The fun, she never ends
Most of yesterday was spent crawling in and around a machine somewhat smaller than me, and I am somewhat the worse for wear as a result. I’m retrofitting machines to do something they wouldn’t have liked to do 25 years ago when they were made, and they probably won’t like it very much now.
Meanwhile I’m covered in filth from the first moment I walk in the door, and in packing I didn’t account for the smeg so I only packed a few extra shirts. At least the hotel has a washer and dryer.
When I left the house it was very nearly 50, and now there’s snow on the ground. Thank God I brought a hoodie.
Listening to Emmylou Harris singing “Leaving Louisiana” the other night it struck me how the rhythms of the song really retain the flavor of zydeco while remaining- for it’s time- a very mainstream song. In 1978 I don’t imagine too many people knew what zydeco was, or what a coonass was, or what a Cajun was. I did, because half the people my dad knew at work were transplanted coonasses.
So it got me thinking how many people listened to that song and went from there to listen to Boozoo Chavis or Clifton Chenier or Queen Ida. It made me remember how if you are half in the bag anyone can dance to zydeco, and will It made me think about the original song and the fact that it’s about a daughter leaving home with a travelling man and that brought me full circle, thinking about the daughter’s pending high school graduation.
Then that melancholy that settles in on me each fall as the planet dies for another winter took hold- I had completely avoided it until now- and the snow last night did not help, dammit. Neither does being away from home or doing a filthy job. Still, I suppose it’s a wonderful thing to have a job and a home to return to.
The world turns and time moves on. Children grown and move out. One of the guys at scouts was saying he would be glad to get his Monday’s back after his son makes eagle.
I had several thoughts but went with the “you will miss this in time” thought.
Both of my girls are not home anymore. One if Florida and the other in Missouri. Close enough to visit once or twice a year, but not close enough to see even weekly.
We are born alone, we live alone, and we die alone. Hopefully we get some decent window dressing along the way.
Still, the boy is still growing and I will need to help in the coming years. We will have to see were that goes.
At least the hotel has a washer and dryer.
Of course they aren’t aware that they’ll have to replace them when you leave :)
Imagine what they have to fo to the crapper in my room.
Probably replace it. Would be easier.
Huh. Didn’t think about it. The zydeco connection. I did work for Wayne Toups back when — and, of course, the NO Jazz Fest, where you’d see acts like Clifton Chenier.
Toni snarked during the ACL show that they must have sat down in a band meeting some time and said, “Yeah. We need an accordion player.” Guess they must have, eh?
Also reminds me of one of the hottest movies ever — for Ellen Barkin. “Hey, Remy. Whe’ you at?”
M
The chorus of “Leaving Lousiana” is certainly onomotopaeic. If you have a glass of herbsaint I bet you can hear the squeezebox it seems to be written to emulate.
Yeah, I get that. I think I always have, just not quite so standalone, when I’ve long heard and thought of “Leavin’ Louisiana” in tandem with “Ain’t Livin’ Long Like This” and “Shame on the Moon,” and, more recently, as Crowell said in introducing the song in the ACL concert, “The Rock of My Soul” and “Telephone Road.”
M
Left College and with a buddy took a bus from NorCal to LostAngeles, and thence out across land and mountains to LA for Mardi Gras – in ’78…what a hoot.