Single-digit temperatures will be here soon and more-than-ample precipitation will leave us for a while. Heck, we may even get some sun.
I like cold, crisp dry weather as do the animals. So, bring it on!
This is Fiddlin' Red day. Fiddlin' Red is gonna be in for some entertainment, and it's not gonna be Grammy-award-winning stuff.
That Joe Clark guy----he's got several personalities. At least, that seems to be the case this week as I've been trying to get acquainted with him and his chicken pie all over the floor, and buttermilk and his nose in the butter.
Several times, I've " farethe-welled and gone away" after finding "Old Joe Clark" with a completely different sound from anything I've ever heard.
I've also had several "A-HA" moments or epiphanies while plucking and strumming some rather tuneless renditions of one of America's classic folk songs for banjo.
Those moments have included realizations that it's vitally important to look at the notes on the scale if Joe Clark is gonna resemble anything like what most folks hear.
Even this morning, I discovered that I was missing a few important notes. Oh, they were there, okay, but when you're concentrating more on how to get that damn third fat finger, left hand to extend clear up there on the third fret, fourth string and make any kind of sound other than one of those "secret sounds" they play on K102 in the mornings-----in all that effort, done in slow motion, of course, you tend to miss a note here and there.
So, yes, Fiddlin' Red is gonna hear some CREATIVITY today----or do they call it "improvisation"?
Whatever-----he's got his money, and I've got my half hour to sit there plucking while he tries to stifle his belly laughs.
We've all been there. I can remember times, while teaching English, when even standing on my desk to get a point across floated right past most of the noggins sitting out there in the classroom.
Will the world EVER learn how to spell "receive"? Will people ever learn---especially those TV news people----that the ship sank? All the sunking ships these days are driving me nuts.
And, is that considered improvisation of the language? We don't even want to go there.
In spite of all the trials and tribulations of my week with the banjo, I'm looking forward to Lesson Number 2.
We've got a ZAGS game tonight. It's at 8 p.m., pretty close to my bedtime. So, I'm making a note to myself to turn on the "happy lamp" about 4 this afternoon. Maybe I'll not doze off.
Actually, this game will be a hard one for dozing off even at the later hour cuz it's St. Mary's.
And, if Gonzaga has a bitter rival, St. Mary's and that DellllabAdobbiac guy with the big white mouthpiece dribbling from his lips who's been at St. Mary's for a hundred years will be there to spoil the ZAGS party.
The least he could do is get a red mouthpiece like those guys from Oklahoma State who had wonderful color coordination with their bright orange mouthpieces.
I will have to hand it to him, though. His hair has been combed a couple of times this year, and I've even seen a picture of him wearing a tie.
All that said, he's passionate, and he's an outstanding player.
Maybe this year, the ZAGS can come up with some anti-delllabAdobbiac magic to put him in his place and keep him there during tonight's game.
Well, Foster has just come upstairs to look at me and wiggle his little docked tail. He even stood on his hind legs to see what I was doing that caused all that tapping.
When Foster comes upstairs, that means he really wants to go outside, so I'll sign off here and give him his wish.
I'm gonna be really careful about what I say about DelllabAdobbia in front of Foster because the St. Mary's player is from Australia, and we all know that "Foster" is Australian for beer.
My little doggie might be offended at any negativity aimed at the folks or dogs from Down Under.