On T.V. for Mom
I was off for the holiday, and it’s a fine Labor Day weekend- still rocking on, and it ain’t over yet.
Saturday I played a political rally with folk rocker Al Donnelly at the local gun club. I forgot what party it was, but we are an equal opportunity band- weddings, divorce parties, funerals, whatever. The chow was BBQ.
Sunday one of the McCurry boys got married, so there was some fine picking there. We had BBQ there too.
Then Sunday evening I played with Darrell at a church supper. The food- you guessed right. BBQ and bluegrass go hand in hand.
When I got home my mom had left a message on my phone. “Tommy. Darrell’s on T.V. playing down at the First Methodist Church. Turn on the T.V. Then just ten minutes later was a second message from her. “Why Tommy, I didn’t know you were going to be there. You are such a handsome boy, (mama needs her cataracts done) but you are looking a bit woolly. (That means I need a haircut- she’s been saying that since the Beatles got here.)
I tell you what. I am closing on on being an old man, but I still dig it when my mama checks in on me. It makes me feel like a kid.
As soon as the holiday is over I better go get a haircut.
Dr. B
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Dr. Tom Bibey: Stories of the Bluegrass Music Road 
August 31, 2008 at 7:38 pm
Momas are special people. You can always tell if a moma raised her boy right. And, you Dr. B., were raised right.
September 1, 2008 at 7:19 am
Happy weekend! And get a haircut, wouldja? Ya look like a punk…
September 1, 2008 at 12:45 pm
I’m beginning to wonder at the national obsession with barbecue. When we lived in Texas, we learned that barbecue should be made of beef. In the southeast I know that pork is the beast of preference, even though the run-off from the farms around Wilson, NC are truly toxic. Then there’s the question of sauce – lowlands = vinegar, Piedmont = red or vinegar or some combination, mountains are pretty red. I find most of the bbq I eat to be a little too dry, but others seem to like it. Some like it pulled, others sliced. I particularly liked the taste of charred from the grill, but that’s not a part of bbq, as far as I know. Glad your Mom got to see you on TV, but the rest of us must continue wondering what your wooly self looks like. – Ted
September 1, 2008 at 3:39 pm
Ms. Cindy,
Well she did the best she could considering what she had to work with.
Dr. B
September 1, 2008 at 3:40 pm
mrschili,
You’s just like my mama except a half century younger. Will get a trim in the am.
Dr. B
September 1, 2008 at 3:43 pm
Ted,
After all these years around bluegrass and BBQ, I think of barbecue like mandolins- I find something I like about every variety.
Dr. B
September 1, 2008 at 6:17 pm
Doc, no doubt that Mommas do have a special place in our lives to comment on anything that relates to the sons they have gotten the opportunity to raise. We will pull BBQ(sorry for the play on words) off the menu when you get down here. Mom has already given the go ahead on her chicken. I had to comment on the haircut thing, our fiddler cuts everybody in the bands hair. She will do what she likes to our hair but usually does not stray from the original cut. Sometimes when we are practicing, she might straighten up the hair line during practice. Momma will comment everytime I get my hair cut: she will even tell Kathy how she needs to cut it next time. Aint’ mommas grand!
September 1, 2008 at 8:06 pm
Smitty,
Now that is a new variation on a bluegrass barber shop. Y’all are like movie stars- getting a haircut while you rehearse!
Yeah, moms are great. I’ve don’t know where I’d be without mine. If it was up to men to have babies human beings woulda died out a long time ago.
Tell mama to put on the chicken. And me and Marfar will take ya’ll out to the fanciest restaurant in N.E. Mississippi as long as they have BBQ. Tell all those young-uns I said hello.
Dr. B
September 2, 2008 at 4:32 pm
Seems to me I heard there was a sign on one of the roads (probably a two-lane) up near the NC-VA border. It said, “Welcome to North Carolina. Come for the barbecue, stay for the angioplasty”. Probably put there by one of those Chick-Fil-A chickens.
September 2, 2008 at 5:28 pm
Parson Bob,
Either that or the cardiologists. They tend to migrate here- lots of business. We have some excellent ones.
Dr. B