Mr. Pritchard was in Clarksdale last week promoting his new work, "Sailing to Alluvium". If you're familiar with his first, "Junior Ray", you'll find this, his third, very entertaining. "Yazoo Blues" is second. We especially enjoyed Junior's rendition of the story of Moses. Imagine it spoken by a Mississippi redneck with attitude and opinions he isn't shy about sharing. If you're easily offended by the language, skip the first and last words of the sentence and some of the word's middle. Not all of course, but that's the way it is here.
Gollee Moses
It all got started back a long while
When Pharaoh's daughter was swimmin in the Nile;
She looked in the bushes and saw a little chile
And said, "Gollee Moses!"
One day the Lord said Moses, you're the man
To lead all the Chillum to the Promise' Land.
Well, Moses struck out with Pharaoh at his heels,
Moses on foot, the Pharaoh on wheels.
When they got up to the Red Sea waters,
The chillun ast Moses, "What we gon do?"
And Moses told the Chillun, "Orders is orders,"
And the Chillun of Israel walked right through.
Well, Gollee Moses!
Weeelll, the army of Pharaoh followed after Moses,
But just fo' the waters covered up their noses
The whole army said: Gollee Moses!
Moses on a mountain top thinkin very hard,
Long come a cloud, and out jumped God,
Well, Gollee Moses!
The Lord put the Law in Moses' hand,
Said, Moses,tell the Chillun they better understand,
If they don't do what these things say,
I'll wipe out the world in half a day!"
Well, Gollee Moses!
Moses told the Lord, "It weren't none a me,
Just a big epidemic of iniquity!
I gave the Chillun your Ten Commandments,
And they come up with the First Ten Amendments!"
Well, Gollee Moses!
Moses come down bout an hour'n a half,
Found all the chillun round a golden calf;
He said, "Chillun, Chillun, what's goin on?"
They said, "Laughin, dancin, singin a song!"
Well, Gollee Moses.
Moses told the chillun, "Y'all make me mad,
jumpin round and actin bad,
But I'mo tell y'all one thing now:
You gonna get rid of that golden cow!"
Well, Goollee Moses!
From then on down to this very day,
When folks don't know just what to say,
They open their mouth and bug their eyes,
They take a deep breath and say with surprise"
GOLLEE MOSES!
2013 Red Convertible Travel Series
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Wednesday, November 06, 2013
Cellar doors and sewers
Nebraska snow on the cellar door was entertainment for the cat, and the cat was entertainment for us. Late one moonlit night, we caught him slip sliding down it. He was having so much fun, he did it again and again. It was a winter of lots of snow, and he did lots of cellar door skiing.
We lived there a year, and I didn't go to the basement unless I absolutely had to. No one entered the house through the cellar door, that I'm aware of, but every time we planned to go to Omaha, which wasn't often, the sewer backed up. Was it afraid to be home alone? Trips were cancelled waiting for plumbers and cleaning up. Tree roots were blamed. Were they planning to climb the stairs, find us in our beds and strangle us? I'd best continue this in the daylight.
2013 Red Convertible Travel Series
We lived there a year, and I didn't go to the basement unless I absolutely had to. No one entered the house through the cellar door, that I'm aware of, but every time we planned to go to Omaha, which wasn't often, the sewer backed up. Was it afraid to be home alone? Trips were cancelled waiting for plumbers and cleaning up. Tree roots were blamed. Were they planning to climb the stairs, find us in our beds and strangle us? I'd best continue this in the daylight.
2013 Red Convertible Travel Series
Sunday, November 03, 2013
The deer stand and the Book Thief
The conversation went like this: I’m going to work on my deer stand. You can come if you want.
Oh, it’s optional?
You don’t have to. Come on Buckshot.
All four feet are ready for anywhere he can run like wind and fire.
I’m thinking, I could sit in the truck and read.
I go. Buckshot rides in my lap. Our four-wheel drive squishes and squirms 2.3 miles on rain-soaked roads. Buckshot jumps out of the window to chase a jake turkey. It flies off. He goes only as far as the edge of the woods, comesback and runs alongside the truck. It must feel great to run wide open. He's good for a mile or two at 25 mph.
We stop at an enclosed, abandoned stand near the road. I can't wait to read some more of The Book Thief.
Here, he says. Take this window cleaner and newspapers, climb up there and wash the windows.
Rats! There goes my reading time.
He goes ahead with a sling blade to clear a path. At the foot of the ladder, I look almost straight up. No way! He put up 300’ towers. I'm afraid to climb ten rungs. I get no sympathy. Focus. Both hands and both feet are engaged one rung at a time. I get to the top and have to make a choice. Stay standing, grab the rickety door frame and step in, or go in on hands and knees. Hands and knees win.
Here’s the broom. Sweep it out while you’re there.
The stand is about 4’ by maybe 6’ with a lawn chair taking up half the space. My every move is calculated. Plexiglas scratches and does not clean to glass standards. I clean a pair of small glass windows from the inside and reach as far as I can to wash one of them on the outside. He will need a ladder to wash them. You notice, I slipped that job onto him. Two windows were shot out. Not surprising. If a big buck was visible from that direction, the windows were expendable.
We are remote, but still, a man on a bulldozer comes down the road and stops. He asks my guy if he can help him fix blah blah on the dozer.
Sure. He comes to the stand and yells up, I’ll be gone about five minutes.
News flash: Mississippi minutes are not 60 seconds long; they can be hours or days or longer. I fantasize being Rapunzel, but even on a good day, I don’t have enough hair to “let down” far enough for anyone to climb up.
His 5" turned into an hour. While climbing the ladder, his phone rings. He frowns and nods. We’ll be there in thirty minutes. Deer stand repairs are abandoned. We go back to camp and find company. There’s no leaving until all the b.s.ing is done and everybody’s had a beer, except me.
We finally head out, and we can’t find Buckshot. I feel like Chevy Chase’s wife in that goofy vacation movie. We go without him, a first. I bury myself in The Book Thief so I don't worry about him. Twenty-five miles later,we load the piece of machinery. More b.s.ing amongst the adolescent grownups. More beer and I’m driving back as the sun dives below the horizon. Buckshot is waiting on the doorstep. We’re glad. He’s ecstatic.
It’s pitch dark. The outside barrel stove is still hot. The neighbor comes over with a plate. I brought your supper: three hot pieces of barbecued chicken and fries. Yum! All is well.
The guys chat around the fire. I slip away to The Book Thief. Horribly depressing, inspiring, humbling, too. I wish Liesel had kissed Rudy. It had never occurred to me to write a story from the perspective of the Angel of Death. Nice work Markus Zusak.
2013 Red Convertible Travel Series
Oh, it’s optional?
You don’t have to. Come on Buckshot.
All four feet are ready for anywhere he can run like wind and fire.
I’m thinking, I could sit in the truck and read.
I go. Buckshot rides in my lap. Our four-wheel drive squishes and squirms 2.3 miles on rain-soaked roads. Buckshot jumps out of the window to chase a jake turkey. It flies off. He goes only as far as the edge of the woods, comesback and runs alongside the truck. It must feel great to run wide open. He's good for a mile or two at 25 mph.
We stop at an enclosed, abandoned stand near the road. I can't wait to read some more of The Book Thief.
Here, he says. Take this window cleaner and newspapers, climb up there and wash the windows.
Rats! There goes my reading time.
He goes ahead with a sling blade to clear a path. At the foot of the ladder, I look almost straight up. No way! He put up 300’ towers. I'm afraid to climb ten rungs. I get no sympathy. Focus. Both hands and both feet are engaged one rung at a time. I get to the top and have to make a choice. Stay standing, grab the rickety door frame and step in, or go in on hands and knees. Hands and knees win.
Here’s the broom. Sweep it out while you’re there.
The stand is about 4’ by maybe 6’ with a lawn chair taking up half the space. My every move is calculated. Plexiglas scratches and does not clean to glass standards. I clean a pair of small glass windows from the inside and reach as far as I can to wash one of them on the outside. He will need a ladder to wash them. You notice, I slipped that job onto him. Two windows were shot out. Not surprising. If a big buck was visible from that direction, the windows were expendable.
We are remote, but still, a man on a bulldozer comes down the road and stops. He asks my guy if he can help him fix blah blah on the dozer.
Sure. He comes to the stand and yells up, I’ll be gone about five minutes.
News flash: Mississippi minutes are not 60 seconds long; they can be hours or days or longer. I fantasize being Rapunzel, but even on a good day, I don’t have enough hair to “let down” far enough for anyone to climb up.
His 5" turned into an hour. While climbing the ladder, his phone rings. He frowns and nods. We’ll be there in thirty minutes. Deer stand repairs are abandoned. We go back to camp and find company. There’s no leaving until all the b.s.ing is done and everybody’s had a beer, except me.
We finally head out, and we can’t find Buckshot. I feel like Chevy Chase’s wife in that goofy vacation movie. We go without him, a first. I bury myself in The Book Thief so I don't worry about him. Twenty-five miles later,we load the piece of machinery. More b.s.ing amongst the adolescent grownups. More beer and I’m driving back as the sun dives below the horizon. Buckshot is waiting on the doorstep. We’re glad. He’s ecstatic.
It’s pitch dark. The outside barrel stove is still hot. The neighbor comes over with a plate. I brought your supper: three hot pieces of barbecued chicken and fries. Yum! All is well.
The guys chat around the fire. I slip away to The Book Thief. Horribly depressing, inspiring, humbling, too. I wish Liesel had kissed Rudy. It had never occurred to me to write a story from the perspective of the Angel of Death. Nice work Markus Zusak.
2013 Red Convertible Travel Series
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