Let me tell you a story.
Several years ago, I was at the recycling/garbage facility dropping off some construction debris from a small project. I wish I could have used it, but luckily there was someone there that wanted the scraps of lumber. Great, I’ll help you load it.
(*The old man probably wasn’t bearded and bent over. Gee, he probably wasn’t even old, but it is details like this that make the story interesting.)
The old man was bearded and bent over. He stood sideways to me and had turned his head to look up at me. “Whaddya do?” he says. I told him that I was a folksinger and songwriter. He straightened a bit and squinted as he looked at me and said, “Let me share a folk song with you.” The old man went on to tell me the way true folk songs are passed on one person to the next and generation to generation.
The story he told me was about two racehorses, number 11 and number 12. The story came complete. He’d hold up one finger on each hand as he told about racehorse number one-one (eleven). Then he’d hold up one finger on his right hand and two fingers on his left hand as he told about racehorse number one-two (twelve). It went something like this …
One-one was a racehorse.
One-two was one too.
One-one won one race
One-two won one … also.
A friend of mine called me today. Bob Dorsey, from Mobile, Alabama. I have not changed his name. He is not innocent and doesn’t need protection. He says, “I was waiting in the drive-thru at the bank, filling in the date on this deposit slip.” He told me, “Writing the date, oh-one, one-one, two-one … Hey, I’m going to call da6d.” He did.
The picture is something that came out of Bob’s creative brain. It may be a lamp. Bob can tell you all about it.
Songs and music shared.
Melodies keep memories
Vibrant and alive.