Won't you come with me.....

Turk Murphy
Bob Scobey

....to tour old San Franciscy? We'll take a trip, to hear those men lip....

Ahhhh, 1955 and the jazz scene in old San Francisco was something to see back then...or so I hear in my mother's tales.

The year was 1955, late December. On the 18th, a +handsome young airman named Hugh wed a beautiful young nurse named Bubbles. They tied the knot and spent the night in the Houston area, then the next day started their trip west to California.

They stopped in Phoenix and spent the Christmas holidays with relatives. Somewhere between the 18th and New Years Day, Bubbles and Hugh conceived the first of many children.

After the holidays, they arrived in Sacramento, where the young airman was stationed to serve as a navigator in the USAF during the Korean Conflict. On weekends, the young couple would cruise down to San Francisco and catch the latest music shows and see the sites around the Bay. They would go to The Purple Onion or The Buena Vista. They would dance and drink and see musical phenoms like Turk Murphy or Bob Scobey.

When my mom started telling me these stories, I was pretty amazed. Not that they did it, but that my dad was so hep! I knew the guy could kick back or kick up his heels, but to take my mom to all the rad/mod/cool/phat hot spots was neat to hear about. Then my mom asked me to see if I could look some of it up on-line. Oh crap, I thought. This was going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack!

Wrong!

Within the first two tries, I had found info on all of it. Not only was it there, but these websites are done up nice (follow the links!). The Irish coffee that they used to drink there in the Northside Fishermen's district is still being touted as "THE original Irish Coffee" in America.

We are trying to find my mom's old records (what the heck is vinyl??), so she can listen to Bob and Turk again. I'll try to get some up here later for all of you to hear for yourselves.

All in all, a nice stroll down memory lane for me and my mom!

Cheers!

Catching up....

While we all know that life is hectic and we get pulled in so many ways that sometimes it is just mind-boggling; this summer has been exceptionally crazy. With all the projects, writing, travelling, home repairs, rugby chores, family visits and such going on, I just can't keep up sometimes. So I am trying to catch up and I'll be using some odd ways to put it all together in the coming weeks.

With the holidays quickly approaching, things will get a bit more log jammed than less, so I better get on it sooner than later. Now, where is that camera connection cord to download things to my computer???

Anybody else already feeling the time crunch leading into the holidays??

The Prize

First, let me say that the photo above is not our family, just there for your viewing pleasure.

Back Before I was born, my grandfather, Hugh G. Jr. (aka Red), used to compete in a lot of pigeon shoots. A pigeon shoot is a shotgun contests that involves freeing pigeons a few at a time and trying to down them with minimal shots fired. These contests were staged quite a bit and a lot of people participated. He was quite a good marksman, both with a shotgun and other firearms.

In one particular contest, he took first place and the award for his winning was a set of three matching Remington shotguns.

We still have them.

Many years later, after my grandfather had passed and the guns were handed down to my father, my father would take all of us boys hunting on a regular basis. My brother Danny was an exceptional hunter, as it would turn out. Out of all of us boys, he and my dad would compete more than any other pair for title of "best shooter" in the groups that would go hunting.

One season, as we got older, my brother Danny asked my dad if he could use the longest barreled gun out of the set (my dad preferred to use this gun). It was preferable because it gave the wielder a farther range to shoot at birds. Danny proceeded to fell every winged beast which made the mistake of flying within his range.

Afterward my father wrote a short story about that day and the three things he was left to ponder upon the unfolding of the day.

He was not quite sure which of the three stood out as the "real" prize that day. The twenty year old, valuable shotgun as a family heirloom; the 15 dove (that's your limit for one day) that my brother shot which included two triples (three shots and three birds felled) along with a Scottish double (two birds with one shot), or the sixteen year old son who had his dad grinning from ear to ear with pride and amazement.

I am sure we all know which was the actual prize.

Last weekend I went dove hunting with Danny again, and I stood there on that fence line next to a pecan orchard and felt closer to God than in any church I've ever been inside. We were teasing Danny about his ability to not only shoot dove fifty to sixty yards in the air, but also so far in front of him that they dropped in front of him in the orchard. He then proceeded to not only shoot another sky high dove but took half a step forward and almost caught the bird as it plummeted toward his feet. Show off! Sure made me smile.....and miss my son and my dad.

Fathers and sons, turn off your TVs and game consoles, grab your boys and girls and take them out into nature for some good old fashioned fun like our father's fathers used to have.

God Bless!

A Saturday well spent

So another weekend had rolled by and the October trip for my mom approaches quickly. My sister will be here tonight to help prep for the trip and then they will fly out on Wednesday.

But this past Saturday is what I want to talk about. I got the invite to go out hunting and so we all loaded up and made the trek south of town. There is a friend with a pecan orchard nearby and six of us rugby players took our shotguns and headed out in the early morn. We all got there and parked our cars out of the way. We talked some quick strategy and then walked less than a hundred yards to where we took up positions. As the sun slowly peeked over the horizon and the wee bit of chill started to ebb, the elusive dove started flying. It was not long before the sharp pop of scatter guns started to fill the air.

Six hunters ended up taking twenty birds. Not great but not bad as the dove were passing at a higher than normal height. Even then we got the occasional low flying birds to shoot at and even the high ones didn't stop us from shooting altogether.

Funniest part of the day was my brother popping a dove fifty yards high and watching it fall almost into his waiting hand. Had he caught it and had it been on video it would be a youtube sensation. It was cool just to watch. I, myself, took three birds with my gun (passed down from my grandfather) and I took all the 20 birds home with me. Cooked them up nice yesterday with a half a jalapeno and an apple slice, wrapped in bacon and grilled. Cheese may have put it over the top. Next time I'll take pictures and post them and the recipe.

I just wish that my son were there to enjoy the outing. This is exactly the kind of things that we are missing by being apart. Next time Miles (you too Vana if you want to go along).

And this link to a video is why I want my daughter to play whatever she chooses.

Was having a rough day and tried to put into words...

Today, please bring tomorrow

The sprinkler is weeping in front of my house, tears falling on the face of the lawn.

The grass is missing those little footsteps, now that my children are gone.

Yes, the sprinkler weeps underneath the old elm tree, casting shadows from above.

The playground toys are rusted and falling apart, time eroding them away like my love.

Blowing wind sounds like crying as it shakes the leaves off of the trees.

Shutters slam and thrash about, it's enough to knock you down to your knees.

Yes, the howling wind cries their names, across these wind swept plains.

It's ripping all that's wholesome away from here, like these nagging pains.

No kids swinging on that old tire, no innocent laughing in the wind.

No giggles to lift my spirits higher, feels like I've got no friends.

No piggyback rides, no slip and slides, no leap frog again and again.

No hide and seek, no "Don't you peek." No way to make amends.

Dark clouds cover the sun from shining down around here, a dark mood prevails.

Cold wind blows, chills to the toes, revealing my pain and all it entails.

Yes, blue northern raging quietly down, blanketing with cold this whole town.

Driving all the warmth we need away, just leaving me to frown.

The flower beds are bare and empty, no beauty to be seen there.

The ground is hard and weed strewn, from lack of loving care.

Yes, the garden is sad and fruitless, not a thing there to be found.

Without love to help it produce, it sits just like barren ground.

No kids swinging on that old tire, no innocent laughing in the wind.

No giggles to lift my spirits higher, feels like I've got no friends.

No piggyback rides, no slip and slides, no leap frog again and again.

No hide and seek, no "Don't you peek!" No way to make amends.

But spring is here again, mockingbird sings from the budding tree.

His sweet melody floods this yard, brings a slight smile to me.

Yes, the dawn of a new season comes, let God's creatures roam.

Bringing me sweet hope again, that my kids might still come home.

Grand kids swinging on that old tire, innocent laughing fills the wind

Giggles lift my spirits higher, I'm surrounded by my kin.

Piggyback rides, slip and slides, leap frog again and again.

Hide and seek, "No, I won't peek." I've been forgiven for my sins.

by stu pidasso

9October2009

The two days I die......

September tenth has come and gone
and again I'm reminded of how I went wrong.
Sixteen years and countless tears,
as I watch you grow from afar.
A strong young man with a smile so grand
and a future just waiting to be planned
I rue the things I chose to do
and how I made your mother blue
but what can an estranged father give
to his son to help him live
what gift would mean enough for him to forgive
Photos? Memories? Money or more?
the keys to unlock a sports car door?
A second chance? a fine romance?
A limo and tuxedo for a prom dance?
A dog to be man's best friend?
A family heirloom to cherish until the end?
Or just my time and a few rhymes?
Or authentic sorrow for my crimes?
Or no more than a birthday wish
that we get to chill while we fish?
Son, I know that I am not there
but I see your face everywhere
and I tear my flesh and rend my clothes
and beat myself with remorseful blows
as I miss you more than any and all knows.
The worst is that, as I get through this
tis not the lack of peaceful bliss
but knowledge that as this too shall pass
another day approaches fast
fourteenth of October brings again
the memories and pain of my sin.
And as most celebrate a birthday date
not seeing yall's is my torturous fate.

Lonely house again....

Ode to a Boy's Dog

A friend has left

and gone away

and taken with him

my sunny day.

My boy, Bru;

who has stood by

has run his course

and had to die.

I carried him out

into the yard

and said my goodbyes

oh so hard.

He will missed

there is no doubt

those loving eyes

and cold, wet snout.

I wear his chain

every day

to remind me now

he's gone away.

I hope that he

is up with dad

playing catch

and feeling glad.

And when, like him,

may race is run

I'll join them both

in heavenly fun.

stu pidasso

7August2009