My bro ain't your typical po po!

My older brother, Rodney Lucas, a San Antonio police officer, stopping in at a club while on bike patrol for some Rodney-style community relations. A truer depiction of him I never saw: equal parts severe, responsible, gutsy, creative, talented, and playful.  Intuitive master of timing, he can untie a moment like a shoelace and turn it inside out then laugh at your bewilderment.  He's like a raven who tells jokes.  All who know him know, his inimitable complex flavor adds whole new dimensions to any group dynamic, and shaped my inner landscape as his next-born sibling.  (The embed feature isn't cooperating, so click on "Monday, June 1, 2015" below to see video.)

SAPD came in last night and what happens next is.....
Posted by On The Rocks Pub on Monday, June 1, 2015

Patron Saint Series: Roy Orbison

Songs are gifts, you know, they’re blessings that just sort of drop in your lap.  If God’s good to you, well then...you get the song when he wants you to get it.  –ROY ORBISON, in the documentary Roy Orbison: In Dreams (2003)

Ode to Momma: A Few Things

I wanna say Happy Mother's Day to my Mom, born Terri Turner of Knoxville, TN.  I am the second of five of her children and have always felt a real sense of fortune to be one of her chicks.  A few of the things I have always loved about her: her famous hair, everything about her face, her style, her voice saying my name, her common sense and her genuine nature, absent of pretense.  A few things about her that bring me awe: her endurance through this life, her rare beauty, her clear mind and keen memory, her plain-spokennes, her intelligence and focus, her determination and discipline, her intuitive and uncanny sense with babies, and the way she pursues her interests with such industriousness and enjoys herself doing it.

Then there are the countless things I am indebted to her for.  A few examples that illustrate her strength and goodness: I didn't know this until a couple years ago, but when I was born she was determined to breastfeed me, but I had projectile vomiting and would eject the entire first feeding every time.  So she fed me double for three months until I grew out of it, costing her quite a bit of physical pain, aside from the patience required.  An odd example perhaps, but I am so moved that she did this for her baby who couldn't repay her, when it would have been far easier and acceptable to give up.  But one indisputable thing about her, she is decisive and when she wants something there is no turning back.  Two:  Something I particularly appreciate about her mothering style was she gave me space--space to be independent, to risk, to work through my own frustration, to be in the privacy of my own mind.  I think it just came natural to her, plus she had plenty else to do than hover over me.  Three: I'm indebted to her for the deliberate decisions and pacts she made around what kind of mother she wanted to be, and her efforts towards it.  Like praising her daughters' beauty so we might feel secure in our appearance (as did my dad, which together I figure is why I'm able to be MOSTLY affectionate and grateful towards my own body today, and playful rather than obsessive about my 'skinnyfat' as I continue to convince myself it is, wrinkles, and idiosyncrasies).  Like documenting the faces and moments of her children's lives through pictures and video through the years, showing them they are somebodies worth remembering.  Like carting them around endlessly, in whatever vintage automobile was available, so they could lurch towards their many interests and hot pursuits, which for me alone included middle school parties, po-dunk talent competitions, auditions, rehearsals, and a million sports practices and games...and all these in between church THREE times a week (Father forgive us, we knew not what we were doing).

In short she had decided she would be a mom who was close by and hands-on with her kids in those years, taking a 20 year break from the workforce and any semblance of financial security to do so (now she's back in the workforce by the way, having to make up for lost time).  It makes me tired to think of her routine when she was my age (or even her routine now at 58).  But to the day I left the house, she was steady.  Her moods were steady, her affection was steady, her devotion was steady, providing us with her own unique maternal presence and dependability.  Nearly everything she did told us we had value.

How do you pay a mom back.  How do you pay her back.

Thank you Mom, I love you and as always I'm proud to be your daughter.  I can still see you, lathered in baby oil, lying out on your tri-fold in the hot back yard with the Top 40 radio going.  I can still smell your sour dough bread and taste your sweet tea containing two cups of sugar per gallon.  And I can still hear the most comforting sound maybe of all: your house shoes swishing down the hall on the hardwood as I'm lying in the dark.  Our adult relationship has taken on different shapes and evolutions, but these things are the floor of my experience of you.  I return to them, and more often they to me.  They comfort me, as does your care and generosity today.  Thanks for your love and your pride in me, then and now.

Holly

You Never Know With No

Just getting around to posting this song I did with bassist Matt Wexler when I opened for Carl Hauck & Tricia Scully last year at the JewelBox Theater in Seattle.  You can hear a studio recording of it here at my Soundcloud profile.

Cowboy Del Amor

I feel like this Texas guy also represents your standard papaw (= grandpa) persona found in East Tennessee, which is generally adored unless perhaps you live with them.  Flavorful and flawed (/flavorfully flawed), with witty idioms to boot and a certain poetry in the voice.  In my mind this persona is the South(west)ern version of the male prototype of America's "Greatest Generation".  I recently read that for that generation, personality and charm rose to top priority in what mattered most in a person--a la Dale Carnegie's "How to Win Friends and Influence People".  Previously it had been character.  But if personal flair was what they wanted, I think they did a pretty good job of it.  Many of us Generation X-ers love our salty papaws and mamaws and their entertaining, offensive, sparring ways.  I sure miss my Papaw, whom we lost nearly a year ago.

See trailer here.

Dan Allender on Marriage

Food for thought on marriage--Christian marriage in particular. For my friends who've not heard Dan speak, here is a taste of the "heaven and hell" he offers.  It's been an honor to be this man's student for the past five years.

Happy Father's Day

My dad, aka Big Dave, on the job at the railroad, 1983. I was 5, he 29. As a brakeman/switchman/conductor, he worked the night shift for 15+ years before building enough seniority to move shifts. In a system where intimidation was the motivation tool of choice among the power structure, he kept his dignity and still found reasons to laugh with his work buddies. After 25 years railroading and raising 5 kids, he ended up needing to retire on disability due to back injuries.  Now at 57 he putts around K-town in his old Golf socializing, hanging out with his grandbaby, helping out his parents, going to church, and, unfailingly, catching good live shows.  The other day he read me every act he'd just seen at Bonnaroo.  So Happy Father's Day to my pops. Not only do I remember that plaid shirt and those Oshkoshes, but I carry with me your face lighting up with warmth and play like in this picture.