And The song that I am singing
Is a prayer to non-believers
Come and stand beside us
We can find a better wayJohn Denver
I woke this morning to the sound of a trains whistle. Very far off, but distinct. It was very early and the city was silent and asleep. Even New Orleans has quiet moments — and there was that train. It seems that no matter where you are; in the city or in the country, in the very early morning, in the quiet time before dawn, you’re likely to hear a train somewhere off in the distance.
Whoever first described the sound of a train’s whistle as lonesome sure got that right.
In the history of my life, I’ve had the good fortune to attend some really beautiful and amazing events. A very small and intimate dinner with 100 people and Nelson Mandela. A wedding in Tanzania with a local village chief and all the pageantry you can imagine that goes along. 4-hour Bruce Springsteen concert in Copenhagen where his shows are different in a way that is hard to describe. A special screening in London of Kenneth Branagh’s ‘Henry the Vth’. Lucky and lovely times all.
In New Orleans, a top 3 event. Brittany and I happened to hear about the Krewe Barkus parade in the French Quarter. A dog parade. Thousands of beautiful & spirited dogs of all sizes, breeds, and ages. Many were pushed in strollers—too old to make the walk. Many were costumed or adorned as were their parents and handlers. Tails wagged. Tongues hung. Dogs walked and ran and strained on leashes. We stood alongside the road with thousands of people and adored these beautiful canines. It was amazing. Spiritual really. They are just such pure creatures. They have no agenda other than to love and be loved. They want only a scruff, a snack, and the occasional walk. And to be near their pack. That’s it.
It was emotional for me. I don’t really know why. I don’t fully understand it. After the parade, the dogs stayed around. We petted a lot of them. I suppose, at this moment in time, a pleasant experience feels especially nice when backdropped against all the terrible things we are manifesting and foisting upon our people and the peoples of the world. To share space with animals whose only goal seems to be to bring love and peace to us is pretty great.
Brit and I had a great weekend. Loads of great times. We always seem to find fun. Drinks and meals and people-watching and laughs and long long walks through the quarter and some of the fringe neighborhoods.
We popped in for an espresso at the bar at our hotel. When we asked the bartender his name he look straight at us and said ‘They call me The One’. Sort of reverentially. Like a deity.
21 years ago, Portneuf Valley Rugby team came to NOLA and played in the old boys tournament. We made it to the championship against some Brits. We took 2nd in that game and in the tournament. A muddy bloody final. But fun, fun, fun.
New Orleans is one of those cities where the social strata is right there in front of you. In the shadows, many are not having fun. On the side streets are the homeless. And stray dogs who are not as lucky as the ones in the parade, who are loved and spoiled. Our good times are only appreciated fully because we know what lies on the other side of good fortune. Despair. Trauma. Sadness. Darkness.
For whatever lucky reason, I somehow found a way to shake off a darkness that stalked me when I was young and into my early 20’s. No idea what gears suddenly slotted into place that allowed my motors to spin more smoothly. I always knew it was fake and still is. But I learned how to keep it contained, just as I know it cannot be eliminated
All sentient beings deserve our love and compassion. Especially if they are suffering. I know a few people who cannot shake this feeling of despair. Some are more acute than others. The difference between any of us is minuscule. Many famous comedians and artists, seemingly happy and contented for having won at life, are a bad day away from depression and even suicide. It’s a thin line.
It has more to do with our ability to pretend than to understand. I don’t believe any rational human with consciousness can truly shut out the suffering of the billions of humans and animals that have no voice and no options.
In a week full of sad stories, one of the saddest to me is that situation where Gene Hackman’s dog died while locked in its cage. Just think of the confusion and sadness it must have felt. The inability to reach his pack in their time of need. And then the dehydration and despair and biological deterioration and finally a slow painful death.
Anyway. I don’t know if I have really found a way to be happy or just not sad. Or maybe I just say it loud enough and often enough to drown out the sadness. Artificial light to push away the darkness.
There’s a lot of shit I write that probably should stay private.
When I made the choice to end Mandela’s life — it was the hardest thing I’ve gone through. It was devastating. Debilitating. I was not right for close to a year I think. I remember my sister called me a few weeks after and I was in a strange part of town in a Home Depot with no recollection of how I got there or what I was doing there. Just a grown ass man crying in the plumbing aisle of a DIY store.
I have friends right now that are suffering. At least one that will die soon. A couple fighting off the darkness. Several members of my family are not long for the world.
But I still think about that dog in the cage.
We made it back to Black Dog Ridge now. Nice to be home after more than a month away. I had to cut 4 or 5 trees that have fallen in the storms. We had a nice bottle of champagne. Kenny came for dinner and I roasted a chicken with salad and mashed potatoes and mushrooms with boursin. Nice evening with a good friend.
No other news of note. A few lines from a great song by Blaze Foley.
Humbly Submitted,
Robert Myres, Flanker — Portneuf Valley Rugby Football Club (ret.)
I’m goin’ down to the Greyhound station
Gonna get a ticket to rideGonna find that lady with two or three kids
And sit down by her sideRide ’til the sun comes up and down around me
‘Bout two or three timesSmokin’ cigarettes in the last seat
Tryin’ to hide my sorrow from the people I meet
And get along with it allGo down where the people say y’all
Sing a song with a friend
Change the shape that I’m in
And get back in the game and start playin’ againI’d like to stay, but I might have to go
To start over again
Might go back down to Texas
Might go to somewhere that I’ve never beenAnd get up in the mornin’ and go out at night
And I won’t have to go home
Get used to bein’ alone
Change the words to this song
And start singin’ againI’m tired of runnin’ ’round
Lookin’ for answers to questions that I already know
I could build me a castle of memories
Just to have somewhere to goCount the days and the nights that it takes
To get back in the saddle again
Feed the pigeons some clay, turn the night into day
And start talkin’ again when I know what to sayI’m goin’ down to the Greyhound station
Gonna get a ticket to rideGonna find that lady with two or three kids
And sit down by her sideRide ’til the sun comes up and down around me
‘Bout two or three timesSmokin’ cigarettes in the last seat
Try to hide my sorrow from the people I meet
And get along with it all
Go down where the people say y’allFeed the pigeons some clay
Turn the night into day
And start talkin’ again when I know what to sayBlaze Foley – Clay Pigeons
The Martini Tales 