"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

"That's Summers With An "O", He Exclaimed!"

Nothing To Say?

 Good "Sunny" Friday Morning, y'all.

How 'bout that!

About a month ago, I started a friendship with a local restauranteur in order to be able to paint his fruit truck, Plein Air style. Since that time, something has always come up to frustrate my efforts. The one thing that hasn't come up is the sun, but today the forecast says a full day of sun. We'll see about all of that.

On Thursday, I sketched this man slouched in a chair with his iPad, cinnamon roll and coffee. The man's wife sat across from him and said not one word to each other with the exception of the woman's report of severe weather on Friday.

An entire half hour was spent in silence as I sketched away. The husband barely moved until a friend of mine squeezed himself between the coffee table, the sofa and me. Dennis Ackerson, a native of Iowa, I believe, started up a conversation between chomps on his blueberry scone and hot tea.

And man, it was on.

Apparently, the couple, from Missouri, visited their daughter who's a neurosurgeon in New Orleans with acreage on the Northshore for a week, They were planning to return home when Dennis mentioned alternate routes taken from New Orleans to Iowa and the Midwest by by-passing I-55 to the north.

From that point on, the quiet couple touched on such subjects as varied as digging up Jesse James's grave to the J-35 Lightning II.

Apparently, historians had to prove that indeed it was Jesse James, that was buried just outside his mother's window only to find it was the real Jesse James. They re-interred him with his brother Frank outside the James Museum in Kearney, MO.

"You know, the woman said, we've been to Europe many times and if you ask someone there to name five great Americans, Jesse's name always pops up!"

"Maybe, we should refigure Mount Rushmore to include him," I said with a smirk.

And then, what sparked my interest was talk about T-38's, F-16's and the J-35 which their son now flies as an instructor out of Spangelham, AFB in Germany. After being reinstated in the Air Force as a reservist, their son went from a job flying with American Airlines to teaching recruits to fly the T-38 Talon in Texas. Somehow, the son ended up flying in Afghanistan in

F-16's... Say what?

"We followed him along the runway in an official Air Force vehicle until he waved his wings and took off," mom proudly said.

Well, an entire hour of conversation ended with a story of a supposedly six story crane that sits out abandoned in the plains. "It has become a tourist attraction, of sorts."

"Yeh, people go there and climb all over it!"

I looked at Dennis and laughed, saying, "Kinda like a Midwestern Eiffel Tower, ya know?"

We all got up to see them off out of Giddy Up. They introduced us, finally, as the Summers, Pat and Vicki.

"That's Summers with an "O" he exclaimed as they left.

All I can say is "birds of a feather", ya know?

No cups yet!

Copyright2023/Ben Bensen III

"About Toasters, Again!"

I found it... I just knew I didn't find it in the Bible!

Good Twofer Tuesday morning, y'all.

Staring out that ole matchbox hole I had a thought about toasters.

My first cup of coffee was with yogurt and fruit and maybe later, some toast. It is truly amazing that we don't have any roaches. We didn't have any in our home in California and that's not because we cleaned our toaster occasionally.

It was because of spiders.

Yep, those creepy crawlies with the eight legs and weirdo eyes. I don't know what kind of "spidos", as our young son used to call them, are here in Folsom, but in South Pasadena we had lots of black widows. You didn't have to look hard to find them, you just had to bring a flashlight, ha!

Growing up in New Orleans, with pine trees, we had lots of roaches. I guess, maybe, that's because no one in our family ever thought to clean out the toaster.

A friend of mine, Dave Schaff, and I would use bb guns and flashlights to pick off the ones that would come out from the back shed and the pine trees to nibble on the bread crumbs we provided for them.

It was great fun, and no harmful pesticides were used in their demise.

We have, ( you know I could blow the whole day on this subject ) a toaster that Therese and I received from an uncle as a wedding gift. That was a long time ago. Since then, my wife has, at times, while occasionally cleaning the toaster, and commenting on the fact that we have no roaches, attempted to discard the yellow trimmed pleasure machine for a new one.

But, I wouldn't have it. I've become attached. So what, if it sometimes burns the toast. It just means no one has cleaned out the crumbs, and, thanks to the spiders, we have no roaches to assist us. So what, if the cord to the socket is a bit worn, it hasn't created any problem, yet. So what, if the plastic knobs have cracked and split in two. I can always glue 'em back together, again.

And, I have. Many times!

Besides what would my uncle think? It has become a symbol of our marriage, in a way. It has been with us for over four decades serving us warm bread, all sorts of bread, through thick and thin... slices, that is. It's been there for our butter, jam, jelly and occasional triple decker peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. It's been with us since the day we said, "I do!"

You just don't discard loyalty like that! Besides, Sears doesn't make 'em like that anymore. How many appliances can one say actually has lasted that long?

Metaphorically speaking, how many marriages do we know that last that long?

No, for the sake of our marriage with plans to "take it to the limit", that machine is the "ties that bind!" We need to save a few bucks, keep our romance toasty,( you can figure out that analogy! ) thank our spiders, and every now and then, clean out that little icon of love.

Wait... I smell something burning.

Third cup...

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!

"The One Sunny Day We Had All Week"...

Money Plant!

The one sunny day we had all week, I believe it was Sunday, inspired a sketch out of me while awaiting a friend at Giddy Up.

I'm not quite sure what kind of plant it is, but sitting so close to the deck windows, and so illuminated by the morning sun, I just had to find the time to capture it.

And, I did...

Although I was happy with that morning's effort, I felt compelled to photograph the scene and maybe throw some watercolor over on the piece, forgetting that the drawing was in Pentel. It kinda bled which turned the chartreuse green rather ochre... YUCK!

Luckily, I photographed the original sketch because in the studio I tried to save the illuminated portions of the plant by coloring over the color with a yellow green Prismacolor pencil.

Not a big fan of Prismacolor pencils.

Well, should I just forget about the damn colored version and move on? Ya know, let bygones be bygones and be done with it...

Not on your life. Absolutely not!

Scan that sketchbook mess into Photoshop and let's see what it can do. Two exploratory hours later... Here you go!

Third cup...

Copyright 2023/Ben Bensen III