The Bluegrass Sweethearts

        This is a live report from Bluegrass First Class.  Tom T. and Dixie Hall called Darin and Brooke Aldridge the Bluegrass Sweethearts.  They are aptly named; all dressed up in a Valentine’s theme for the night show.  Brooke is beautiful in red and Darin has on black slacks and a red shirt and a dark coat.  If it’s like my family she did the color co-ordination.  The boys have on dark slacks, white shirts and ties.  Sharp.

        It is bluegrass, but also contemporary acoustic country.  It is spiritual.  It seeks truth and grace instead of exploitation of the dark side of human nature often seen in modern life.  Old-fashioned is  a good thing.  They just played their duet ‘The Sweetest Waste of Time.”  Their duet work is my favorite of all.  They’re getting ready to do “It Moves Me.”  It does, so I’m gonna go listen.  I’ll be back later.

Dr. B

The Old Home Place- Report From Bluegrass First Class

       No one sings ‘The Old Home Place’ better than Rodney Dillard.  You remember him as one of the Darling Boys from the Andy Griffith show.  This year is the show’s 50th consecutive year on television.

        Bluegrass is one big family reunion.   We have old folks who have played as long as I can remember, and cute gifted young children like the Synders who have already made the big stage.  I jammed with ‘Yankee’ fiddlers who write Civil War ballads, and people from the South who play ‘Welcome to New York.’  By two AM most of the old folks are sitting down.  A kid in a powder blue suit and ten gallon cowboy hat still stands and wears out a flat-pick guitar.  One of the old timers looks over at me.  “Ain’t these kids great. Doc?”

        Wayne’s mandolin was text-book, and Darin and Brooke are in today.  I’m running off high-test coffee and great memories.  There is no time to write.  My nuclear family and my extended bluegrass family are all here.  (Except my daughter had to work.) One little buddy got snowed in, but sent us all a picture of his first snowman on FaceBook.

       We are one big family.  If you read my blog and don’t know bluegrass, I hope at least once in your life you will come out and join us.  I hate for any of my friends to miss out on what we have.

        Gotta go, someone needs a mandolin picker.

Dr. B

The Great Equalizer

        Wayne is teaching me some classical music.  Lord, when he plays it is some of the most beautiful mandolin work you’ll ever hear.

        I struggle to learn and improve.  This material is outside of my standard genre and requires some work on my part.  I am always struck by how hard good sound is to come by.  My mandolin can only respond to what my brain tells my fingers to do, and whatever effort I put forth.  There are no short cuts.  One must put in the time.  I do so because I love what the music does for my soul in return for my efforts.

        The mandolin is the great equalizer.  I’ve got a few years of education under my belt, but the mandolin has no knowledge of that. It makes no difference to my mandolin if I am black or white or old or young or anything else.  It only wants to know how much I care.

        I guess it is like being a doctor.  If you’ve got all the book learning in the world, but don’t touch the patient and don’t care, it doesn’t mean a thing and would be a waste of time.

Dr. B

The Office IPOD

       Before the last time we down-sized at the house and gave a lot of our music to the kids, my wife put most of it on an IPOD.  Bless her heart; it took weeks to load it.  The thing has over 10,000 songs and will play a month before it repeats a tune.  She downloaded me a copy for the office.  You might hear Bill Monroe or Scruggs, then Nat King Cole, or maybe Count Basie or Django followed by Little Richard.

        I put in the player every morning, put on my stethoscope, then as the old Judge used to say, it’s “let her go boys.”  It isn’t loud and doesn’t interrupt patient care, except for one time when Jerry Clower whooped and hollered a bit too loud. 

        It soothes me, and calms my patient’s nerves too.  Sometimes if a patient has to wait on a test result I’ll put them in my office right there in the blue Martin Guitar Director’s chair right next to the office IPOD.  They can sit there and look at a big poster of Bill Monroe or Earl Scruggs and listen to whatever comes by.  Friday it was Beethoven.

        One patient said, “Doc, it beats the norm.  You make me feel special.”

        “That’s ’cause you are.”

        After the first month with the office IPOD, the office staff agreed with me.  I try to stay laid-back, but even after all these years remain far too driven.  I want to give my people my best, and can get too intense.  My staff has noticed I’m more tranquil when the music plays.  If I get busy right out of the gate and forget to crank it up they’ll shake their heads, smile, click on the lamp with soft light, and turn on the office IPOD.  After a while I’ll settle down. 

        If it hadn’t been for Jesus and the music I think my soul would have vaporized from all the worry and the heartaches I see as  doc.   The staff likes me better when my soundtrack is there to ease my mind, and they have come to love it too.  We used to have some folks at our place who didn’t like music but none of them work there anymore, so we all get along.

        I always was a different kind of doctor cat, but I think the music makes us all of us a little more human.  Heck, I’ve even converted Corporate. When you win over the tough guys, you’re doing something right.

Dr. B

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