As the week goes on, I think of lots of things I think I want to blog about. I sometimes send myself an email with the idea. Tonight I searched for those emails and looked at the ideas and thought, “Now why in the world did I want to blog about that?” I think any subject I come up with has to be written about in the moment of inspiration or it is lost.
Which I guess is a good way of writing and I need to jump on that inspiration train more often. I sometimes tend to hold on to things until I have time to explore them further or really do them justice. I once asked Billy Joe Shaver about songwriting. I asked if he ever came up with a really good line or turn of a phrase and if he decided to save that line for a different song so that he didn’t “waste” it. He looked at me like I was crazy and didn’t understand at all what I meant. And I think that is the way that creative people really work (his way, not mine). They use whatever they have and expect it to be in its perfect place then and there and know there will be more inspiration where that comes from as they need it.
I have spent this day trying to get inspired to do the true paid work I needed to do in order to get past that and do the creative fun things I wanted to do. Mostly I ended up with nothing being done. A bit of the paid work, but not enough, and none of the fun stuff. And very little of the laundry and things that just have to be done to be a contributing member of our society. I hate when the weekend flies by with that feeling of little accomplishment.
On the very good side of the equation, however, I got to spend some really fun and really quality time with my husband. We went out to see music on Friday night and got to hang with some of our favorite people at some of our favorite places and hear truly great music. Saturday we ventured forth and tried a new chicken joint for dinner. Stuck in our ways, we don’t eat out much and we sure don’t eat out at new places much, but we ALWAYS on the search for good fried chicken that makes us as happy as Allen’s in Sweetwater does. We tried the new place Lucy’s Fried Chicken near Oltorf and South Congress that is currently trendy. We went and we enjoyed it, but it is VERY pricey for fried chicken. I think they could tone down the hipster vibe a bit and the organic and master chef vibe and hire some old farm wife to come in and make fried chicken and it would be an improvement. The fried chicken was excellent, the salads we had were excellent, the corn muffins were very good, but it isn’t a place we can afford on a regular basis and it isn’t the kind of place you’d want to go for a truly special night. Our search will continue. We also got to go to an estate sale that we passed and saw drums in the yard. The drums weren’t worth Mark’s money and I just got a book about the Depression and people’s memories of it and an unused spiral and we were happy.
We also watched the movie the Black Swan that got so many Academy Awards last year. I can see why it got them because the acting is outstanding and the set design, costuming, music, Foley, et al, was great. But the movie itself is creepy creepy creepy and I would not recommend it to anyone that doesn’t love creepy or horror. I’m glad I saw it to see what all the fuss was about and I tried to watch a lot of it with my “degree in film” mind instead of my “weak constitution chicken” mind. That helped. Creepy. Haunting.
And today would have been my grandfather’s 104th birthday. His name was Andy Williams, a name that was always fun to use in conversation. He was my first grandparent to die. He was 65 and had just retired a few months earlier (and hated every minute of it) and I was 14. So I have fewer memories of him than any of the others who all lived past 90 or 100. He was a truck driver and had been a farmer and had owned a grocery store and had to do a lot of things to try to make a living in the Depression and soon after. By some reports he didn’t try hard enough and their marriage was a bit rocky at times, I have heard. But they stayed together and he was a good grandfather. He would bring us packs of Juicy Fruit or Double Mint and sometimes coins when he came in from off the road. He let me smoke cigarettes with him when I was about 7 or 8. He would let us ride with him on the riding lawnmower.
Yes, I’m just rambling. I went back to a few of my older entries when I started this blog, trying to fix the links and errors that have cropped up with server changes. The ones I like to re-read are usually the ones I dashed off or wrote about several topics. The ones that were thought out and more like a newspaper article are stale and lifeless now. So will this one hold up over time? It probably would if it had a picture, so I’ll put a picture of Pappa Williams:
That’s him on the left with the ever-present cigarette in his hand. Daddy on the right … probably with a cigarette in his other hand, too. This was in their garage. I notice between them in the background my little white and red stepstool that sits in my kitchen. It must have been relegated to their garage when Mamma got her new fancy bigger metal one (that doubled as an extra seat in the kitchen). There were many battles as kids to see who got to sit on the little red and white footstool. It, too, could be a stool you stepped up or, flip the top over, it could be a sitting stool. I “inherited” it from Mamma somewhere down the line. I say “inherited” because I am sure I got it long before she died and I may have flat out asked for it. I don’t really remember how I ended up with it, but I did, and I replaced the hinges and painted it red and white again because it was paint splattered and beat up. My nephews used to compete a bit to get to sit on it at my house, too. That makes me happy. Everyone has grown up with it now and it still sits in my kitchen reminding me of good times at Mamma and Pappa Williams.