Dogs Who Bark

        There was a blip in the news recently about people who cut dog’s vocal cords so they can’t bark.  I guess I am simple but I can’t understand why anyone would do such a thing.

        When I come home, the first thing I hear is our old mutt’s bark.  My wife says they can be in the back of house and the dog will jump up out of a dead sleep when I pull in the driveway.  She hears my truck before my wife does and scampers to the front door to greet me with her characteristic bark.

        By the same token if a stranger pulls in her ears perk up and she rushes to the front door, but her bark sounds different; more of a throaty growl.  My wife can tell if it is me or a stranger at the door every time.

        Why would anyone not want a dog like that?

Dr. B

Farther Along

        My ‘Song of The Day’ on FaceBook was ’Farther Along.’  There is no doubt.  When Doc Watson sings this one, he means it.  After Merle died it was all Doc could do to get through it.  There is so much here on Earth we can’t understand.

        Along the way I saw a lot of wrong.  I know I’m no literary giant, but my writing is my humble effort to show how to deal with all that stress and still be a decent person.  Here’s my definition of stress: ‘The realization some fool ought to have the living daylights choked out of them, but the wisdom to know you can’t do it.’

        When I saw some people become powerful via exploitation I wanted to choke them, but by the Grace of God always found a way to outwit them instead.  Besides, I knew the government was short on prison docs and would love to find any excuse to draft me.  I didn’t want to spend the time away from my wife and kids, so I always evaluated the situation and developed a strategy.  I saw it through to the other side of the river every time and lived to write about it.  My writing is gonna make some powerful people very unhappy.

        I’ve had more good luck than a man deserves and can’t complain about my lot in life, but when I see good people mistreated, it gets to me.  I get all over-protective and a mean streak surfaces that I don’t like one bit.  Maybe farther along I’ll understand why, but here on Earth there are times I just have to pray for patience and to stay tranquil.   

        I believe God gave me the opportunity to write for that very reason.  He didn’t want me to wind up in prison either, so He let me write instead.  Because my stories are fiction, even though they are all true, there ain’t nothing they can do about it.  And I gotta admit, the mean streak in me takes some solace in that.  I guess it’s just the human coming out in me but I’ll work on it.

        I better go pray for forgiveness.   Old Doc is still working on a building, but farther along I’ll know all about it.

Dr. B

International Language of Music Discography

        Some time back a man put together a video based on the song ‘One Love.’  The concept was simple.  Via the International Language of Music, he believed he could play this song in any culture in the world and would be able to communicate with people everywhere regardless of race, religion, creed, or politics.  It worked.  Like all the best ideas, it was a ‘why didn’t I think of that’ moment.   

          When his video came out someone e-mailed me the You Tube version.  There were folks not only here in the States, but in Europe, Africa,  Russia, China and ’bout near everywhere else.  They all had smiles, especially the children.  I got out my mandolin and played along.  They played it in all different keys and rhythms, but it was all music.  It was no problem at all.  The mandolin is a versatile little instrument, and an even better friend maker than a stethoscope, though I’ve done okay with it too. 

        This set me to thinking.  In bluegrass there are standard jam tunes almost everyone knows no matter where you go.  ‘Nine Pound Hammer’ is a great example.  My ‘Song of the Day’ today on FaceBook was ‘Handsome Molly.’  If a tune is so old no one knows who wrote it and played by the famous to the obscure (in the is case the Stanley Brothers, Bob Dylan, Mick Jagger, and Dr. Tommy Bibey) it seems it qualifies as part of the International Language of Music discography.

        As I plan my journey I have certain songs I have to do.  Indie’s favorite fiddle tune was ‘The Cherokee Shuffle.’  It is a must for me.  I promised him I would do my part to not let that one die out.

        What are y’all’s favorites you think everyone should know?  I drive to Wayne Benson’s for a monthly lesson.  If you come up with some standard I’ve failed to learn we might just work up a version.  If you hear the great Wayne Benson play it on the stage one day, or see me in my little tour, you will know you might have had a hand in it.  After all, we all speak the same language; it’s just a matter of getting on the same page together.

Dr. B

Why I Feel Lucky

        Here’s why I feel lucky.  Kenneth Jethro Burns was on my office IPOD playing a cool mandolin chord melody of ‘Four Leaf Clover.’

       The train came through.  For all my ADD ways, I am good to concentrate on my patients and seldom distracted, but I was in my study at the time.  My thoughts drifted to travel.

        I began to write in 2000.  I’ve had the same game plan since 2002; write a bluegrass based book, have it out in 2010, then travel a little with my wife for a couple years before we get too old to go.  Our goal is to meet the best people, play a lot of music, learn a bunch of new songs, and sell enough books to make the trip break even.  A buddy of mine said he toured with a bluegrass band and made it to California and back.  He had a great time and met all kinda folks.  After it was over he had ten more dollars than he started with.  He is my hero.    

       I listened to Jethro as the train rumbled through and the whistle blew.  I went downstairs to get a cup of coffee.  The girl was on my mind; my wife is still just a kid like me.  I poured up a cup and spotted a fortune cookie on the counter.  I opened it.

        Honest to fiction; here’s what it said.  I have it right in front of me so this is an exact quote:  ”You will travel with the person of your dreams.”

        There just ain’t no denying it.  My destiny is to be a lucky man and it has always worked out that way. Just wait and see.

Dr. B

A Child’s View of It

        A truck went under an overpass.  It was close, but there wasn’t enough clearance.  The top of the trailer hit the bridge and the vehicle got stuck.

        It created a huge traffic jam.  People were mad.  They got out of their vehicles and yelled out, “Something’s gotta be done.”  The police did their best to control the crowd.  Sirens screamed and blue lights flashed.  It was an adult spectacle; a regular drama. Fire fighters and EMS workers and all kinds of smart folks puzzled over how to free up the rig but not destroy the overpass.

        A child walked by and looked over the scene.  “Why don’t you just let the air out of the tires?” the boy asked. 

        I guess he was close enough to the ground that he could see how high those big tires were off the pavement and it was simple to him. The truth was not hard for a child to see.

        I like kids.  I ain’t nothing but a big kid myself.  God blessed me with a good grown-up doctor brain, but in many ways I think like a child.  So did Indie, and you couldn’t help but love him.

        Indie was so childlike.  He was as loyal as my old mutt.  He loved unconditionally.  He didn’t know how to hate anyone, even his enemies.  I know some of them didn’t like him.  I think it was because Indie always could see the truth so easy.  They were so grown-up they made what was simple difficult.

          I’ll bet all those officials didn’t like that kid either, but what were they gonna say?  No one wants a reputation as someone who hates kids, even the silly adults who resent them.  Those officials weren’t that bright, but even they were smart to enough to see that.

        I believe we ought to train our brains the best we can but keep the heart and vision of a child. It sure did work for Indie.  It worked for that boy too. 

Dr. B

The Ham Radio of Literature

        My wife’s grandfather the preacher was a ham, and he loved ham radio too. Every day he communicated with friends all over the world.  First thing every morning, he go to his study.  He’d flip the switch, twist a bunch of knobs, and the radio would make some kinda high-pitched racket that sounded like Orson Wells had dialed in the Martians.  When he died there were people who came to his funeral who he’d never met but who considered him a close friend.

        I feel the same way about the blog world, and see it as the ham radio of literature.  Maybe some of the high brow folks view it is beneath their dignity, but I don’t care.  After a life-time as a country doc, that was gone a long time ago for me anyway.

       I’m an early riser.  I’d like to tell you it was from my days at work on the farm, but all I liked about farm work was grandma’s biscuits and her Mark Twain books.  I still get up early to read.  After that I walk the dog, and put on the coffee.  Then I crank up my old reliable Windows 98.  It chimes in with the signature jingle that indicates it’s time check in with my blog pals.  I strap on my mandolin, play a few songs, and cruise around to visit friends all over the world without ever leaving the house.   This blog world is every bit as modern as ham radio, and just as much fun.

        Y’all don’t worry about my funeral though.  It’s a long way off.  Besides, I’m a writer.  I’ll figure out some way to post about it.

Dr. B

Having Fun

        I played a gig not long ago with Al Donnelly, the Irish folk rock singer-songwriter I’ve told you about before.  It isn’t straight bluegrass, so you gotta stay on your toes.  He’s organized though, and even sends me a few chord charts ahead of time so I can prepare for the gig.

        Still, I think at least the musicians in the crowd know I’m winging part of it.  One came up after our show.  I know him well, as he does a lot of the guitar and all the uke work at Harvey Methodist.  He said, “Didja hire Dr. B as your side-man tonight?”

        “Yes sir.”

         “Man, I dug ‘There is a Time.’  Enjoyed the show; loved the singing; cool clawhammer, good mandolin breaks, too.  I tell you one thing, I’ve never played a gig with Doc and not had a good time.  The boy’s gonna have fun.”

         Donnelly smiled.  He knew it was true.  I considered it a most high compliment.  I’m a serious doctor, but when I put down the stethoscope and pick up my mandolin I am but a large child.

        Let’s go play.

Dr. B

Dancing at The Jefferson

        I heard on NPR that a group of people got arrested for dancing at the  Jefferson Memorial.   Given Thomas Jefferson was committed to “opposition to tyranny in all forms,” I found this quite a paradox.

        Even the most oppressive societies give in and allow dancing ’cause when they try to ban it people go and turn to something like sex.  You see where that got us.  

        I guess I just don’t understand, but it seems to me we have a whole of serious things to waste our money on before we get around to arresting people who dance.  They next thing you know they’re gonna be after the musicians, ’cause without us subversive rabble-rousers the masses tend to be more submissive to the will of the powerful.  Music makes people take up dancing and Lord knows where that might lead.

Dr. B

Hold Your People Close

        Yesterday we lost a good friend who should have lived much longer. When someone asked how he was, he always smiled and said, “Better than I deserve.” He was such a fine devoted family man. He was successful, but had not a whit of arrogance.  He knew he was blessed, but he never took it for granted.  As a doc in a little town you come to know your people well.  He was one more quality human being, and sure did deserve a lot more Happy Birthdays.

        If I haven’t learned anything else in the doc biz, it is to hold your people close. We aren’t promised tomorrow, so let’s all make the best for today we can.  If my friend was still here, I can promise you he would do exactly that.

Dr. B

My Editor Dorrie

        I had two brothers, but was not lucky enough to have any sisters.  There was not a whit of culture or refinement in me or my brothers.  We were just wild sunburned boys who ran all day and stayed covered in red clay dust.

        If I have any sensibilities about me at all, I got it from my mom.  She was an English teacher who took me to the library every week.  I thought everybody went to the library and read five books every week, and the reading habit persisted even after formal education tried to beat it out of me at times. I owe everything to mama.

        Even mom never tamed me; but my wife did, although it took her a while.  She gave me the freedom to play as much as I wanted as long as I only loved one woman.  Man, I was like Adam in the Garden of Eden except I had the good sense to know what I had.  I cherished her, protected her, and never took my great fortune for granted.  It hasn’t been perfect, but we’ve been loyal and had a great run of it.  Just as sure as mama made my childhood, my wife sealed the deal for me as an adult. 

        So now you can see why when it came time to get an editor I leaned towards a woman.  My agent is a guy and he has been an enormous influence on me, but he agreed I was more likely to flourish with a female editor.  When I was a kid if you disagreed with a guy you might just rassle him or punch him in the nose.  It never seemed very civilized to me.  I work with a group of twelve women every day, and they tend to negotiate with words.  For a doctor/bluegrass picker whose mid-life crisis was to wake up one day and decide he was a writer they provided a rich backdrop of verbal ideas.

        Now I don’t want you to be confused here.  I didn’t want a woman editor in hopes I’d get some sweet lady to say she loved my book no questions asked.  If I wanted that, I’d just get mama to read it.  In her eyes I can do no wrong.  Aren’t moms that way?  You see some guy on T.V. in an orange jump suit who has a long career in the ax murder business and his mom will be at his side saying, “Oh, Johnny is such a sweet boy.”  If you want objectivity, mama ain’t the best person to call on.

        I figured what I needed was a big sister.  I never had one, but from what I have read they aren’t in the business of false praise, and yet when the chips are down will defend little brother to the death.  Sister Dorrie turned out to be just that, a big sister who worked with me to get every passage right.  To do it, she had to immerse herself in a world of tobacco chewing bluegrass pickers, late night card games, golf hustlers, and assorted other scoundrels.  She not only did her job as a pro editor, but went the extra mile. She sat in on our sessions, got inside their heads, and whipped those boys into shape. By the time she was done with ‘em, even a refined literary woman would want to read more. 

        At the same time, she refused to write it for me.  (“I’m not your mama, Doc”)  Dorrie worked hard to hear my voice, did all she could to make it stronger, but she never strangled it.  It was a fine line to walk.  I am a serious doctor, but otherwise a large child. Dorrie put enough polish on to make me readable, but never compromised my enthusiasm.  I guess it was like a big sister who helps little brother get ready for prom night.  She knew how to take a rough kid who loved baseball and make him presentable enough for a date with a young lady, but knew there was no point to take all the boy out of him.  

          When my book finally sees the light of published day, sister Dorrie deserves much of the credit.  She knew how to rassle little brother with words and could fight hard like siblings do.  But, never make the mistake to diss little brother to any big sister, ’cause they’ll stick up for you when the chips are down every time.

       In addition to her work on my book, Dorrie edited an article for me that will be published in an international magazine this spring. My agent just assigned me another one he has high hopes for and I am sure I will call on her for that one too.

        Dorrie is my editor and always will be.  I told her it was like the Opry told Bill Monroe.  ”If you want to leave you’ll have to fire yourself.”   She knows it is true, ’cause old Doc believes in loyalty.  Besides, who ever heard of a little brother firing his big sister?  That ain’t possible.  Even after all the childhood squabbles and word wars, she’s the one who saw to it he was ready for the prom, and that took some doing.    

Here’s her link:  http://www.obrienediting.com

Also she is on my blogroll.

All the best, Sis.

Dr. B