"Don't Touch That Dial", y'all.

 

Usually on Saturday mornings at the coffeehouse, the younger baristas man the counter and the drive-up window. Mary, the "don't call me a barista!" barista, usually opens the place just before seven. Mario, the only male that has ever worked at GiddyUp follows shortly after and turns on the radio on Sirius to a rather "alternative" scene. It's not head bashing or heavy metal grooves, but for drinking coffee and trying to ease into the morning, it is a bit... odd!

Between 8am and 9am, the girls stroll in, and I can tell by what's on the radio by who has control of those "dials!"

The older ladies prefer the Fifties and Sixties. In that rotation is always Etta James, "A Sunday Kinda Love" even though it is Saturday. You know, Frankie Baby, Peggy Lee, Johnny Mathis, Sara Vaughn, etc.

Laura, who only now works on Saturday afternoons, always played the Beatles catalogue with a few Beach Boy tunes thrown in. I love it!

Madison, who is an early morning staple, doesn't really have a particular favorite though I can tell when she changes the channel. By her own admission, she likes music that one can "study by!"

Mary says, "Maddie, play some music, but nothing "too sleepy!"

When Isabella, the woman who had a radio program called "Girls Up Front!" arrives, suddenly, there's this ethereal, celestial, sounds, heavy with breathy reverb that, in a way, seems too perfect for this world!

Everyone is copacetic with the choices of the morning until someone goes on break...

"Quick, Mario's away, change the channel!"

No one 'cept Sandra and Mary understood my reference to the living room battles created when someone got up to change the TV channel only to lose their favorite chair in the process.

Ah, the good ole days!

Copyright 2024/Ben Bensen III

"A Companion For His Magical Montana Mystery Tour!"

A breakfast quiche at Giddy Up coffeehouse

Good “Sandra likes me best” Wednesday Morning, y’all.

Saw Badass this morning. He’s recuperated from that alumni gathering he was a part of last weekend. He said he had a good time, but lamented the fact that only fifteen friends made it to the reunion.

"I seem to be outliving everyone," he said in a rather conflicted way.

"Cuz you're a stubborn sonofabitch, Larry!"

Changing the subject, I asked him if he went to have another biopsy on Monday. He said he did and it “didn’t hurt!” He said that he would get the results back in a week. They’re checking out his lungs for any returning mesothelioma tumors… so far, so good!

“It don’t make no difference, Ben,” he said. He always says that!

Thinking that wasn’t a good topic to further pursue, I asked him about giving the sketch that I fixed for him to his old “use-to-be!”

With a smile, he said, “Yeh, she really liked it with all the changes!”

“I told her that I paid six hundred dollars for it. I almost got a “smooch” out of it,” he said with a wink.

“She might have given you one, if you hadn’t told her how much you spent on the sketch,” I replied.

“She probably thought you were a spend thrift, ha!”

“I know. I, later, told her that I was lying, but she didn’t believe me!”

“It don’t matter none!”

I have a hunch that he wants a companion for his Magical Montana Mystery Tour to frolic with amongst the buffalo… preferably a female one!

Just then, Sandra came by and derailed our conversation by delivering my Greek Frittata.

“You gonna eat all that, alfalfa sprouts and all?” Badass asks.

“Of course,” I replied. “It’s Sandra’s Special" 'cuz...

“She likes me best!”

“She must,” Larry said.

First cup!

Copyright 2024/Ben Bensen III

"I'll Take The Plane With The Teeth!"

Beechcraft Model 18

 Good "kinda freaked out" Friday Morning, y'all.

I received a call about a month or so from a woman representing the Sonoma Valley Airport looking to use one of my Beechcraft on-site drawings from the Van Nuys Days circa 1986. It threw me for a loop.

The Vintage Aircraft Company has recently completed a rebuild of a 1946 Beechcraft Model 18 with plans to roll it out at the airport's Chili Cookout Car and Aircraft Show in mid-October. They wanted permission to use one of my drawings for a tee-shirt fundraiser. But, just yesterday morning, I told Therese that I didn't think it whole idea was gonna happen since I called many times attempting to negotiate terms and never got a return call.

A bit disappointed, I decided to forget about the whole thing.

While sitting at a local Wendy's still trying to decide what Wendy's Frosty flavor I was gonna get while Therese went shopping, I got a call from Sheryl.

After apologizing for responding, we talked about the project, the fundraiser and the price for the usage of my illustration. When she mentioned a possible ride in a WWII Warhawk or Mustang, I got the feeling the museum board didn't wanna pay what I was asking for the design.

So funny. When I mentioned to my wife about the option to fly in a WWII fighter, she was, amazingly, all for it. I mean, SAY WHAT? My demure, shy, Miss Prim and Proper companion of 51 years wants to go air combat over the skies of Sonoma!

"I'll take the plane with the teeth," she said.

"Whoa!"

BTW, the check's in the mail!

First cup!

Copyright 2023/Ben Bensen III

" Procrastination Has Its Cost"...

Cool...

 Good "frosty" Friday Morning, all bodies!

Oh, about a year ago, something in the studio smelled musty and kinda mildewed. After a month or so of investigating every corner of the place, I surmised it wasn't the window AC. I believe it was a throw rug near the back door. Problem was I practically took apart the window unit to check it out and never reassembled the damn thing because I just don't bend and twist like I did when I bought and placed it in the window years ago.

Well, in late summer of last year, some industrious wasps decided since I wasn't using the damn thing that THEY would. I wrongly assumed that the buzzing sound the bugs were making

were nothing but another flying insect desperately trying to extricate itself from a spider web.

Good riddance, I'd say.

But it kept getting louder and louder and more frequent. I decided it was time to create my own "RAID riddance" on the gang, and put back the air conditioner into service . I actually thought about calling a repairman to put the unit back together again, but figured having one come out to "service it" would probably cost as much as the unit did years ago.

Well, you know procrastination has its cost. it took me the entire year to think about it, until yesterday! Ah yes. The added expense to our electric bill never sounded so sweet as when I plugged in that beauty.

First Giddy Up cup, y'all.

Copyright 2023/Ben Bensen III

"The Insurance Company Never Admitted That It Was A Tornado!"

 Good "a bit sketchie" Sunday Morning, y'all.

Decided to spend some time sketching today. Too hot to do much more than that. So, while Tee took off, in the cool of the early morning for her Jazzercise class, I decided to take the lawn tractor, a cup of coffee and my sketchbook over to the running shed in the back paddock to sit and render the destruction.

The insurance company never admitted that it was a tornado that, three years ago, skipped across the back paddock, but they found enough damage to our roof to replace it. I also got reimbursed to fix the shed, but life got in the way. So, the next best thing to do is to sketch it...

First cup!

Copyright 2023/Ben Bensen III

"Mary, Can You Change The Music, Please"....

 Good "I hate the f%@*king Eagles, man!" Saturday Morning, y'all.

Well, ya know, it's one of those pre-programmed stations whose playlist just overplays certain songs and certain groups.

Big Al and I arrived at the counter to the mellow sounds of "Take It To The Limit" to order some coffee. Al always gets a small expresso cappucino. He normally stays only long enough to finish his morning jolt, but today was a bit different.

"Mary, can you change the music. I hate the damn Eagles," I said rather irritably since I hadn't had my first cup yet.

"Dude, exclaimed Big Al, The Big Lebowsky!"

"Hey you mean like the Dude, his Dudeness, Duder, um, the effin El Duderino?"

"Yeh, man, Al said, that line is from the movie,"The Big Lebowsky!"

"Oh man, Mary jumps in and says, I love that movie!"

Next thing you know, we three are recreating our favorite scenes like bowling alley confrontations, the sweater, the rug, the Dude's penchant for a white Russians... stuff like that.

Al and I got our coffees, sat down and for another twenty minutes or so, we're mixing the movie with other subjects like the finer points of welding (Big Al's a metal sculptor) and my Air Force paintings in the Pentagon.(I had just received my new copy of ASAA's "Aero Brush" magazine and brought it along to read.)

His cappucino finished, Al gingerly extracts himself from the leather sofa and as he heads for the door, Al turns and stops, smiles and points to the heavens and says, "I hate the f%@**king Eagles"... Ha!

"Take It Easy" was playing on the radio.

No cups, yet...

 Copyright 2023/Ben Bensen III

"Making The Best Use Of My Time"...

Thirst quenching for the Soul...

 Good "expecting two phone calls" Wednesday Morning, y'all.

Not that I'm gonna get either one... Just sayin'...

Had a fun morning on Monday with some of the LAG pals at Giddy Up. It was fun to sketch with a cup of coffee and "chew the fat" with the pals till the sun came out full force and practically blinded everyone at their sketchpads. My effort was rather half hearted, I think. 

Hated to do it, but I left everyone to get to my doctor's appointment early only to spend over an hour "Waitin'". I wasn't sure I could stand another home renovating program on TV in the medical center's lobby.

So, I snuggled up to this incredible thirst quenching machine with my sketchbook. I was sure they'd come and get me before I finished the rendering... Thirty or so minutes well spent, me thinks!

First cobweb clearing cup, y'all.

"MORTICIAN?"

Momentarily stunned...

Good "talk about a throwback" Thursday Morning, all bodies.

A couple of days ago, Tee and I went to the small town of Franklinton, LA where we now employ the services of a CPA. Occasionally, we stop at a Mexican restaurant called "Don Juan."

The woman who took us to our seat and offered us something to drink looked vaguely familiar. When I asked her, as I normally do, what her name was, she told us it was Lynn.

That should have been our first clue.

I inquired about the new bar renovation they were adding to the restaurant, to which she said, "I don't know what their plans are. It got pretty crowded having the bar behind the cash register."

"I really don't know". Today's my last day here at Don Juan's."

"Oh wow, I said. Where you moving to?

Albuquerque was all she said like she was tired of being teased about it.

"No kidding, Albuquerque, huh... that's wild," I replied.

"There was a waitress here about a year ago who told me that originally, she was from Albuquerque, but moved from Houston, where she met her husband to be. They eventually married and moved to Franklinton to care for his mom," I said.

While placing my fajitas order, I rambled on about this woman with plans to return to her home town. I remember her saying that in the next six months, they hoped to complete construction on some property belonging her husband's family, sell it and move back to Albuquerque.

”I noticed her pause mid order with pen and pad in hand and a stunned, distant stare.

"And you know what," I asked, "This woman was returning home to continue the business she left behind."

"You'll never guess what she does for a living," I said.

"A mortician?" she supposed.

"Yes!"

"Wait... WHAT? How did you know! Is that you?"

"You mean, you're the person I'm talking about? You mean that you've never left after all this time?

"So, you're the mortician I wrote about in Facebook last year."

https://sketchiethoughts.blogspot.com/.../albuquerque-and...

"Yeh, she said. You wrote about me in your Facebook?"

"Yeh, I replied, this is incredible!" I wrote about you for one of my Facebook posts." I felt our conversation about a year ago to be quite fascinating!"

"I remember that your hair was a lot longer and you ending our conversation by saying, "And, it's cool 'cuz I can take my “Don Juan’s” uniform (which was all black at that time!) home with me when I leave!”

Finishing our lunch, I wished her all the best and as we headed for the door, she said, "This time, for sure!"

First cup..

Copyright 2023/Ben Bensen III

All rea

A "National Women's Month" Monday Morning Thought...

If the 45 skipped, put a quarter on the tone arm... and play!

 Good "National Women's Month" Monday Morning, all bodies.

We were on our way back from the hospital late about a week ago. It was dark, it was foggy, and it felt like driving into an abyss. We were traveling in our Honda Fit which didn't have a cd in the player, so Therese, put on the radio and found an oldies station on the AM dial.

Maybe, searching for a distraction or some music, she felt the same way I did!

It was a scratchy AM connection most of the way until we reached "radio free Folsom" where it suddenly came in loud and clear. That first clear sound that emanated through the fog was the 1959 top ten song called, "Teen Beat" by the artist, Sandy Nelson... a drummer!

To my knowledge, it is the only song, short of the mid-sixties classic by the Surfaris called, "WipeOut," that featured almost exclusively drums. It all put a smile on my face and brought me back down to earth... Sort of.

I was nine years old. My big sister was twelve. Adele was the more feminine of the three sisters. There was no rough housing around her which my middle sister, Becky and I, loved to do. There was always a "wrassle,"a fake brawl or western saloon scene she and I would recreate receiving fake punches and falling all over the bed only to roll a classic death scene onto the floor.

Adele, who, in her teen years, loved to be called, "Mickey" didn't like sports especially baseball which was something nobody else in the family, at that time, understood. I'm not sure, but I'd have to assume she had no idea who the real Mickey was. Probably, that Disney character.

Mom, in all likelihood, sent her to dance classes and recitals. "Mickey" had all the moves. And she used them when we danced. It's not like I hadn't seen them all when I'd occasionally catch her posing in front of the mirror. The "come hither stare", the coy look, the disinterested smirk, the ecstatic smile, the studious look with a pair of glasses ever so lightly, nipping at her nose, you know. Even so, as a nine year old, it was one of those things I didn't understand. Or didn't wanna!

Those moves, so different, so natural to a girl becoming a woman, would hijack my "sock hop days!" It was easier and safer in my letter jacket to stand in front of the band and watch the guitar players play.

But, in her room, "Teen Beat", oh yes, "Teen Beat" had Mickey and I pounding away on our air drums, hitting the cymbals, and rolling the floor toms, at just the right time. I'm sure shaking her hair wildly with an occasional "Shimmy, Shimmy, Ko Ko Bop", embarrassed all of her statuesque heroes, Buddha, Napoleon, and the Virgin Mary as they reluctantly rattled to our snare drum "paradiddles".

If you know the song, it opens purely with drums, but when the guitar and piano jump in, Mick and I would go crazy even playing a little air guitar long before it was a big thing. Oh man, and each time the music modulated to the next key, our moves got even more intense, working each other and our imaginary drum kit into a real sweat. Higher and higher the song goes as no African beat can comprehend with spins, and twists, with dizzying revolutions enough to send us teeter-tottering on the brink of disaster.

Thankfully, it is only a two and a half minute song.

Snare and bass drums, high hat and ride cymbals, tom-toms, and floor toms, we both played ourselves to a frenzy pounding out in a rhythmic heartbeat that is luscious and sensorial!

Exhausted and out of breath, with the song's final crash of the cymbals, we'd laugh and both collapse on her bed, or the floor...whichever came first.

Yeh, I learned a few things about girls with that song. I also learned how to play the drums!

Copyright 2023/Ben Bensen III

"Whenever A Holiday Lands On A Garbage Day!"

Missed It Again...

Good "Mardi Gras Plus One" Wednesday Morning, all bodies.

All I have to say is, "Where's my broom?"
There's way too much "ashes and dust" around here today!

Whenever a holiday lands on a garbage day there's always confusion about whether those mysterious masters of muck and refuse will show up. Therese told me that is probably best to put the garbage can out front on the street. Ya know, just in case!

Well, I didn't.

Sure enough on my way back from the coffeeshop around ten or so, there they were... More bright and earlier than usual on cruising our street.

"Hey man," I asked, are you finished running Orleans Ave?"

"I don't know. Lemme ax 'da driver... He's 'da boss!"

"I can go get my bagged trash and meet you on any of the other streets, if you don't mind."

As I drove off to go get rid of my bagged trash, I noticed in the rear view mirror, that those "merrimen of mirth and joviality" backed up the garbage truck onto one of the side streets, turned and high tailed it out of Merrywood.

Hey, I am sure they want to "Laissez les bon temps roulet" their asses off too! Ya know?

C'est la vie!

AND, I know that I've used this visual SO many times. I apologize for that, but it has never seemed more appropriate. Talk about missing 'da boat!

And, yeh... I've done that too!

First cup... old coffee! 
Copyright 2023/ Ben Bensen III

 

"That's My Rant!"

 

You know, my dad always gave me a hard time about my guitar playing and the music I loved… ALWAYS!

Our son was heavy into the rap scene… a suburban white boy searching for "street cred." I never liked the sing song, nursery rhyme styled sound. Melodically, I find it quite boring. I hated the misogynistic lyrics and the violence. I tried to explain to him that this form of expression is not one which most suburbanites understand because it is not how they live their life.

A kid living in a ghetto can walk out the door in the morning and never see that door ever again. I believe he understood my point. It didn't stop him from listening to that kind of music. And, I respected his choice to listen to it. Brian got great music history from me. I've always been proud of his musical roots. Still, I never denigrated his choices like my father did.

Most of today's Grammy styled music is corporate. I remember the variety show called, "In Concert." I believe it was on ABC in the late sixties, and in it, there was no fakin' it. You plugged in and got turned on.

It was live and it was about the music.

I loved it. But, it didn't last as long as Don Kirshner's Rock Concert with smoke bombs, and silly dancers gyrating in spandex baloney, light shows and fake psychedelic graphics. Every body seemed to love it better. It's entertaining and not boring… makes you wanna get up and dance.

You really don't need an instrument for that, do you? Well, maybe as a prop because it's cool looking and gives you "street cred!"

It's an extravaganza…

Today, that's called rock music! That wins Grammy's. My father would have love it, or at least, a good portion of it. I like Madonna, I like Lady GaGa, ( I'd prefer Adele, Janis, or Amy Winehouse! ). I like Elton John's on stage silliness, almost spoofing someone like Liberace, both of whom actually are/were musicians. Unlike my critical father, who believed Chuck, Lil' Richard, Elvis, Fats, Ray and Sam, were just a bunch of no talent clowns playing "the "n" word music which was destroying the fabric of the country he fought a war to preserve, I choose to embrace, as best as I can, all music because it is, to me, the best form of artistic expression.

Personally, I believe these wonderfully choreographed, lip synced, stage "acts" certainly have a place, but not in a back yard garage or the sweaty, juke joints, and local bars where rock 'n roll was born and, to a certain degree, still thrives.

They belong on a dance floor… as glitzy vaudeville acts in Vegas.

That's my rant. Just saying… and feeling!

Lost and Found Again...

 Good Friday Morning, all bodies.

Wanna thank everyone for all the wonderful congratulatory comments and well wishes. We had a fun day, yesterday, just being together.

About four or five months ago, I talked Therese into replacing her glasses with some new ones. I didn’t really want to participate in what style glasses she would buy. I felt that just getting her to a place was good enough. Over the many years, she’s always looked great in any of the ones she chose to wear.

Well, about a month ago, she was forced to wear the second pair she bought because she misplaced the first pair which she like best. She didn’t care the second pair which she said was heavy and made her look like her mother.

Man O’ man, we searched EVERYwhere in the house. We even checked under the pillows of the sofas and then, tipped over the sofas to inspect the possibilities, but with no luck. Because she hated that second pair, I talked her into buying two more pair.

This time, I paid attention to what she wanted to buy and gave my approval on the two new ones she bought.

Now, understand me when I say that we looked everywhere for that first pair of glasses. No stone was left unturned… for weeks!

Yet, yesterday, while replacing an old monitor for a new one, behind the sliding tray that housed the computer’s keyboard was, quietly sitting, Therese’s “hide and go seek” glasses. The possibility of ever finding those spectacles would have been slim and none, but now she has four pairs of glasses to wear and to “lose and find!”

Not to be undone, I sent the entire gym full of trainers to search and find my solo car key which I could have sworn I brought with me to the gym. When I know that I’m gonna be active, I usually take my car key off the cumbersome and, always in the way, keychain.

They looked everywhere. Under lifecycles, therapy beds, weights, treadmills, Universal weight machines and benches and just about everywhere, but to no avail. Luckily, Therese brought her purse into the gym which housed her set of keys because my missing solo car key fell out of my pocket and onto the car seat… unbeknownst to me. I later called the gym to thank them for the “wild goose chase” I sent them on to find my solo car key.

Talk about an interaction between two different organisms living in close physical association…Symbiosis has nothing on us.

First cup…

Copyright 2022/Ben Bensen III

"One Hell Of A Sermon!"

There's another one somewhere in Montana!

 Good “wrasslin’ Wednesday, all bodies.

When I arrived, Badass was sitting by himself. His buddies, Herb Galloway and Tom Burns was ensconced in our normal sitting area talking cattle… like they always do. Larry didn’t wanna impose, he said.

As we so often do, old Badass drifts into theology with me. I think he’s trying to save me before he kicks the bucket. Today, Larry gets the lowdown on his health and although he says, “it don’t mean nuthin’“, I know it does.

Because one of Larry's pet peeves is priests preaching about things they don't know, I proceeded to aggravate and distract him by asking to explain the difference between priests and pastors being ignorant of real people and how they live their life, or are they being just plain stupid.

Analogies abound, but...

“Although, when we was younger, me and my buddy were at Mass at St. Peter’s in Covington and this man started to nod off,” he said.

“Mustah been one boring ass sermon,” I replied.

“No, he said. The guy, who was sitting between me and my buddy, slid into my friend’s shoulder and he didn’t know what to do, so he pushed the man’s head over toward me and my shoulder!

“Freaked me out 'cuz that man was out cold,” Larry said.

“Aw, c’mon now, man,” I replied. “He stayed there on your shoulder through the entire rest of the Mass?”

“No, we called a priest to come check on the guy. We were nervous that someone would think we killed him... Or sumpthin.”

“And, that priest checked the man out and declared that, indeed, he was dead!” Must have had a heart attack right there in church,” he said.

“Now, Badass continues with a laugh, that’s a priest that knows the difference from being ignorant or being just plain stupid!”

Playing along as best as I could, I replied,"In that case, it mustah been one HELL of a sermon!”

I know, I know, but just couldn’t help myself…

No cups, yet!

Copyright 2022/ Ben Bensen III

"The Whiff"...

The "Whiff!"

 Good Wednesday Morning, y'all.

If only the weather would stay this nice... What a beautiful way to start the day and to put the "kibosh" on my final painting for the Abita show. It's entitled, "Heavy Metal Thunder!"

This morning, after showering, I opened the medicine cabinet to get my razor blade and a Wiffle ball fell out.

I know, I know! You're asking what the hell is a Wiffle ball is doing in a medicine cabinet. Oh, the wiffleball stories I could tell. But, I'll just stay with this one since it's the ball our kid played with for many years even after his baseball playing days.

Wikipedia says, "Miniature versions of baseball have been played for decades, including stickball, improvised by children, using everything from rolled up socks to tennis balls. The ball most commonly used in the game was invented by David N. Mullany at his home in Fairfield, Connecticut in 1953[2] when he designed a ball that curved easily for his 12-year-old son. It was named when his son and his friends would refer to a strikeout as a "whiff". The Wiffle Ball is about the same size as a regulation baseball, but is hollow, lightweight, of resilient plastic, and no more than 1/8 inch (3 mm) thick. One half is perforated with eight .75-inch (19 mm) oblong holes; the other half is non-perforated. This construction allows pitchers to throw a tremendous variety of curveballs and risers.

Brian used to take the ball down the block in South Pasadena to his friend, Jeremy MaCauge's home. They'd spend hours on the front lawn trying to strike each other out. The ball, later, took on a new life here in Louisiana where Brian would introduce his pitching style to some of his college buddies.

The ball later sat, for years, in a box along with some other memorabilia. Some things like memories are easier to let go of than others. At the time, not knowing where to put it and not sure I was ready to give it away, I put it up on the top shelf of the medicine cabinet in our guest bathroom thinking that I'd save that decision for later.

I guess I've decided, even though it jumped out at me this morning, that I haven't yet decided!

First cup!

Copyright 2022/Ben Bensen III