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Another song blog this week? Yeah, yeah, I know. Just not sure what I'll be doing come Monday...

Today's Music Blog is taking a twist down Country RoeDs. Since there is only one "Perfect Country Song", David Allen Coe's, "You Never Even Call Me By My Name", we will use his criteria for country music. Looking for songs that are about mama, or trains, or trucks, or prison, or gettin' drunk or any combination of all the above. Wow, with so many topics to choose from I know somebody will come up with a "Close To Perfect Country Song"!

http://worldonline.media.clients.elli... David Allen Coe

http://worldonline.media.clients.elli... Mama

http://worldonline.media.clients.elli... Trains

http://worldonline.media.clients.elli... Trucks

http://worldonline.media.clients.elli... Prison

http://worldonline.media.clients.elli... Drunk

Play; David Allen Coe - "You Never Even Call Me By My Name"

Try to find songs that include in the title, in the lyrics, or in the band's name, words that refer to Mama, or Trains, or Trucks, or Prison, or Gettin' Drunk or any combination of them all! Please limit your post to one song with a link if possible or the lyrics to the song.

Many years ago I would sit and listen to my parents, grandparents, great aunts and uncles talk about their youth and the ways they would have good times. Stories of pulling the truck up close to the house so they could hook the house radio up to the battery to listen to gospel or hillbilly music. Or cooking supper on a piece of scrap steel over a fire outside as it was too hot to fire up the wood stove in the kitchen. They would call these the "Good Old Days", sometimes with a reverent tone in their voice. Personally those old days never sounded that good to me. Interspersed in these conversations I would hear lines of wisdom repeated again and again over the years that sounded absolutely earth shattering in their importance, even though I had hardly a clue as to their meaning....

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"Born with a silver spoon in your mouth."

Once when a child was christened it was traditional for the godparents to give a silver spoon as a gift (if they could afford it!). However a child born in a rich family did not have to wait. He or she had it all from the start. They were 'born with a silver spoon in their mouth'. (I think this really boiled down to envy of those who had it a little better than my immediate ancestors)

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"What is the matter, got a frog in your throat?"

Medieval physicians believed that the secretions of a frog could cure a cough if they were coated on the throat of the patient. The frog was placed in the mouth of the suffer and remained there until the physician decided that the treatment was complete.

http://worldonline.media.clients.elli... (parts to a Hawken pistol,1.flint'lock', bottom 2.stock, center 3.barrel, top.)

"Lock, stock and barrel"

1. The three major parts of a gun.
   

2. A thing in its entirety, with nothing omitted. As in "They wanted to sell the farm, lock, stock and barrel."

One of my all time favorites, one I'm sure even my old great relatives didn't know the origin of....

"Cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey"

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In the heyday of sailing ships, all war ships and many freighters carried iron cannons. Those cannon fired round iron cannon balls. It was necessary to keep a good supply near the cannon. But how to prevent them from rolling about the deck? The best storage method devised was a square based pyramid with one ball on top, resting on four resting on nine which rested on sixteen. Thus, a supply of thirty cannon balls could be stacked in a small area right next to the cannon. There was only one problem -- how to prevent the bottom layer from sliding/rolling from under the others. The solution was a metal plate called a "Monkey" with sixteen round indentations. But, if this plate was made of iron, the iron balls would quickly rust to it. The solution to the rusting problem was to make "Brass Monkeys." Few landlubbers realize that brass contracts much more and much faster than iron when chilled. Consequently, when the temperature dropped too far, the brass indentations would shrink so much that the iron cannon balls would come right off the monkey. Thus, it was quite literally, "Cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey!"

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You probably remember when your older friends or relatives have come up with some zingers that made you wonder, "What the H@## is that old coot rambling on about now?"

Can you share them with us?

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Seems every time I pick up the paper, or in the case of LJW online, every time I log on, the subject of what happens on the street has someone angry. The autos against the bicycles, the pedestrians against the cars, the truckers against the motorcycles, the commuter against the orange cones. Everybody mad at everybody. With no one willing to give up an inch of their right of way on the pavement. Well, here's how it works. Unless there is a specific law or signage limiting or prohibiting your method of transport, you have as much right within the limits of your conveyance to be there as anyone else.

So let's think this through. If you become angry while driving, does the fault lie with the person driving whatever it is ahead of you, or maybe the fact that road construction has narrowed four lanes of traffic into two? Could it be the fault of the guy whose truck broke down and traffic is blocked in all directions, causing you to be late for your doctors appointment? Or to pick up the kids at school?

At the risk of upsetting the few of you that can do no wrong, I will say the blame rests entirely with you. You know who you are. You are the businessman whose every minute must be accounted for. Who cannot be delayed because time is money, and everyone (you think) is counting on you.

Or maybe you are the house wife/husband who has so many things going on at once, pets to feed, pre-schoolers to load in the car, groceries to pick up and it's time to pick up your third grader but there has been an accident on Main Street that will delay you by fifteen minutes. Who wouldn't be angry, right?

The scenarios are as endless as there are drivers on the road. The biggest factors with all of them are not enough time and in-attentive driving. Back to the beginning, Your fault.

Now let me tell you the "RoeDapple Plan For Anger Free Driving"..

1. If you're in that big of a hurry, you need to start sooner. When driving across town, give yourself five extra minutes to get there. Avoid known congested traffic areas, plan your route ahead, stay alert to what is happening as far as you can see. When driving farther, give yourself an extra 15 to 30 minutes to get there. Arguing that you don't have an extra fifteen minutes is no argument at all if you are delayed by fifteen minutes then lose the deal because of it.

2. Assume you are the best driver on the road at any given time, therefore everyone else will be making mistakes. This puts you in the position of expecting error on the part of others, allowing for it, and remaining calm as you deal with it.

3. Check the weather. A "Duh" moment, right? Weather conditions of any kind will affect your commute. Snow, ice, rain or wind. Heat, humidity, daylight or dark. Even that perfect 74 degree day will have it's own set of challenges. Just like driving on ice requires a little extra thought, higher numbers of pedestrians, motorcycles and bikes will add to the challenge on the most ideal of days.

4. Leave it at the door. Anger, that is. When you open the door to your vehicle, climb on the seat of your bicycle/motorcycle or put on your running shoes, if you are going to be on the street, leave your anger behind. Yeah, I know how hard that is to do, I've been there. The other people you will meet on the street have no knowledge of your recent argument with your spouse, or the lay-off notice you got with your pay stub. They can't possibly know your lawn mower just threw a rod or the neighbor was spotted peeking through your windows. The same goes for you, as you can't possibly know what is on the minds of your fellow commuters.

So that's it. Four little rules that overlap each other, but they help me get through my commute, be it cross town or cross country. I'm not saying I am the best driver on the street, I just try to be the best I can be when I'm there. Your life, and mine, depend on it.

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(images from sites found on internet) (sorry about that c_1)

On the morning of Sept. 11, 2001, I was preparing my breakfast, 3 egg omelet with cheese, tomato, ham, onion, 2 slices of whole wheat toast and coffee. My daughter called and said,"Dad, are you watching the news?"

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(This is very much like the first view I had of the World Trade Center that morning)

Everyone I have talked to say they remember what they were doing that morning. What about you?

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The Bucket List is a 2007 comedy-drama film directed by Rob Reiner, written by Justin Zackham, and starring Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman. The main plot follows two terminally ill men (Nicholson and Freeman) on a road trip with a wish list of things to do before they "kick the bucket."

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Relax, Ole Roe isn't gone yet, or even close as far as I know! Hope not too many of you are disappointed..... But after watching this movie recently it got me to thinking... Of the many things I've done in my life, what were my youthful dreams, what did I want to do 50 years or more ago that I haven't yet done? Or, in the wisdom only age provides, what would I do now if the opportunity came up?

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Fly a plane? Sure, always wanted to, but not with "Snakes on a Plane"! And what are these rumors of a "Mile High Club"?

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A safari to a foreign land? Yeah, sounds great! Although any more I'm leaning more towards a camera as my preferred means of capture. I mean really, having a gigantic elephant's head over the fireplace, watching my every move? Creepy! Not to mention, Mrs Roe says she ain't cleaning that!

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Swimming with sharks? Well.... Actually I do every day with you, my fellow bloggers and posters on LJWonline.

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Race a car at Heartland Park? yeah caus see im thinkng that me and autie and multi and all uor cousens nead to pull the ford focus out of retiremnt an fix it all up an make a dragcar an use the procedes from what we had in the couch an it wiillbe grate fun you all cuod watch us race cuz we be goin legit now so there wont be no mor jail for us so dont ask me no qwestions cause i dont wanna talk boutit

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There are many, many more things I could add to my bucket list, but at the top is to become a very old dude with most of my marbles still in place! Having learned recently that after age 40 we lose up to 10,000 brain cells DAILY, I'm thinking there should be plenty of room for those marbles to roll around....

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Some people go way too soon, with devastating effect!

So share with me, what items on your "Bucket List" do you hope to accomplish before old age, health issues or early demise makes it impossible? Nothing morbid about having goals, on the contrary it seems very healthy to me.

What would you do tomorrow if...................

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We've all heard parents say things like,"I won't let my child watch violent programming, but...", or, "I wouldn't let my child play with toy guns. He/She would pick up a broken branch, point it and yell BANG!", or, "My little Nathan would never play like that, he is like us, non-violent in every way." as he runs through the yard screaming at his sister....

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It's what kids do! No matter what we teach them, no matter what our beliefs, they are individuals with minds of their own. We instill as many of our own values as we can, but unless we keep them in a vacuum with no outside contact, they will be affected by the environment of school, of television, the internet, our own "do as I say, not as I do" approach to raising children. How many of us teach our children the 'horrors' of alcohol, tobacco or illegal drugs, then use one or more from the list in their presence? I, for one, no longer use any tobacco products, was always afraid of illegal drugs, but enjoy an occasional drink or brew. And guess what... my adult children, who were taught the evils of alcohol, have no problem with having a drink or brew. (Occasionally, right, kids?)

Which brings me to my point. My father, a combat veteran of WWII, would not have a gun around the house. With 2 daughters and 4 sons it wasn't such a bad plan, somebody would have found them, who knows what would have happened. But keeping me away from guns did nothing to prevent my interest in them. From early on I would play cowboys and indians, build snow forts, dream imaginary hunting expeditions. Be it bent stick firearms, snowball grenades or hiding behind the Ford station wagon Sherman tank, being on African safari in my folks back yard in North Kansas City or daydreaming at my desk in third grade, I knew what I wanted. It is a perspective non gun owners have trouble with, but to me it is like someone else who enjoys golf, fishing, ballroom dancing or knitting. A hobby.A skill to be developed to the best of my ability. The first time I placed 3 shots into a paper target 100 yards away that could be covered with the back end of a magic marker was the equivalent of hitting a hole-in-one at the golf course! Like a grand slam home run, 3 down in the bottom of the 9th inning!

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But there is a price to pay for being a "Gun Nut", or as I prefer, a "Weapons Enthusiast". If a deranged man kills one or more people in Colorado, New York or California, or anywhere for that matter, your neighbor will look the other way when passing you on the street. Or, when he does talk to you it's."See how YOUR kind are? You 'gunnutz' think you can just shoot your way out of anything!"

Huh? I have fired tens of thousands of rounds over the years and haven't killed or injured anyone. Nor do I want to. What wild game I have killed I have eaten, except for a few coyotes and prairie dogs (by invitation of farmer near El Dorado). Frankly, my neighbor doesn't look that tasty, I think he is safe for now ;-)

There is the age old argument that guns only have one purpose, to kill. Somehow I don't believe the maker of this had that in mind..

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(an actual working handgun!)

Or this..

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(Try packing that around all you desperadoes!!)

Guess that blows holes (pun intended) in that theory!

I believe guns can equally serve the purpose of preventing deaths by showing a would be shooter that hi-velocity projectiles could be forthcoming if shooting is initiated by him. They can entertain in the right hands, help develop hand/eye coordination, create a sense of security (real or imagined). They can be an incredible investment, some have risen in value at a much higher rate than precious metals, real estate, stock options.

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(Now THAT's what I call cookin'!)

http://worldonline.media.clients.elli... (Chinese hand cannon)

It is generally accepted that firearms were invented and first used in China.There is no solid evidence for firearms in Europe before the 1300s. Archeologists have discovered a gun in Manchuria dating from the 1200s, and a historian has identified a sculpture in Sichuan dating from the twelfth century that appears to represent a person with a firearm. Since all known evidence points to Chinese origins, it is very likely that this is the case.

http://worldonline.media.clients.elli... (Eastern European hand cannon)

A hand cannon is an early form of firearm. It is possibly the oldest type of firearm, as well as the simplest, as most examples require direct manual external ignition through a touch hole without any form of firing mechanism. The hand cannon was widely used until at least the 1520s in Europe and Asia, where it was mostly supplanted by matchlock firearms.

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The matchlock (top photo) was eventually followed by the flintlock (center) which evolved into the cap and ball (bottom picture). Nearly all handguns were single shot, single barreled with a few two shot, double barreled variants.

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With the invention of cap and ball revolvers in pre-Civil War years individual firepower was increased by five or six times, depending on mode of carry. Some men carried two, four and even five guns to increase firepower between reloading of the guns. Most revolver owners of the time carried the gun with the hammer down over an empty chamber in the cylinder to prevent accidental firing if the weapon were to drop. This practice continued with the invention of preloaded cartridges, which made loading the firearm a much less time consuming procedure.

http://worldonline.media.clients.elli... (Colt SAA (Single Action Army) .45 cal first generation cartridge type revolver)

Late in the 19th century double action revolvers and semi-automatic pistols were developed and are the basis of handguns as we know them today. In fact the model 1911 Colt is the most widely copied pistol in the world with manufacturers on every continent. Over 140 (my count) manufacturers make or have made hundreds of variations of this American origin

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A more modern version

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(note the reflection of the photographer's forehead on the highly polished slide!)

What is the future of handgunning?

It may already be here...

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Our junior year in high school. Tom and I went to work at a local restaurant (which will remain nameless), working in the kitchen, busing tables, delivering room service orders. We knew when we started working there it was just so we could work together, so our employers priorities weren’t exactly our own. Between dish washing, potato peeling, clean this, scrub that and taking out the trash, horse play and pranks were a part of our daily routine.

One event that stands out in the memories that wasn’t of our doing. We took our meal breaks in the basement of the restaurant. One day during a hard rain the basement flooded about one inch deep. While making a trip downstairs Tom noticed the odor of natural gas so the service man was called to check it out. Later we were down there eating our supper when the repairman came down. As he opened the door to the furnace room, Tom told him to be careful, it smelled bad in there. With a swagger and a sneer, he informed us he had been doing this for 25 years, and knew what he was doing. Less than one minute later there was an explosion, the door was blown open and the repairman was sliding across the floor, creating his own tidal wave as the water on the floor was pushed ahead of him. Except for his pride he was unhurt, and as he got to his feet Tom and I looked at each other and said simultaneously,”25 YEARS!” Then Tom added, “Should have learned in 25 years to not check for gas leaks with a lit match!” The guy mumbled something about never too old to learn and went about his soggy business.

Oh, yeah, rolls and chickens. One night while cleaning up to close, I was busy running dishes through the dishwasher while Tom, across the room, was in the big sinks washing pots and pans. The cook had taken the leftover rolls out of the warming oven and told Tom to dispose of them. As I was pulling down the dishwasher door, a handful of soggy rolls splattered against it. Turning, I saw Tom with a big grin and another roll in his hand. I grabbed the first mass of gooey bread, tossed it back and the war was on! Just as I thought it was winding down, Tom grabbed a raw chicken from a pan and heaved it at me. As it left his hand, the kitchen door flew open and in walked Miss G, the manager, yelling “What the hell is going on back there?” With the chicken in mid-air, I did the only thing I could think of, grabbing it by the drumstick and tossing it in the dishwasher, pulling the door down and hitting the start button all in one fluid move! Although suspicious of some sort of horseplay, she missed the ‘flight of the nekked chicken’, and after running it through 5 or 6 wash cycles while she questioned us, was promptly fed to the disposal when she made her exit. We both found different employment a short time after that, but not at the same place. A recipe for disaster, us working together…..

Going to get together with Tom’s family this July 4th weekend, share some food, some memories, have some laughs and maybe a tear or two.

And work on some ideas for the next installment…………..

http://worldonline.media.clients.elli... Image: Will Wheaton and River Phoenix from the movie "Stand by Me"

My dad, after serving in WWII, although not openly anti-gun would not have one around the house. With six kids, shift work and our mother who waitressed afternoons and evenings, maybe that wasn’t such a bad plan after all. Tom’s dad, a wonderful caring person, as a young man had driven a taxi for a brief time. One night a passenger pulled a knife on him and attempted to rob him. In the struggle that followed he grabbed the knife blade with his bare hand and was badly sliced through his palm. He purchased a .22 handgun afterwards in the interest of self protection. Years later it would never leave the night stand next to the bed, until one day, as Tom and I were at his parents house, sitting at the kitchen table, no one else around……………. Yeah, you guessed it. Tom wanted to show off his dad’s revolver. Retrieving it from the darkness of the back of the night stand’s top drawer, we were mesmerized by the shape, the looks, the feel of this blued steel hand cannon. Is there anything that will get a boy’s attention quicker than the ability to launch a projectile, be it rock, clod, snow ball or bullet? Through an airgun mishap (I knew it was empty, I fired it more times than it had BB’s in it!) I knew to never point a gun at myself or anyone else. I still have the scar in the last joint of my middle finger to remind me. Therefore, when Tom handed me the gun I kept it pointed in a safe direction, straight up. What I hadn’t learned from my previous experience was, all guns are loaded no matter what you might think. Trying to give the impression I knew what I was doing, I fingered the trigger, pulling back slightly to test the ”feel” of it. “BANG”. Eyes wide, we stared across the table at each other. ‘Now what?’, we were both thinking. Tom reached over to the gun, taking it gently from my hands like it was a newborn infant. Looking up we could see a hole about the diameter of a pencil. Ready to take my punishment, I told Tom I would stay until his dad got home to explain. He told me, no, it was his idea to get the gun out, go home, he would deal with it. The next day he said his dad checked the roof, the bullet had hit a rafter and there was no leak. He told Tom we were very lucky nothing more came of this, he was grateful we weren’t hurt and hoped this was a valuable lesson for both of us. His dad never mentioned it to me, and treated me the same as always afterward. Tom inherited his parents house, and after Tom’s funeral I was over there with his sons. Telling them this story, his younger son grinned and pointed upward. There in the ceiling was the pencil size hole. Seems his dad left it there all those years as a reminder to Tom, and maybe me too, of how easily things can go wrong. My own guns? Concrete vault costing much more than the contents, three layers of alarm system before you place your hands on the door with layer four in the door. And anything removed from the vault is checked repeatedly to see if loaded while away from its place there. No such thing as being too safe, but I still like to launch those clods……….

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In the second episode I got somewhat ahead of myself, completely skipping most of our high school years and telling about the Chicago Road Trip. Lets take it back a ways…… Tom, Dave and I (Dave was the third musketeer, stooge, actually the voice of reason in our trio) had definite ideas on automotive preference by our 16th birthdays. Tom preferred Chevrolet, (first car a ‘50 Plymouth), Dave liked the Dodge, (first car ’51 Ford) and I also was a Chevy man, (first car ’57 Ford). Dave, ever sensible Dave, babied that Ford through high school and still owned and drove it until he left to join the Navy in 1967. Tom and I however, as intestinal fortitude progressed, so too did the weight of our right foot on the accelerator. We seemed to spend more time under the hood or under the car, repairing what we had broken or adding the latest performance part our $1.60 per hour jobs could afford. Tom sold the Plymouth and purchased a steel gray ’59 Ford so he would have something with more power than what he could coax out of the old Plymouth. As we both had similar vehicles, we were constantly ‘adding on’ in an effort to out perform the other. This also led to breakdowns, especially transmission failure. Between us we cleaned out the local wrecking yards of three speed manual transmissions to the tune of 17 total. One hot August day we were under his car, swapping out yet another tranny, when it slipped and pinched his fingers. As his parents weren’t home, he began swearing up a storm, calling it everything but what it was. When things got quiet under the car again, we heard this soft, feminine, little voice nearby. “Ahem, mmm, mmm, ah, excuse me?” said the mystery voice. “Whaddayouwant?!!” was Tom’s reply. “I’m with Jehovah Witnesses, could you spare a few moments to look at some pamphlets and let me talk with you?” We both looked at each other, grease on our faces, hands and clothes, eyes as big as silver dollars realizing she had probably heard all the swearing under the car moments before. When Tom finally spoke, we were both about in tears trying to keep from laughing about our situation. He said, ”Now isn’t a good time, go away!” We got a big laugh out as she left, but it wasn’t over. After replacing the tranny, we popped open the hood, intent on changing points and plugs. We hadn’t been under the hood for more than a couple of minutes when we heard a loud pop and a creaking sound, not unlike tree limbs brushing against each other. Tom looked up and screamed, “RUN!!”, so we both took off like we had been shot at and missed. Tom’s dad had planted some fast growing short lived poplar trees alongside the driveway about 10 years previously. One of these poplar trees had decided it had lived out it’s intended purpose and came crashing down on the hood of Tom’s ’59 Ford. We stared for a moment at the near catastrophe we had narrowly missed, then Tom looked solemnly to the sky and said, ”Okay, send her back, we’ll talk to her now.”

Oh, yeah. The reference to the bent tool. We had replaced so many tranny’s that we had bent a 5/8 inch end wrench so we could reach down between the firewall and engine to undo some of the bolts needed for the change. Shortly before Tom died he came to my 60th birthday party and gave me the bent wrench as a gag gift. I won’t keep it with the rest of my tools, I keep it where I can see it often. It always brings a smile with the memories. And Mr. Robertson, our high school auto mechanics teacher, would just smile and shake his head when he would see us, I’m sure wondering what we had been up to….

Next? Undecided, so many memories of our youthful adventures. But if you will put up with me I’ll come up with something…………