As a child, every Saturday night was spent in my Dallas home (3103 Lanoue Street) watching the long stream of Country Music shows—I believe it was Channel 11. All my life I’ve known of Ernest Tubb, Porter Wagoner, Charlie Pride, Willie Nelson, Dolly Parton, Johnny Cash, the Wilburn Brothers, Loretta Lynn, Roy Clark, Buck Owen, Merle Haggard, and the many other country singers who were popular in that era. Listening to that music and those songs had a subtle yet permanent effect. I learned many of the Classic Country songs by heart, and to this day can still recite them word perfect. It also gave me insight into the music business. In addition, my father—who worshipped country music—would tell me stories of many of the performers.  As a result of this childhood experience, I have so much country music trivia in my head that I’m sure I could easily win Jeopardy if country music were a category.

The country music muse–no doubt a hard-drinking, dancing, sexy one—must have been at work on me. My brother, Jimmy, paid little attention to those shows, but I sat there week after week mesmerized. Some of the songs were so sad that I cried in my iced tea. (We had no beer in our house). Sometimes I admit, the music was bad, but I still sat there, perhaps because of the fascination of the horrible.

My exposure to country music was constant, beyond Saturday night TV. When in the car, only country music on the radio was listened to. When my father returned from work, he usually worked on his race cars—he had a roadster, then a dragster—and he raced (and won) quarter mile drag races. After that, he would clean up, eat supper, and then play and sing country music till it was time for bed. Enough for now. I’ll pursue more of my musical life in future blogs.

When I’m depressed, there’s one song that’s guarranteed to make me feel worse: “Don’t Speak” by No Doubt. Great, moving song. I understand it was #1 on the charts for three weeks when it first came out. I listened to it a half-dozen times while driving to work. Here are the lyrics I found at: http://homepage.ntlworld.com/gary.hart/lyricsn/no.html

You and me
We used to be together
Every day together, always
I really feel
That I’m losing my best friend
I can’t believe
This could be the end

It looks as though you’re letting go
And if it’s real, well I don’t want to know

Don’t speak
I know just what you’re saying
So please stop explaining
Don’t tell me ’cause it hurts

Don’t speak
I know what you’re thinking
I don’t need your reasons
Don’t tell me ’cause it hurts

Our memories
They can be inviting
But some are altogether
Mighty frightening

As we die, both you and I
With my head in my hands I sit and cry

Don’t speak
I know just what you’re saying
So please stop explaining
Don’t tell me ’cause it hurts
No, no, no
Don’t speak
I know what you’re thinking
And I don’t need your reasons
Don’t tell me ’cause it hurts

It’s all ending
I gotta stop pretending who we are

You and me
I can see us dying, are we

Don’t speak
I know just what you’re saying
So please stop explaining
Don’t tell me ’cause it hurts
No no don’t speak
I know what you’re thinking
And I don’t need your reasons
Don’t tell me ’cause it hurts
Don’t tell me ’cause it hurts
I know what you’re saying
So please stop explaining
Don’t speak, don’t speak, don’t speak
Oh I know what you’re thinking
And I don’t need your reasons
I know you’re good, I know you’re good, I know you’re real good
Oh la la la la la la la la, don’t, don’t

Push push darling
Push push darling
Push push don’t tell me ’cause it hurts
Push push darling
Push push darling
Push push don’t tell me ’cause it hurts

At Bastrop High School, we are entering the last six weeks of the school year. It’s hard to believe that the year is nearly gone. I’m contemplating what I’ve actually done for my students. I know many have learned much, actually learned more than they intended to, but for others, what I and they have accomplished is hard to measure. Several of my students have won money and recognition from winning essay contests—some appreciate this more than others—some I feel have barely made any progress. In fact, some may have regressed.

I must turn in grades today or tomorrow. The number of failing grades in my sophomore classes is mind bogling. I assure them that it’s nothing personal on my part, just simple math. Many of those failing are good kids, and I like them, but it’s rather sad to know that I care more about their bad grades than they do. I really do try to set them up to succeed, but I can’t do it for them, and I certainly can’t give them a grade they haven’t earned. That wouldn’t be fair to the ones who expended the effort to make decent grades. I think that sometimes the system feeds their apathy. For example, when I taught in Dallas, we weren’t allowed to record a grade lower than 50.

What am I to do about these students with these failing grades? I suppose I must give them what they’ve earned, then be ready for the fallout from the whining children, the few concerned parents, the several angry students and parents who can’t understand how an F is actually now part of their permanent records. I hate report card time. After they come out, I must plan a very busy class. A teacher really shouldn’t use class time to explain the grades given. These discussion always degenerate into a yah-yah and arguments. I don’t argue with students. I do say, “It’s nothing personal. It’s just simple math.”

My friend and fellow musician, Tom McCandlish, introduced me to a new band: Albannach. The word Albannach is Scottish for “Scotsman.” I’ve enjoyed their CD very much, and found their music to have a savage, primal feel to it—in a Celtic way—driven by pipes and drums. Ah, it stirs the blood of one’s Celtic ancestors. You can learn more about this Scottish band here: http://www.albannachonline.com/

I woke early again, like at 4 a.m. without an alarm. It was three a.m. yesterday though. Perhaps because I have so much on my mind, so much stress at work, plus stress of trying my best to be a disciplined and fruitful writer.  Actually, it was the rain that woke me this morning. Fit my mood perfectly: As I was paid yesterday, the first thing I did was rise and pay bills. No happy sunshine days for me lately. A spring rain has a certain rythym to it, and the pitter-patter this morning cast a certain mood:
Wake me rain,

Wash away her memory,

And the dried salt-streaks of tears,

Soften the hard and cracked

Black earth of my heart,

Rinse the septic wounds clean.

Saturday night, after a soiree honoring the Ferguson clan, the festival slowly began to wind down. I guess it was about ten when Tom and I returned to our hotel. I met so many cool people. Tom and I spent a good amount of time talking to a Scotsman, Mark Fowler, and his wife. Great couple. I found Mark witty, knowledgeable of history and culture, and an expert on Scotch whisky. And there were so many others.

Sunday, we returned to Monroe, my head brimming with memories of the festival. I also returned with lists of things to do, names of people I had met who I needed to contact quickly, and photographs I need to download and develop. The festival was a reminder of how I need to get out once in a while. The work will always be there, and I learned and experienced much from my weekend that is bound to have some value to my writing.

I’ve taken a day’s break from Civil War reading and picked up White Oleander by Janet Fitch. I had seen the movie and that piqued my interest in the novel. (Yes, I know, one should never judge a book by its movie!) I find the novel’s language beautiful, poetic, and the tone engaging. Two other books came to mind for some reason as I thought about how the tone of a book affects my interest in it: The Weight of Water and Angela’s Ashes. Anyway, you can read more of Janet Fitch, her works, and her bio here: http://literati.net/Fitch/index.htm

This morning I rose at 7:30 a.m. Tom and I had a continental breakfast at the Amerisuites Hotel where we’re staying. We saw several in kilts in the lobby who were already on their way to the festival, even though opening ceremonies weren’t until 10 a.m. We arrived at the Lamar Dixon Expo Center in Gonzales in time to see the parade of the clans and the honoring of the seven Celtic nations: Wales, Ireland, Scotland, Cornwall, Isle of Man, Galicia, and Brittany.

Tom and I visited with friends, listened to some great music, and watched some fantastic Irish and Scottish dancers. We strolled by the several vendor booths, examining and purchasing a little merchandise. After listening to the last public performance of Paisley Close, we visited with our good friends in that band, Sydney, Amy, Rabbit, Hobie, and Bernard, and wished them good fortune. We returned to the hotel around 3:00 p.m. to dress in our kilts and take a nap if possible. We had a few logistical problems, so there was no nap. We returned at 5:00 to the center, had a wonderful meal of white beans, jambalaya, boudin, bread, haggis, and King Cake. We heard some more music, participated in the Ceili after dinner, and visited some more with friends. Paisley Close was just beginning to feel the implications of this being their last public performance together. It was very much like a death: you feel it immediately, but you know the full feelings won’t register until later. I know they will grieve deeply, because it is obvioius they love each other deeply. Tom and I returned to our room by ten, our heads and hearts full of memories of the past two days.

We’ll rise early to return to Monroe tomorrow, returning to work and chores and responsibilities. Tomorrow night at 6 p.m. we’ll be on KEDM during Celtic Connections to raise money for the station. Wish us luck.

Tonight, Tom and I met with the Scottish Society here in Baton Rouge at their meeting place, off Airline Highway for a kickoff dinner. It is a great facility, with ample parking and the building is in a good location. The Scottish Society has generously offered to allow me to use their grounds (and they have a beautiful small landscaped courtyard) as a writing/resting place when I’m in Baton Rouge doing signings.

The sponsors of this weekend’s event were all there for a good time. We had a meal of jambalaya and white beans. It was delicious, and so good that I was too full to eat any dessert.  Tom played his celtic drum and sang, and I played my Guild guitar and sang some as well. Our friends from Paisley Close (from Houston) were there, and we played some music with them. I found the Scottish Society here to be friendly and hospitable, and in true South Louisiana fashion, they were here to have a good time.  I had my first McEwans Scotch Ales tonight. A VERY potent concoction, about 8% alcohol. Tomorrow looks like a very full day. I can’t wait to see what lies in store.