November 5, 2020

Yesteryear
One year ago today: November 5, 2019, a look at Iron Dome.
Five years ago today: November 5, 2015, a right to peace & quiet.
Nine years ago today: November 5, 2011, mangroves.
Random years ago today: November 5, 1982, Vietnamese food.

           We toyed with the idea of Mammoth Caves, around 90 miles from here. For some reason, I’ve always confused with Carlsbad Caverns. The place [Mammoth] isn’t pet-friendly enough. No pets in the caves or buildings, but nor can you leave them “unattended”. Pets are okay on hiking trails on a leash less than six feet long. Fun, reminding you Sparkie weighs 55 pounds. You put him on a six-foot leash, Mammoth Caves. There are kennels available, a device which freaks out our doggies. These caves are going to have to wait.

           Instead we went off to Smithville, where I stopped momentarily on February 22, 2020. I’d forgotten this, but it came back. We took Hwy 40 through the foothills, through Waterton, and on to downtown. Same as before, half the businesses seemed closed up. Yet there are signs in most of these places that people are leaving expensive places like Nashville as just too expensive. We walked around the entire downtown in an hour.

           The tour included a stop at one of the few food places, where we had free tea and coffee on a local real estate agent. Noticing a stage set up, the Reb got on the piano and played us an original. She is invited back in a week from Saturday as special guest. I hope to be there but we both have schedules that have backlogged. I’ve got excellent video of today but you can’t see them. Blog rules. You get a picture of this plastic dog on the sidewalk. Sparkie and Sammy went ballistic. What a strange and frantic display of instinct.

           I’d forgotten I’d stopped there trying to find a coffee shop, no dice. Then I remembered that falling down house. I had the Reb drive over to the dead end street and it’s stil there. I can’t figure why it’s not demolished. It’s about to collapse, see picture. Otherwise, there is no much else to see or do in Smithville. So we made things to do. Let’s see, what can I say about the place. There’s shops closed for quarantine. There is a soldiers grave right on the lawn of City Hall. Some leather hats are for sale around $140 each. I’m straining here, but that’s about all there is.

           The audio tape from my car, the one that is all talk and little action, caught the Reb’s ear. She confirms it really is that bad. I rigged up my cassette player to run through her car stereo and she agrees. It is so bad we have to listen. This is the book billed as a murder mystery, but instead is a steady stream of gossip between around six women. We got to tape four of eight before discovering the victim. But we now who is pregnant, who is divorced, what color women paint their nails, the menu at the local cafe, which roads flood in the rain, and a ton of this nonsense which contributes nothing to the plot. Who had what for lunch, who’s engaged, who’s doing the maid, seven recipes for pickles, and the names of everybody’s pets, including a tarantula.

Picture of the day.
Historic root cellar.
Remember to use BACK ARROW to return to blog.
           Wanting a bite to eat as my appetite returns, we drove “seven miles” south of town to a place called the Short Distillery Restaurant. It’s more like twice that distance and we found it a bit disappointing All the locals five-starred it to death. In reality, the menu is very limited, the air conditioning is too cold, the music was before our time, and while I admit we got there early (they open at 4:00PM), the service was too slow and the decor is pretty rustic. It is apparently a popular local spot.

           We walked the dogs around, the area is full of ancient barns, equipment, shacks, trails, and there are horses and cows tame enough to be petted. I had the chicken sandwich, the Reb had to make up a veggie meal from some appetizers. It was okay. We did not drink but it would have easily tripled the bill. It got dark early and we got lost on the way home due to faulty phone map directions.

           If you walk far enough down the wrong fork of the Cooper Trail, you’ll find this interesting shed door. I’ve accumulated a lot of slats of wood over the past couple years that I would hate to throw out. Now I’ve seen this, it answers what I was going to do with the old battered door on the red shed.
           This long drive home got us listening to the audio book. It is so bad it is good, it takes the angle that if enough women gab-gab around town, they an uncover any mystery. Now we have to listen to it just to see if our side bets on the outcome are accurate. The Reb correctly guessed the body in the pickle vat was Phoebe Morgan, the pickle queen. Finally after four and a half hours play time, we have a body. A Texas downpour brought it out of the drainage system, and as luck would have it, there was an incriminating letter in the pocket. And except for the names, the letter was still legible.

           To demonstrate what we are up against, here’s the partial cast so far. China is married to McQuaid, who took on Phoebe’s embezzlement case concerning Vince, the accountant, who supervised Marsha who worked at the factoryin addition to being Phobe’s maid, who is fooling around with Pheobe’s boytoy named Todd who is a friend of Brad, Phoebe’s son from her first husband, who she stole from Ruby, who’s daughter, Amy was put up for adoption only to appear 21 years later and got pregnant working late at the vet clinic with John, who is not getting along with his wife, who knows the lady police chief who is freinds with Pauline, the ex-mayor who is partners with China in the tea shop.

           The Reb says it was Marsha, the maid, who was caught with Todd who disappeared a week ago same time as Phoebe. Marsha may be pregnant and could be blackmailing Pheobe, which would somewhat explain all the missing money being blamed on Vince, who I think is getting a raw deal. I say the murderer is unknown at this point because the book is 8 tapes long and we are only on tape 4. Logic, see. New characters are still being introduced and I can’t see Marsha as being the only suspect. I think it could be Brad, the son, who might have scored with Amy, but so could Todd, who was all around town.
           And what about old lady Hollingsworth who had a heart attack while her house was burglarized by somebody who breaks in and slashes paintings on the walls. There’s always a reason these seemingling unrelated details are plugged in early and buried.

ADDENDUM
           This is destined for an heirloom, it’s named “Our Tennessee Sunset”. This is on a short path in the woods near the restaurant. It’ marked “Cooper’s Trail” but it goes nowhere except past this scenery. Enjoy.

           I stayed up to fast-learn such tunes as this next guitar player actually stated. I stress, stress, stress that I am not against this guy. I am only reacting to situations that I have seen so often before and have many already-developed methods to deal with them. There was no doubt from the start that this is a duo and that the material was to be country-based. Last time I checked, this was Nashville and “Voodoo Chile” is not exactly Opry-friendly. This turns the guy into a Type A. He knows only enough country material to get his foot into the door.
           One major positive is that he did not object to me playing “lead” riffs on the bass, although he can still flip on that. But his reaction was more that if I can play like that, I can play “Voodoo Chile”, you see where where he’s going with that. But hey, it’s still pretty early in the game. Despite the fact every one of the best-sounding music of the session was 100% country (not surprising since that is what was pre-decided), he began edging toward slower guitar music by people I have never heard of. I jotted them down.

           And that is the material I have been going over. The fast learn is to fake the bass to see what is possible. Later, once I get a commitment, I go back and deep-learn the lines. That’s important here because if he persists or succeeds in us doing these Skynard and Vaughan pieces, he’s going to get more than he bargained for. If he plays his beloved lead breaks, there will be no rhythm guitar behind him and most of his picking will sound thin and reedy.’ dilemna. If he plays his beloved lead breaks, there will be no rhythm guitar behind him. Keep that in mind for what comes next.
           At this point I caution there is no predetermination on my part, rather this entire brought into the equation by a guitarist with a hidden agenda. Depending on other factors, I’ve worked with such people for years, others never made first gig. I’m talking specifically about a narrow subject. He gives himself two choices. I can keep “playing bass” in which case his lead breaks will sound thin and reedy. Or I can play fills which do the job but only too well. This brings us to a familiar scenario where his best option becomes what he originally stated to get into the band—play excellent rhythm guitar and share the spotlight.

           This touches on another quirk about playing bass “the right way”. To steal the thunder, I only have to be half as good as the guitar player. I don’t need effect pedals, I can cut corners, and have the supreme advantage of novelty. Put another way, you’ll need to be twice as good on guitar as I am on bass to achieve the same outcome. And I’ve spent half a lifetime making sure that never happens. If he sticks to rhythm, he gets to share the stage. If he tries that solo material, he is just handing me a gold mine. We shall see, but this time I’ve kept up with my own guitar act. I’m finding strumming easier by the week.

Last Laugh