Both Sides Now

Watch "Joni Mitchell - Both Sides Now (Live, 1970)" on YouTube
My Dad bought a red and black 6 string acoustic guitar, in the early 1970's,  for $12 from Gibsons, a long gone discount store in Corpus Christi, Texas.  His desire at the time was to learn to play  but a preacher with a full time job, young children and wife with an infinite honey do list had no time for such things.  I thought that instrument protected by the corrigated cardboard box it came in was beautiful.  I opened it up and softly strummed every chance I got.  I suppose Dad realized one day or just kinda made the choice that guitar lessons for him were too far down on the list of priorities. I was so excited my wildest dream had come true the day he told me I could take guitar lessons.  If I practised and kept it up he would give me his beautiful red and black acoustic guitar.  It makes me a little sad to think about now.   I loved playing and could figure out the chords to most any song.  I had a guitar cause Dad let go of his dream to play for his church.  His God,  family, friends, neighbors,  had to be tended to first.  I could pick out chords and even wrote a few of my own songs because the nice hippie college student next door patiently taught me how, only to have his life cut tragically short attempting to bring his friends some marijuana, a stupid plant that relieves nausea, causes random giggles, inner peace and makes a great rope.  I remember like it was yesterday sitting indian style on my twin bed, my long hair parted down the middle and braided,  in the room I shared with my sister, matching flower power sheets, struming my guitar, singing Joni Mitchel's song, Both Sides Now, to the life size Bobby Sherman poster taped to the back of our bedroom door. 
Fast forward several decades and  it feels a little surreal to say out loud I have a granddaughter the same age I was back then.  I wish I could be there with her to celebrate all of life's bountiful blessings and sheild her from the great losses that always seem to follow.  I feel like I should have great words of wisdom instead of more questions.  'It's life's illusions I recall. I really don't know life...
at all'.  

Good Night

I am not a city girl just a small town girl.  I am a country girl but not a farm girl.  My favorite address is a numbered county road far from street lights, stop lights and too many headlights.  The city can keep their services.  I do just fine with a septic tank and water well.    City friends of mine look at me with wide eyes and furroughed brows "Aren't you afraid out there by yourself?"   Well I do keep an eye out for rattlesnakes and I shake my boots to dump out the scorpions each morning.  I keep my gate closed so the occational solicitor and Jehova Witness ladies do not waste their time on this broke, Jesus loving, preacher's daughter.  I am by myself but I never feel alone.  The night sky twinkles with friendly stars.  Moonshine is my most favorite form of light.  That sort of blue mystical glow illuminates so brightly during a full moon no flashlight needed.  I call my 100 pound dog inside so momma skunk and her cute babies can hunt insects in peace. 
Day is done, gone the sun on my small world.   Good night friends. Sweet dreams. kisses
photography by Deborah Krause

Not By the Color of Your Skin

In the early 80's I was in my early 20's.  Old enough to have read about Rosa Parks in history class, heard about Martin Luther King Jr. on the evening news, lived thru school bussing although it did not affect my school district, and watched every episode of the television mini series 'Roots' which made me cry.  But it was a moment in 1981, the black/white thing, racism,  got real for me.  This was not a book I was reading, the evening news or a prime time show.  I was waiting to purchase a Coke and a hot dog smothered in homemade chilli, simmering in a crock pot on the counter of a Mom and Pop gas station, convience store, outside a small town in South Carolina. I was last in a short line, behind a white man, a white woman and in front of us all a slight young black man, about my age at the time I think.  I barely caught the cashier out of the corner of my eye wave the young man aside but  I can still hear her voice in my mind, so flat and cold "wait", she said to him, or in his general direction, he shuffled to the right, eyes on his shoes.  I was puzzled.  He must want a lot of hot dogs so she is gonna cash us out first I reasoned to myself.  The line went fast, my turn. I looked at him and said,  "You go ahead and go. I want a hot dog too". He did not look up, just mumbled something about 'she' and motioned me ahead. She said something like 'he knows' .  Which made no sense to me at all.  I made my purchase and moved slowly on the plain concrete floor towards the wooden double doors with layers of green chipped paint and that thick metal sceeen over the pane of plate glass you do not see any more,   determined to figure this out. Something was just not right.  Turns out the only thing that young man purchased was a pack of cigarretts.  I got weak, and felt kinda sick.  I had an overwhelming desire to apologize to him but he was gone.  Walked lightening fast right passed me, left the worn wooden doors swinging.  I will never be able to wrap my mind around how in my United States of America, Land of the free, Home of the Brave, the great melting pot, if your not Native American you are from somewhere else, racism was ever accepted and apparently so even in 1981.  Today is the 50th anniversary of Martin Luther King Jr's ' I Have a Dream' speech.  So much to think about.  Hope you have a great day- judged not by the color of your skin. kisses