Living in spite of life

Picked up my first drumstick in 1965 in our basement on Highland Ave in Salina Kansas. My brother has always been the talented musician in our family. He's an accomplished blues bassist and jazz guitarist. I can't (never learned) read music. But rhythm. Ahh, rhythm. It has always been there in me. I didn't put it there. It was hard-wired with my program when i came off the assembly line in 1947. Yes, that's forty seven years past 1900. Like as in, old. I have friends who are half my age though and I'm truly grateful for that. I have one musician friend who is even younger than my kid. My dilemma is that my emotional side - my spirit if you will - has never quite matured past late teens.

So what? Well, it's my blog and nobody reads it, so why not. I write. Makes me feel good. And the other thing that makes me feel good is drumming. I've been at it now for, what - maybe going on 7 years. What happened to the 35 some odd years since I first picked up the sticks? What happened? My life got in the way of my living. And, hey, you know, I've got a friend who is struggling with that very thing I think. She's 30 years my junior, but what's time anyway. Yeah. Life in the way of living. Now that's maybe profound.

So this was taken today. Our band, The Blue Lizard Band, played for free at this festival along with all the other hapless entertainers who will never likely "make it", but who give it a go. And me? Yep, playing the drums. Playing some Stevie Ray Vauhgn, Steely Dan, Beatles, Clapton, all the folks who did make it and whose music is so etched into my brain that I can play it with eyes closed. Listened to it for 40 years. I'm finally, finally drumming. It is a joy and a gift that has richly blessed me. Living. Now that's what life's about.