Life with The Swell Guy!

Hanging on the Blues Line

As seen/discovered at the WROX Museum in Clarksdale, MS - Spring 2012

Field Notes - Roadside BBQ and Rib Shacks

If it is anywhere close to eating time...in other words sometime after your last meal and before your next meal...you should Stop. If you see smoke and smell meat wafting in the air you should Stop. If the old brother standing over a big and greasy homemade cooker shows you a rib when you ask what is good today you should buy them. And don't forget to have a conversation with him. You may learn something.

3 Reflections from Today

Reflection 1  

As I motor over rolling hills and into a section of Sumter National Forest I see the mist rising and the gaining sun casts morning light. I remember travel time can be put to good use in meditation and excavating the corners of the mind where thoughts are held for unencumbered moments like this.

Reflection 2 - 30 minutes later

I squat by the rear driver's side wheel somewhere on Interstate 77 south of Charlotte and listen to air hiss violently as the tire becomes no longer round. Good time on an easy morning heading to the airport has abruptly halted. As least time is still on my side if I do the work myself and do not call & wait for help. I pull out the jack and hitch my big boy pants. Then I pray that the truckers passing by notice that I am as well clear of the highway as space and courage allows. Mind the lane, boys, and please...please do not be texting as you come near. I meditate on why the auto maker would supply a donut spare with a SUV. And I ponder why "my tire guy"  and I never check the air in the spare for now with full weight on I see it is half flat.

Reflection 3 - 45 minutes after Reflection 2

Easy I think. Driving gently I make it an soonest exit to air up the half deflated spare. I would be deflated too if I were such a sorry spare. But, how can I complain? Charged with fresh air I complete the ride. I have made the trip safely with slight disruption. Good folks will take care of the tire issue and I will be ready for more road time when my flight returns back in several days and I roll for home.

I ponder than perhaps some reflection time needs a little more than quiet, rising mist, and warm sunshine. I am grateful.

Field Notes - Razorblade & The Deep Cuts

Down in Clarksdale, MS a bluesman called Razorblade will show you the meaning of life if you can find a Sharpie marker. Then he may take the stage and sing a little. He said some people have told him he is famous. He said lots of other stuff too.

Labels

I arrived home the other night while Denine was preparing dinner. She greeted me and then said that she is not a Liberal or a Libertine. In addition, she said she is not a Postmodern, or even a Post-evangelical. If I really wanted to know, she would say she is a Beyond Evangelical. I smiled and asked if she happened to be reading something about theology.

Labels. I do think about them from time to time. Why do we use so many to define ourselves and each other? Can they define us? Are they shorthand for sharing our stories or do they prevent us from sharing the whole story? Both? If someone asks me to describe myself sometimes I find myself thinking that I represent much more than a label or two.

There are moments I do believe we can tell much about who the driver is of an automobile simply based on the bumper stickers on the car. Sometimes this can be confusing....like "Hey, that dude loves to listen to AC/DC while he chases Deer in his NASCAR Ford with his Honor Student riding shotgun!" OK...bad example. Trust me, sometimes you can tell almost too much about another driver on the road. By the way, what is the deal with those stick figures on the rear windows?

The same thing is true about what we wear or how we represent ourselves in social media like facebook. Can we influence someone else with a scripture or platitude on facebook or are we simply calling out to others already just-like-us? Is the dude dressed like a biker a real bad ass or is he playing a part? If I toss on one of my controversial Jesus t-shirts am I pinning on my own label? Man, where am I going with this? Could I be my own hypocrite in this mess? Oh boy, do we now pin hypocrite on me too?

All this leads me to want to reject the whole notion of using labels and in truth I do reject many or at the very least question them. But then again we seem to need them at times. I guess I could come to a conclusion that they are unnecessary when we use them to separate "our people" from "their people", but I'm agreeable to labels when they are utilized to help us understand each other and maybe...just maybe plow a little deeper. I wonder if we need a "Hey, ask me about my labels" label.

So what are my labels? Maybe you know better than me. If I were to pick my own labels or definitions, here are a few things I would mention:

Zig's Labels

-I am not Red. I am not Blue. I am Purple.

-I don't wear Pink often, but I'm cool with it. I refuse to wear a Yellow wristband. I try to be Green more because I believe God wants beauty created, brought or preserved on this planet. And I love Rainbows.

-I blog therefore I am.

-I love to BBQ, ride a Bike, and have an incurable fascination with Bacon. These things I enjoy, but do not feel they require space on a label. OK, maybe something about BBQ.

-I am fanatical about really good music, but I am a terrible musician. I do know how to listen to music well. It is a skill, but not a label.

-I gladly and proudly accept the Husband and Daddy labels.

-I am not a Liberal. I am not a Conservative. I am not a Moderate. Perhaps you should call me an Exile. And note I am an Exile to move beyond, not run from issues.

-I am not defined by a church denomination and I don't like being called a Christian because of the image it strikes with some people. I prefer being called a Christ-follower.

-I am not a Calvinist or Neo-Calvinist or gasp, a Universalist. I am not a Evangelical or Charismatic. I am not Religious. Again, I am simply a Christ-follower.

-I do my best to not observe race or creed. I believe there are good people and bad people everywhere. I believe we all can be good people. I am hopeful.

-I am not a Theologian. I am not a Heretic. I am a Misfit. I believe Christ collected Misfits.

-I am not legalistic or narrow minded. I've learned much from Priests, Brothers, Rabbis, people along the road, and yes, Women. Speaking of Women, how about we stop the Oppression, Suppression, & Regression and start treating them as Co-Conspirators in this thing called life on earth? Word.

-I believe the Red Letters have lot to say in the Bible and we should pay attention to them. And I believe we need to look at the historical context and grand stories when we study the Bible instead of the ever so common Proof Texting that uses a few verses to prove a point. And by the way, chapters and verses were not even part of the Bible until hundreds of years after the time of Christ. And if you want to call me a Christian please, please at least call me a Red Letter Christian.

-I don't believe in taking advantage of the Weak and Oppressed. I do believe in Kindness.

-As I age I would like to be considered a Wise Old Man, but not a Crazy Old Fart. I may have not choice in this. It's your call.

If you took time to read the whole list you likely understand a few things about me. If you were to pick one word or label out of the list I do not believe you would understand much of who I am. What about you? What are your labels? What is defining you?

 

Jesus: Man of The Streets

I love what Michael Frost says about viewing scripture within a cultural and historical context. Good stuff.

100 Year Old Girl Scouts!

The Girl Scouts are 100 years old. They look remarkably good for that age. They have perfected making really great cookies.  You should buy some.

I went down to the crossroads, fell down on my knees.

The 2012 Epic Man Trip has been over since Sunday night. We had a great time chasing the blues trail through Mississippi. My friend, Bert Montgomery, said it would be a religious experience. He was correct.

I have not posted the last several days due to work and just processing thoughts from the trip. Paul said that could take weeks. He was also correct. Our Mississippi rambling days will long be remembered.

I don't know the first time I heard Cream sing "Crossroads". It seems that particular song was born into my subconscious. Perhaps it is part of the mystic. From Eric Clapton's Fender riffs, to Jack Bruce's thumping bass, to Ginger Baker's jazzy drums it can instantly reduce me to the white man's head bob in which I feel no shame.

It took a long time for me to get that "The Crossroads" was an intersection in Mississippi that has significant music folklore. While some people argue about the actual location, the widely accepted and marked location is just outside Clarksdale. Everyday life happens around the marker with most folks stopping to hit Abe's BBQ or Delta Donuts on the corner.

So on our trip we went down to The Crossroads. We also stopped by Robert Johnson's grave in Greenwood, MS. That's a whole other story for a different day. Speaking of other stories, I am mulling posting a few essays over the coming weeks about our journey.

Guys like Eric Clapton and Robert Plant have made the same pilgrimage. There are no crowds. Even in the juke joints we were just another couple guys stopping by to hear some music. This is not where the tour buses stop. You need to go find it.

So what is the motivation in finding it? Somewhere out in the pancake delta and hill country there is a thread that connects slave music to gospel, the blues, and the origins of rock & roll. Here we can squint and peer at what has helped shape who we are and understand how we got here. And we can go thank those who helped shape us and the music we continue to make with our soul and our instruments.

Crossroads lyrics by Robert Johnson:

I went down to the crossroads, fell down on my knees.
I went down to the crossroads, fell down on my knees.
Asked the Lord above for mercy, "Save me if you please."

I went down to the crossroads, tried to flag a ride.
I went down to the crossroads, tried to flag a ride.
Nobody seemed to know me, everybody passed me by.

I'm going down to Rosedale, take my rider by my side.
I'm going down to Rosedale, take my rider by my side.
You can still barrelhouse, baby, on the riverside.

You can run, you can run, tell my friend-boy Willie Brown.
You can run, you can run, tell my friend-boy Willie Brown.
And I'm standing at the crossroads, believe I'm sinking down.

Last night I was again reminded why I love live music.

Two Guys Chilling in the Old WROX Studio Jock Lounge