"Baby, Please Don't Go"...Te

Twenty something...

 Good Wednesday Morning, all bodies.

Two days ago, we went grocery shopping. Somewhere between the organic pineapples and the eight dollar a basket strawberries, I heard a song that I normally would never hear played on the "Muzak" system.

"Bada-lom, bada-da-lada da-dah lom" the guitar riff continued. Pleasantly surprised, I started to sing those lines. Oh yeh, I said to no one. I used to be able to play that tune. I wondered if I still could.

"Well, your mind done gone,

Well, your mind done gone.

Well, your mind done gone,

Left the county farm.

You had the shackles on,

Baby, please don't go"...

It was a band known as "Them" singin' a version of the 1935 blues song. Seems like every time that song is recorded, the lyrics are changed. Twenty minutes later, standing in the checkout line, I'm still humming the guitar riff and singing the opening lines...

"Baby, please don't go!"

Then, the cashier chimes in... "To the county farm, you know I love you so, baby please don't go!" Or something like that. It was kinda hard to hear her version of the lyrics through the Covid mask.

"Whoa, I said to the twenty something year old girl. You know this song?

With a boogie in her shoulders as she rings up the produce, she tells me that she loves the songs of her parents.

"You know...Sixties music!"

"Yeh, my mom and dad always played that kind of music at home,"she said.

"That's pretty darn cool," I replied. I thought about telling her that I used to be able to play that riff on guitar, but decided to keep those days more to myself... As much as possible!

"Yeh, I don't even like my generation's music."

"You're kiddin'," I asked.

"No really. I prefer the music from those days. My mom and dad are in their seventies and still play it!"

"Uh, huh!"

"Yeh, I'm kinda a renegade in some things," she said.

Handing us the receipt, she shimmies her shoulders again, smiles and gives me a thumbs up as we both continue to sing,""Bada-lom, bada-da-lada da-dah lom"...

First humpty-dump cup, y'all.

Copyright 2022/ Ben Bensen III

"I'm From Texas And Visiting For The Mardi Gras!"

Just thinkin'...

 Good "early morning Monday" Day, y'all.

Looks like another change in the weather... again, and change comes in so many shapes and sizes!

About a week ago or so, I was having a late breakfast in New Orleans when a couple is escorted to a table across from me. When I saw the woman, I began to freak out. Oh my gosh, that face looks awfully familiar.

Attempting to not be too obvious, I scanned over her entire face. With long dirty blonde hair that surrounded and embraced her rather Germanic features, I tried to place that face in some strange foreign timeline.

Who is she? Where did she come from, I thought, as she turned toward me and smiled. Her blue eyes caught mine and then glanced away.

"You idiot," I said to no one but me... "Stop staring!"

With her husband's back toward me, I don't believe he even noticed our momentary contact. But, it wasn't enough.

It wasn't enough!

So I asked the waitress, who never seems to make any eye contact, to pour me another cup as I got up out of my seat feigning a run at the restroom.

From a distance, I could better see the whole woman, her posture, the graceful use of her hands assisting her expressions between bites. She appeared to be in her late thirties wearing jeans and an untucked blouse that flowed down past her waist.

She was beautiful...

I returned to my seat and continued with breakfast occasionally glancing over to the couple's conversation. If I was a woman, I'd be eavesdropping, but my brain could care less and was transfixed on the visual and not their chit chat.

Well into my fourth or fifth cup of coffee, her beau, her friend, her husband... whatever, excused himself and headed for the restroom. She then looked up at me...

"Well, put up or shut up, Ben," I said, once again to no one. Not knowing what to expect, I figured it was now or never.

"Excuse me Miss, you look awfully familiar. Is it possible that we know each other?" I asked.

Looking a bit taken back, she smiled and replied rather softly," I don't think so!"

Flustered, but determined I asked her, "Is your last name Vaz, by any chance?"

"No, she said. My name is Courtney... Courtney Taylor!"

Feeling like an idiot with a "come on" like that, I tried to ease my way out by asking, "Are you from New Orleans?"

"No, she replied rather casually and with complete composure.

"I'm from Texas and visiting for the Mardi Gras!"

"Cool, I said. "Laissez les bon temp rouler!"

"Nice talking to ya!"

Her friend returned as my waitress, with her head turned away, plopped down my receipt and walked away.

Later, seated in my car and looking back at the restaurant, I couldn't help but think about that woman which I was certain I knew. It suddenly came to me. I just knew I'd seen her before...

In another life?

You idiot, I thought. She looked exactly like a childhood friend, Susan Vaz. And, Susan has to be my age or older. What makes you think that she is somehow on this earth exactly as you perceived her to be... young!

Honest... I sometimes scare myself!

Third thoughtful cup, y'all.

"A President's Day story"...

 

Good sunny, Sunday Morning, to all.

So, all of my vitamins and the two prescription meds, were stacked on the table waiting for the In-home Health and Well-being Assessment doctor to arrive.

He was almost two hours late. He blamed it on Mardi Gras traffic.

After a bevy of health history questions that one usually says "No" to, the doc presents the cognitive portion of the test. I know this game, so I was pretty much prepared though, at the time, I could not call to mind Saturday's date.

I was given three words to remember before I was bombarded with challenges like months of the year, spelling words, forward and backwards, math problems (times table) and finally... Who is our country's President?

"Biden," was my response. But, the good doctor kept on requesting more and more past Presidents. "And then?" he'd ask and I'd respond.

"Who came before Biden?"

"Trump", I said.

"And then," he'd ask.

My reply, in descending order, all the way back to Truman was correct with the exception of LBJ... I had to have a hint for the big Texan.

"Biden, Trump, Obama, Bush, Clinton, Bush, Reagan, Carter, Ford, Nixon, JBJ, Kennedy, Eisenhower, Truman, FDR," I replied on a roll!

I'm glad that he was satisfied with that list because I would have had no idea who came before Roosevelt!

Then, and I knew it was coming, the doctor asked me if I could repeat the three words he asked me to remember before he started the "inquisition."

I got two out of the three correct, and with some assistance from the little lady, I got the third... Whew!

Happy "President's Day Weekend" to one and all... And, to all 48 Presidents, living, dying or dead!

And let's see, now... how many first cups have I had this morning?

Copyright 2022/Ben Bensen III

"A Fifteen Minute Prognosis?"

A Graduation Nurse's Cap...

 Good Morning, Wednesday, y'all.

A couple of days ago, Therese’s urologist suggested we see a nurse specialist to handle a concern that this specialist could handle better than he could. I thought it was a strange “prescription” but if it helped we certainly needed check it out. Problem was, it in New Orleans.

Oh great, I thought. There goes another day. An hour there and an hour back to a place I hope we never ever have to visit again. And, for what? A fifteen minute prognosis?

Bonnie spent most of career as a nurse… all 40 plus years. One of the first things I noticed besides her welcoming demeanor (her smile was hidden behind the lately ubiquitous mask!) was a nurse’s cap pinned to her bulletin board.

I kinda like that. Someone who is proud of who they are and their accomplishments over so many years… No participation trophies here!

My doctor/bro is such an anarchist with regards to the medical profession and with good reason, but every now and then, I find some really good, attentive and concerned healthcare folks. Bonnie is one of those!

After assuring us that we were doing certain procedures correctly, and clarifying to us exactly how the healthcare system and the insurance work, she spoke about her plans for retirement.

When she found out that I was an artist, Bonnie whipped out her cellphone to show me her first watercolor still life. I was impressed and told her so.

“My husband told me that I needed to find something productive to occupy my mind and I cannot physically handle gardening!”

“Well, I said, Therese is learning to paint with acrylics.” Therese gives a groan at the perception of her progress.

“Watercolor is one of the more demanding mediums, Bonnie, I’m amazed,” I replied.

In a rather self-effacing, apologetic way, Bonnie said, “I didn’t draw it. The instructor did, but I painted it and like you said, I did it in layers!”

Leaving with her contact information and a small packet of samples to try out, we couldn’t help but wish her the best in her new life as a grandmother, a part time CSN and watercolorist.

It was the best fifty minute visit we’ve had in quite some time!

First cup!

Copyright 2022/Ben Bensen III

"Playing The Politician!"

Cream Daze...

 Good Morning February, all bodies.

I’ve heard it said that growing up in New Orleans whether you’re black, white, rich or poor, sometime in your life you will pick up an instrument and attempt to express yourself musically.

I mentioned that there are so many interesting stories Glenn and Reggie can tell, but in order to do so, too many names would be involved. But, one story I can tell involves just we four band mates.

My cousins, Mark and Glenn Fortier introduced me to one of their high school friend who shared similar tastes in music. They suggested since we were forming our own band in my backyard garage that we consider him as a fourth member. I didn’t know Reggie at all since I was involved in my senior year athletic activities. My cousins felt he would be a good fit. After all, he loved the Buffalo Springfield!

Only real problem we had was that Reggie saw himself as a bass guitarist who, at the time, did not own a bass guitar or amp. He did, though, have a sweet, cherry red, Les Paul Junior. It had solid body with a stock single pickup. It was a real classic, which today Reggie wishes he still had.

Everybody says that about the guitars they once owned!

But, we really liked Reggie and his passion for music, so Mark decided to loan Reggie his Fender P-Bass and amp and he would learn to play rhythm guitar. It’s what kids do when there’s no money or fame involved. It’s a garage band. It’s fun, even though my dad was prone to say that all we ever did was tune up!

Fast forward to a few months later when we got the perk of practicing on stage in our high school auditorium after hours and on weekends. It was no longer used as an auditorium during the school year since the drama class was dropped and talent shows became non-existent after Sister Eurose left. It was from that time forward used as a lunch hall.

We were so spoiled. A couple of times, we’d turn on the stage spotlights… for effect, ya know!

At some point, the guys grew tired of playing Creedence Clearwater songs. That band cranked out some incredible back to back hits within a two year period and I learned just about every one of those. Back before computers, one had to learn the lyrics, write them down in a notebook and read chord charts the “analog” way. The guys helped create, sort of, but I was the one who had to learn the lead parts… That was very time consuming! The other thing we had to figure out was that the speed of each individual turntable could significantly change the key you sought to play the song in.

Well, one session, Reggie had worked out at home the lead bass pattern to Cream’s song,”Politician.” He was pretty proud of himself, and suggested we practiced that opening bass and lead riff. And, we did. It was his attempt to steer us in another direction with some newer more contemporary songs but Mark didn’t want to pursue it any further because he thought it was boring riff, and we didn’t know the words. Glenn didn’t want to rehearse it because it was too repetitious and not very conducive to the drums. Undaunted, Reggie said that it was just a blues pattern we all could jam on with each guy having his jam part to play.

After locking down the basic riff, to my ears, it all sounded pretty tight. Reggie looked at me hoping to sway the opinion his way, but I let him down. I said,”I love the idea, Reggie and I understand where you are coming from but, “The only problem is,” I said with a sigh…

“I ain’t no Eric Clapton!”

First cup!

Copyright 2022/Ben Bensen III

"The Best Of 2021"

 

Sample sketches from 2021

Well, another year's been passed and it's time to raise that glass,

Let's all have a toast...

Another year's almost behind us now... and, what's done is done!

With that in mind, I'll post some of the better sketches I've "done" throughout the year. Hope you like it!

https://www.facebook.com/Gumboben/posts/10223830574905300

Copyright 2022/Ben Bensen III

"Albuquerque, And A Wrong Turn?"

Tootsie Taco Tuesday?

 Good Taco Tuesday Morning, all bodies.

Well, Therese was getting tired of waiting for AT&T to send her a replacement iPhone and after getting the runaround from corporate, getting in an argument in Mandeville's office and finding no help in the Covington office, we took off for the city of Franklinton to get some respect.

Therese didn't get all that she hope for, but seemed satisfied... sorta!

So, we went across the street to a recommended Mexican restaurant called "Don Juan's". When we entered, the local lunch crowd was leaving. The food was okay. The margarita was huge and tasty.

By 2pm or so, I noticed we were the only people in the place, so I went to the counter to pay the bill. Like the rest of the staff, the woman, wearing black slacks, a black tee shirt and sweater was working the cash register. She appeared to me much older than the staff and therefore seemed to be the boss overseeing high school age servers.

She perfunctorily asked how we liked the meal and the service and I proceeded to tell her about our lunch and how one of the employees across the street at AT&T suggested this restaurant.

She surmised that we weren't from Franklinton and from there, as the conversation continued, it got kinda interesting.

She asked me where we were from.

"Originally, we're from New Orleans but we now live in Folsom," I said.

"We moved there from Los Angeles!"

"Oh yeh?" she asked. "What part of LA?"

"I spent, she said, a few years living in Canoga Park!"

As the cash register did its thing, I told her my name and she told me that hers was Lynn. Our little chat continued as we both spoke about our time in Los Angeles.

She 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.

“In the next six months, we hope to complete construction on some property of his family, sell it and move back to Albuquerque,” Lynn said.

“Well, that’s a lot to have happen in six months or so,” I said.

“So, what’s up with Albuquerque… Not enough turns?”

( She either didn't get the joke or didn't like it! )

“No, she said. My folks still live there and I want to get back to there continue my career!”

“Oh yeh?”

“What do you do there for a living,”I asked.

“I’m a mortician!”

“A MORTICIAN?” I gasped.

“Yeh, she said.

And before I could reply with that age old “Cemetery joke” that people are just dying to get in, she said with a laugh…

"And, it's cool 'cuz I can take my “Don Juan’s” uniform home with me when I leave!”

Second Saturday cup!

Copyright 2022/Ben Bensen III