"Yes, I Sketched A Gas Cap..."

Good Sunday Morning, all bodies.

Yesterday, after feeding the birds, the dog and my baby ( she had a two egg ham and cheese omelet with avocado slices! ) I took off for parts unknown.

If you are wondrin' why I decided to sketch a gas cap, let me explain...

"There's fumes coming from your engine," my wife said. And, she was right. Somehow, someway, I had lost one of the gas caps to the two 5 gallon tanks on my lawn tractor. I, therefore, thought the most prudent thing to do was to shut the whole lawn thing down.

No honor in going down in flames, especially, cutting the grass.

My ExMark service center was thirty miles away, but even further if I have to drive all the way into Hammond to arrive there from the backside.

"Hey Zel, I need to replace a gas cap... Are you guys open? And, Is the bridge finally fixed?"

"Ben, how did you lose the cap?

"I don't know, man. I have a habit of filling the gas tanks and then, put away the gas can before returning the last cap back on the tank. I've done it before and usually find the missing cap ensconced neatly between the tank and the engine. But this time, I've walked the property twice and can't seem to find it!"

Zel replied,"You'll find it soon enough when you run over it and wreck your blades, ha!

"Ha, ha, very funny, Zel. Is the bridge finally fixed?"

"No, it is not, but you can drive around the barricades that are placed on both sides of the bridge... I've been doing it for the past year or so!"

To me, it seems awfully strange for it to take over one year to repair or even replace a bridge. Of course, Louisiana is a third world country!

Having never seen the bridge in question all the years I've traveled to Tickfaw, the thought of getting caught by the police moving the barricades or attempting to drive the edge on the brink of disaster was not what I needed in my life... right now!

But, I threw caution to the wind to save a few precious minutes and miles and drove passed the intersection where large yellow detour signs abound. Traveling a few more hundred yards, I arrived at a even larger sign that warned...

BRIDGE OUT... except for local traffic.

"Local traffic? Bingo!"Ha

I arrived at the shop where, though Zel was nowhere to be found, a gas cap rested on the counter for me to pick up.

Having succeeded in bagging my prey, I figured since I hadn't had any breakfast that I would treat myself to a visit at the Hammond Cracker Barrel. The food was great! The place brought back memories of the times my son and I would stop for a bite before dropping him off at school.

I decided that since I didn't have my iPad with me, I'd have a few more cups and sketch. It's been a while and...

It just seemed fitting to sketch a gas cap!

Third cup, today!

"Impromptu Sketches at a Coffee House...

Spent about four or five hours making some adjustments and adding my cocker spaniel to the  painting at Giddy Up. Later in the evening, I returned to share a few brews with friends and sketch the duet called "25 South". Interesting name for a group that harkens from Franklinton, LA.

I wonder if they ever go north on highway 25?

Anyway, these are the only two sketches I did last night. I spent about 20 minutes or so on each sketch.

Copyright 2019/Ben Bensen III

"Ninty-One and Counting"...

Well, Good "Happy New Year" Tuesday, y'all.

Hope no one over celebrated and ushered in 2019 with a headache or hangover.

Yesterday morning on New Years Eve, I decided to share a cup at Gus's with anyone lonely enough or hungry enough to be there. I knew Henry Mauthe (pronounced, "Mo-tay") would be there. He's always there for breakfast since he retired a few months back and celebrated his 91st birthday.

I was in my usual end of the year funk when I noticed that there were quite a few of the regular patrons there. I said my hello's and as I started to pour myself a cup of coffee I noticed Mr. Mauthe was finishing up breakfast and preparing to leave to start the day. I heard one of the regulars wish Mr. Mauthe a Happy New Year. As he approached the door, another friend blurted out...

"Mr.Henry, now you call me if you need a ride home tonight, okay?

I about choked with laughter on my first sip.

"You got my cellphone number, so don't be afraid to call me!"

"Yeh, buzzed driving is drunk driving, ya know?" said another guy!

First cup of the new year!

Copyright Ben Bensen III/ 2019

"And Stay By My Side 'Til Morning Is Nigh."

I got up and started a pot of coffee like I always do. The morning routine always messes with my trend of thought. It's true what a friend said to me about the darkness before the dawn. Lying awake staring at what would be the bedroom ceiling, if I could see it, was, she said, her most productive time.

I agree. But today I race to scribble down bits and pieces of an emotion I know will be fleeting.

The guy really wasn't a great guitarist though in most of the photos I saw had him thumbing a big, badass Fender bass. I realized as I watched him strum an acoustic three chord riff devoid of any seventh note in the turnaround, that I didn't really know him all that well.

I met the man through his partner who, over the many years, came by to repair, reroute or replace our home entertainment system. Every time he entered our master bedroom with a smile he'd ask if I still played.

"Not like I used to man," I said. "My heart just ain't into it much anymore!"

"That's a shame," he'd reply. You really should start again, ya know? It's good for the soul!"

A week or so ago, I pulled out my Fender Mustang and started in on some tunes that I used to play well. Many of them were Christmas songs of the traditional non "Keep Christ in your Christmas" type. I hadn't play in so long my finger tips were no longer callous enough to play for very long.The days of playing till my fingers bled were last since gone, but my intention was to get my fingers strong enough to join him with my acoustic guitar to play some swamp music. I knew that he liked Creedence Clearwater Revival. I thought that it would be a nice surprise and some fun.

Every day for over a month, my friend would video tape himself playing and singing a gospel song. I told him how much I enjoyed his daily performance, but not being into gospel music, was amazed at how many songs there really are to sing. And, he sang them very well and pretty much from memory.

My fractured thinking isn't strong enough to put down in words this feeling of great loss. Casey's last performance was a few days ago when he sang the lyrics to a well known Christmas song... "Away in a Manger". His voice was still quite strong, though it wavered and cracked as he sang Christmas greetings to everyone on the eve of His birth. At 2:40 am, December 29th, Casey's gospel song book and guitar were permanently put to rest.

"I love you Lord Jesus; look down from the sky,
And stay by my side until morning is nigh."

The morning light distracts. It splinters my concentration into too many pieces. My eyes steal away what the darkness provides. Always.

I think I'll have a second cup!

Copyright 2018/ Ben Bensen III

"Rakin' Leaves!"

Never thought "rakin' leaves" could be so, so "FASHIONABLE!"

I was looking for something autumnal to replace my Acura Integra car cover and stumbled upon this which was done in a fashion class at Art Center. The teacher loved the gouache painting, but wondered how it would fit into the daily deadlines of the fashion world.

She was right, but I just wanted to paint in goauche!

Who knew? Never thought "rakin' leaves" could be so, so "FASHIONABLE!"

I just heard on the morning news that the fashion world wants us to recycle, mend or reuse clothing instead of buying new clothes (WHOA!) to help reduce the carbon footprint.

So funny... Here's one of my tee shirts that a friend, Nikki Koehler Guza, brought back from her visit with family. It's about thirty years old. I think I'll recycle it when the minor league's team's logo, "The Nashville Sound," finally crumbles off of the shirt!

Second warm cup on a cold, grey, wet Tuesday!

Copyright 2018/ Ben Bensen III

"A Wretched, Spiteful, Strait Razor Toting" Friday

Good "wretched, spiteful, strait razor toting" Friday, y'all.

Surfing the internet in between plays last night, I discovered the passing of musician Tony Joe White. It really affected me. I had to find and play Brook Benton's version of White's "Rainy Night In Georgia." His deep, soulful interpretation complete with orchestration always laid me out. It did well for both writer and singer.

Tony Joe's original version ain't too bad either, but the song that just about everyone knows or remembers is "Polk Salad Annie." A true original created by someone who probably lived it.

My reflection on his death reminded me of the time I found my mother sobbing over the death of Jack Benny. I was totally surprised that my mom would care enough to be so moved by his passing. I tried to be consoling, but at the age of fourteen, it seemed a complete incongruity to me. My mother, by that time in her life was pretty hardened by life. She was not one to cry, so I thought.

Death always changes the game. It affects us emotionally in many different ways.

Before John Lennon's senseless assassination, death really didn't affect me though many actors, actresses, politicians, ball players, relatives and friends had passed away before my fifteenth birthday.

Over time, excess took some of my favorite musicians like Elvis, Jimi, Jim, Janis, as well as baseball hero, Mickey Mantle. Airplanes didn't help either. Later in the years, death took people I was prepared to mourn, like Brian Wilson, who somehow survived to witness the death of both of his brothers... but he survived. Who knew?

Reading about White's passing didn't have me in tears, but it did make me very sad. I felt I lost a part of me that I'll never get back. I suspect Jack Benny's passing affected my mom in ways I just couldn't grasp. She must have felt death slowly moving into her world. She lived a full life just south of her ninetieth birthday. But, for that one moment she was affected by that notion.

I know I feel somewhat like that losing Tony Joe White. I never met the man. I never saw him in concert. Maybe I feel I didn't appreciate him enough. Maybe, I feel the same way about all the great people that surround me to make my life so rich. The best I can do is enjoy his legacy and the songs that he left behind.

Chomp, chomp... 

Third cup!

Copyright 2018/ Ben Bensen III

"A New Chapeaux, I Suppose!"

ah-Choo...

With all the various garments floating atop women’s heads this time of year, a funny thought entered my mind.

Many women nowadays do their Easter parade thing at church sporting all kinds of ornamental designs of Spring. It got me to thinking about the tradition of women and headdress on Sunday at Mass or a holiday service.

How come men don’t wear headgear when they go to church?

I do remember, as a teenager, the de-evolution of the churchly chapeaux. It must have been a sin as a woman in the Catholic faith to enter into church without a covering of some sort. Maybe it was a way of demanding obedience to the church, that patriachal thing, or a symbol of the Virgin Mary since I’ve never seen her without a veil of some sort.

I remember in high school, when I started paying attention to girls and the strange things they do, that they were all concerned about going to Mass “uncovered!” Being raised in a Catholic environment, it seemed we were always going to church for one thing or another. I don’t remember high school girls rushing to their lockers to pull out the ubiquitous beret, beanie or bandana or whipping out, frantically, some fold up fedora or fez hat from their knapsack just before walking through the doors of church. 

One thing is for sure, in the sixties, it was fairly obvious that girls worried about what was gonna accompany their head in church. Those less than organized young ladies resorted to any and every thing before crossing the vestibule.

It was at that point, the devolving of the traditional redress occurred. White veils, scarves and beanies became bobbie pinned doilies, handkerchiefs and sometimes in a fit of desperation, a clean Kleenex!

No kidding!

Don’t quite know when that “tradition” ended. Maybe it ended with the pill and the sexual revolution that it spawned. Maybe not. I guess I need to look further into this intriguing subject, but I probably won’t.

More fun to speculate!

Copyright 2018/ Ben Bensen III