pain. They danced when they were joyful and celebrated enthusiastically every great and simple thing. They were expressive and outgoing and though they were outwardly confined, inwardly they were soaring free.

Blues music came as a result of years and years of oppression and being treated as if they were not as good or an equal to the stiff upper lip crowd. When your woman ran off with another man, you sang sad songs that made you feel the depth of that pain and sorrow and betrayal. When they were in love, they sang in code about how they really felt about that woman (or man in a few cases). But all of it was raw and real and heart felt...there was no "so put on a happy face' kind of songs...no way.

It is interesting to me how our culture, though founded on Judean Christian values, so rejected the Blues and the derivative that came out of it Rock and Roll, as being so evil. I mean come on, put a n old Martin guitar, a Honer harp, and a broken bottle neck in King David's hands and you have the way early version of the Blues. Jeremiah...the "weeping prophet"...that is so low down it makes a blues man look chipper. And isn't it amazing that Jesus hanging on the cross didn't cry out "cheerio..all right then...keep a stiff upper lip then...oh oh...no tears allowed." Instead Jesus wailed and cried and sang out an all time classic Blues line..."my God, my God, why have you forsaken me." Then he finished it out with a "it is finished."

From the very beginning to the very end of the Bible, we see a culture that was sad and down hearted when they needed to be. They rejoiced and celebrated when it was appropriate. They partied so hard at a wedding that Jesus had to make an additional 50 gallons of wine to keep it going. This was his first recorded miracle. Who wouldn't want to invite Jesus to their party. At the end of time when we are all gathered around the throne and laying in a heap in front of our God, I doubt the first words out of His mouth will be..."all right now folks...lets just calm down...you Pentecostals better settle down like the Presbyterians...and you Black churches...you are so out of order." No, every nation, every people group, and every culture will be represented, and it will be a PAR-TEE!!!!!

If Jesus felt the sting of hurt and pain...I'm sure it's alright for us as well. People...lighten up and get real...when your sad...listen to the Blues...you'll feel a lot better when you face your humanity and allow the God who created us as emotional beings to restore us and prepare us for the party.

More Thoughts on Families

As I was walking this morning, I was thinking again about my mom and dad and the influence they had on me. Thinking about the positive things they gave me and the negative ones I seemed to pick up as well. I realized every single one of us have picked some good and bad from our parents. Those coupled with our bad habits we create all on our own...well we're kind of a mess most days.

I was telling some friends yesterday about me writing about my parents, when one said, "I wonder what my kids are going to write about me."

Wow...it hit me like a piano falling from the sky...I have probably screwed up my kids too. I have always thought everything good they learned from me and everything bad...well...uhhh....I guess from Tr...no from the Devil. But to be honest as I see my kids now, I see their faults (which for their sake I will not point out in this forum) and I can see my own set of faults ingrained in them. I see their strengths and I see mine as well. And yet they too have developed their own unique set of problematic traits that they will more than likely pass on to their kids.

Its kind of a crazy scenario. If you are honest your kids see the ugly part of you and actually replicate those bad things. If you try to cover up the ugly in you they still seem to find it...and then call you a hypocrite to boot. I guess the same is true about our strengths as well...but it takes way longer to see.


Here's a song that Marc Cohn wrote that describes this whole process. It's called "The Things We've Handed Down."

Don't know much about you
Don't know who you are
We've been doing fine without you
But, we could only go so far
Don't know why you chose us
Were you watching from above
Is there someone there that knows us
Said we'd give you all our love


Will you laugh just like your mother
Will you sigh like your old man
Will some things skip a generation
Like I've heard they often can
Are you a poet or a dancer
A devil or a clown
Or a strange new combination of
The things we've handed down


I wonder who you'll look like
Will your hair fall down and curl
Will you be a mama's boy
Or daddy's little girl
Will you be a sad reminder
Of what's been lost along the way
Maybe you can help me find her
In the things you do and say

And these things that we have given you
They are not so easily found
But you can thank us later
For the things we've handed down


You may not always be so grateful
For the way that you were made
Some feature of your father's
That you'd gladly sell or trade
And one day you may look at us
And say that you were cursed
But over time that line has been
Extremely well rehearsed
By our fathers, and their fathers
In some old and distant town
From places no one here remembers
Come the things we've handed down

The Rest of the Story

No! I didn't walk today. I'm sorry. But it was so wet and pissy outside I just flat didn't want to go...so I didn't. Happy. I'm a slouch.

But, I had so much yesterday I wanted to say and I simply ran out of time. I wanted to give you...you know...like Paul Harvey (God rest his soul) used to say...the rest of the story.

You see I wrote yesterday about how much I resemble my dad now that I am actually getting older. And everything I said was true. But it is really only half of the story. I am also a lot like my mother as well. Now in the past I was so mad at my dad for never seemingly taking an interest in me (I was the seventh child), that I used to say all of my bad qualities I got from him, and all of my good ones I got from my mom (wow long sentence). Well I have since matured a bit and I know that is not entirely true. My dad actually had some very good qualities that I greatly admire...and even possess at times. And truth be told, my mom had a few bad qualities that I seem to have at times too.

But my mom. Wow. What a woman. If my dad was the drill sergeant in me, my mom was the poet in me. My dad was the rigid un-compassionate unsympathetic jerk I can be. My mom was the sunlight laughter run through the daisies in me. My dad was Hank and Johnny and Merle and Buck and Porter and Patsy. My mom was Mozart and Ludwig and John Paul George Ringo and Miles and Woody and Rogers Hammerstein and Opera. My Dad was play by the rules and don't make any missteps in me. Mom was don't color inside the lines and wilderness without trails and no limits in me.

She was a beautiful woman. And even though the hard years and seven kids took a toll on her physically, she had a brightness and radiant beauty that shone out of the darkness all around her. She was what I was looking for when I found Tracey...I knew what I wanted...someone who reminded me of her beauty.

I miss my mom...a lot. I wish she could have seen the light she brought to me. I wish I could sit with her and know I matter and am important to this world and I make a difference. I wish she could know how I treasure the parts of her I find in me. They're the parts that seem to come out mostly when I am playing with my grand kids on the floor or building them zip lines. Or the parts that freak out over a sunrise or a sunset. There the parts that light up when that airplane lands in a foreign country and there are new horizons to discover. Or when some fat opera singer hits a really high note...man that just sends shivers up my spine.

I miss my mom...God rest her soul...I only really see her once in a while now...I need to see her more...
Where the heck are those grand kids?

Wow...It Just Can't Be

Today I got out early...early enough to avoid the torrential downpour that hit just as I was walking back into the house. I mean it just was pelting. I took all my rain gear in anticipation of what had been the pattern over the last few days...strong rain and strong wind. But nothing could have prepared me for the storm that was coming...nothing.

It really struck me as I was walking out the door...I'm getting older...it just can't be true...but it is. I was listening to The Frames, my new most favorite music. We got to see them when we were in Ireland and I was just blown away. They're kinda rock folk alt pop emo all rolled into one really neat package. Glen Hansard the lead singer and main writer is the guy who won the Oscar a couple years back for the movie soundtrack from "Once" (you should check it out...it's fantastic).

So I'm listening to The Frames and thinking how hip and cool I was, when it dawns on me...I'm 53 years old. That is the age my dad was when I was 18. I remember how old he seemed when I was 18. He only listened to country music and he had a buzzed haircut. He hated my music...thought it came from some jungle somewhere...and we should take it back to them. He loved Hank Williams (Sr. of course) and Johnny Cash and Merle Haggard...what an idiot. Who would like that crap (uhhh me now).

He would hang out in his garage all day long smoking and listening to that music so loud everyone in the house was disturbed. He kinda had the attitude..."I'm in my shop...F*%@ YOU". He would flip his cigarette butts all over the yard and then make me pick them up. Later he got a TV for his shop and so he'd watch it while he was out there...with the music blaring as well of course.

Needless to say...I didn't like my dad too much back then. Thought he was a recluse and kind of aloof from the rest of us. He even ate his dinner in there some times. Mostly though, he ate his diner in the living room in front of the TV while the rest of us savages scavenged for the remaining bits of mashed potatoes covered in creamed tuna...and canned peas...yuk!

It really makes me mad when I look in the mirror...I see old CW Wertz (I won't dishonor him by using his real name...he hated it...it was Cla*%#^ce). I definitly have his ears...big old floppy things...great for picking up signals from space. I kinda look like him. I kinda act like him. My worst nightmare is sadly comig true...I am my father...it just can't be true.
(Bill and Harriet Wertz)

As much as I try to deny it, I have taken on some of the characteristics of my father. I love music and I play it loud. If you walk into my shop and disturb me while I'm listening to music, I might snap at you (unless you have coffee or wine in your hands). I am very beligerant about my music. I know what constitutes good music...the rest of that stuff needs to go back to whatever jungle you found that in...get it out of my face. I still love to eat my dinner in front of the TV...now I don't do it much anymore...but it is a real treat for me when I can. I really, when left to my own devices, can be such a turd...just like my old man. God rest his soul.

Thankfully, I had another Father as well...I do hope I resemble Him too.