Local

It’s local flavor, the work of colloquial artists, and, in as much as there’s anything else, a degree of compassion must be employed. All about place. One particularly moving song, it’s a trilogy, in all actuality, it is Steven Fromholtz and his “Texas Trilogy,” and I’ve alluded to it a number of times while it’s more along a personal level, like, stuck on slow-rolling Amtrak, southbound from Dallas to Austin, passing through Bosque County while the aforementioned Texas Trilogy – “Train Ride” and “Bosque County Romance” segments play, sad songs and train rides? Material that is suited for a particular area, that’s part of what makes it all up. Lyle Lovett covered the songs which brought thirty years of memories swimming back. Finding a CD of original album remastered? In Seattle, while traveling. To me, for me, airports are the train stations and trains of a hundred years ago. The allure and romance of travel, far-flung destination, the daily grind of shuttling from location to location. Hump and bump.

Traveling, in and of itself, is an art that I’m good at.

Further back, what was it? At some point, I’m sure, it was points along the route of a stage coach. I don’t think I would be making this trip if I had to bounce on a stage coach’s seat for two or three days. But back then, too, El Paso was a wilder, more outlaw place. The mythos of the old west. Horseback? Really doubtful. Leave that to the Apache and their purloined ponies.

“Never let the facts interfere with the story”
(Ma Wetzel FAMILY dictum)

From an early age, there was kind of a sadness associated with airports. The sight that tears me up will be a little boy (or girl) in sleeping clothes that have little, sewn-in footies. Speaks of a certain age, and while I can’t remember it, I know that the scene evokes my layer of sadness associated with travel. That, and I remember how I used to fit in a VolksWagon Bug, folded into the back seat, while my dad rode shotgun home. He was catching a ride. There’s also a point where travel tells us about ourselves. Still, there is usually a hint of sadness, like a fragrance in the air.

I recall the first metal detectors. I had a belt knife that would pass with through, part of my belt buckle, brass handle or something, fooled them. These days, I can’t carry anything. At all. Computer, phone, book.

The B-52s, then Steeler’s Wheel, disco hits from the 1980s, and worse, 1970s’ AOR? Movie scene? “Stuck in the middle with you”? It’s not a trivia question, it’s classic film moments – one of the greatest, most memorable psycho scenes. I had two comments, fresh in my mind, one from a Scorpio, “I can never see that film again, it was so gross,” and my Capricorn, “That was the funniest scene!”

“… Earth’s offspring back to earth
But all that’s born of heaven
To heaven returns again.”

Either that or the cluster of atoms pulls apart and one way or another the insensible elements disperse.
Marcus Aurelius – Meditations – Book Seven #50

Travel, just random thoughts that happened when the flight was late. Heavy Weather in the Hill Country, but “We need the rain.”

Local History:
The image alone – advertising jingle unknown – is worth a quick giggle. At least to me. The borders are – historically – drawn wrong – should stretch to Canada.

“Them’s that doesn’t knows they’re history is doomed to do it again.” And again.

Two Meat Tuesday (the book)
astrofish
(cure for the common horoscope)
Pink Cake A commonplace book.
Bexar County Line

Unrelated:
Stonehenge link via the Beeb.

Note to self:
Other places to see?

Houston’s Funeral Museum and Paris Sewer Museum (Left Bank).

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© 1994 – 2021 Kramer Wetzel for kramerw.com

Comments on this entry are closed.

  • ssmith04 Apr 7, 2008 @ 12:51

    Travel and sadness? Travel and nostalgia? Memories bushwack you at the oddest moments and you stop for a bit to look and remember. Train travel does that for me, earliest memories of my childhood, on a train from here to there, from there to another place, and then back again, clakaty, clakity. Don’t look back; the past is catching up.

  • Kramer Apr 9, 2008 @ 9:01

    “But at my back I always hear, the rattle of bones and grin spread from ear to ear…”
    (can’t do modern poetry from memory)

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