“There was nowhere to go but everywhere, so just keep on rolling under the stars.”
I am a lover of mornings. The early sounds are bird songs. The dogs romp in the yard then nap on the couch. I read the paper and do the puzzles. The house smells of coffee brewing and bread toasting. I usually have a couple of cups of coffee. That’s how we begin the day.
The sun this morning was a bit late. The sky was cloudy and the air had a leftover dampness from last night, but the sun finally appeared framed in a blue sky. It is supposed to be around all day. It will even get to the high 50’s, sweatshirt weather.
When I was a kid, I always walked to school. I walked with my friend who lived up the street in the same duplex where my family lived for a few years. It had only two bedrooms. After my sister was born, we moved down the hill to another duplex, one with three bedrooms. We lived there until we moved to the cape.
While I was out yesterday, I noticed a carnival being set up in a field. That reminded me of the field below my street where a few carnivals used to set up. I liked carnival rides. The Ferris wheel was always a favorite ride. I loved when the Ferris wheel stopped to let people on or off, and I was stuck at the top. My friend was always afraid, and I didn’t help. I wiggled back and forth so the car moved, swayed. She always screamed. I just took in the view. The rides I didn’t go on went in circles because the worst ride I ever took was one which not only went in circles but also had covered cars so you spun around in darkness. When that ride stopped, I got sick over the side. That was the last time I rode in circles.
When I was young, my world was narrow. It was my town and a bit of the towns around me. That was enough for a while. I had a route when I was riding my bike. I stopped for golf balls by the course, I checked out the horses in the town barn, I stopped at the junk man’s house. I remember his porch was so filled with newspapers it leaned and looked ready to fall down The barn too was filled. I always wondered what he did with all those newspapers. The piles only got bigger.
When I was growing up, I traveled on my bike. I traveled my town and the towns around me. When I was eleven, I started to dream about traveling the world, a dream prompted by a classmate who went to England to visit his grandmother. I vowed I would out do him.
My family went to Niagara Falls. We went to the Canadian side, but for me, it didn’t count. We traveled by car.
Ghana counted.
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April 23, 2026 at 6:59 pm
This young woman covering a song an old buddy of mine wrote and doing a most soulful rendition. Thought you’d appreciate it. I knew Blaze and tell you he would have cried listening to her play his little song. He was fantastically humble and brave. Never cross that I witnessed. Always wanted to borrow a guitar string or two. Barely ever had two nickles to rub together. Dogged in his love of performing.
I knew him and the man he stood up for. I knew the troubled soul who shot him and the regret and shame he carried after. Blaze never expressed to me the longing for fame. He just wanted to play guitar in a Bohemian dream and live in the moment. He would be amazed at the passion people have for him when he figured he would be forgotten and for such a tender and precious accounting of his little song.
April 23, 2026 at 11:55 pm
Beto,
This comment sent me scurrying. I watched the video. You were right. Her voice is lovely, perfect for this song. After I listened, I looked up the lyrics, more scurrying. Next I listened to John Prine singing this song. I love John Prine, but I thought her cover was better, sadder maybe. My last scurry was to look up Blaze Foley as I knew nothing about him. How tragic, not just his murder but the loss of his music which made this tragedy all the more painful.
Thank you for this.