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Home of Michael Perry – Author, Humorist, Singer/Songwriter, Amateur Pig Farmer

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Archive for November, 2009

Re-recording

Music project continues.  We gathered in my little office this week to record a few additional bits for the Long Beds album due out next March.  Today I will try to get some (over)due writing done and stow the last of the pig fencing.  I have been using the International around the farm a lot lately.  Right now it’s loaded down with lumber and steel fence posts.  It seems happy to have its springs flexed.  Speaking of loaded Internationals:

Punkin Truck

As far as I know, that is not my truck, although I like to think it might have been her in a prior life.

Joys of Dadhood

Bedtime, the two-year-old tucked in, snuggled with blankie and thumb in place, I’m just about to leave the room when she looks up in the half-light and in the quietest voice says, “Can I have a scratchbacker?”

Yes you can, little one.

Gosh.

The Deer Hunting Beard

Got a late start this year.  It won’t even come close to last year’s:

Deer Hunting Beard Run Amok

Deer Hunting Beard Run Amok

Thanks, Virginia

An honor to join you out there.  Back to ‘Sconsin, now.  Pager charged and waiting.

What’s That Smell?

Just finished The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis.  Read half of it in the deer stand, the other half at night before bed.  One of those books I kept finding myself eager to return to when I had a spare minute.

On the plane to Virginia Friday I began Mere Christianity.  Much chewier.

If you’re looking for any significance in either of these choices (beyond the obvious fact that I have them on my bookshelves), it comes down to this: both are tiny and fit in my hunting bag/carry-on bag.

Despite the way I wrote that, my hunting bag is not my carry-on bag.  I don’t believe the TSA will allow you to bring Tink’s #69 aboard, no matter how small the container or how thick the Ziploc.

Big Gray Ship

I can see it from my hotel window.  Can’t see all of it, or a name on it.  But it’s one of ours.  Flying out here to Virginia, especially during the layover in St. Louis, I was surrounded by servicepeople in cammies.  A corporeal reminder of what others give while we are off shopping, as it were.

Will be shooting the breeze with paramedics, EMTs, first responders and firefighters tonight.  Home, sweet home, no matter where yer at.  Tip of the cap to my NAAFD crew, and to the Emergicare bunch.  Home soon, pager back on.

Truck Poem

The other night at the Heyde Center I explained that over the years I have developed two groups of friends: The pickup-truck-and-gun-rack crowd, and the artist/dancer/poet crowd (or, the pale-and-tortured contingent).  They need not be mutually exclusive, but often are.  This is a shame, as both continue to enrich my life in ways I never dreamed.

Anyways.  (As we say in pickup-truck circles.)

Way back when I first started going to poetry readings, I wrote a poem in which I tried to explain to my new poet friends why I so loved the pickup-truck-and-gun-rack life.  I performed it the other night at the Heyde Center and a few people have asked if it’s in print anywhere.  It’s not.  As poems go it’s not much of one, but it’s a blast to perform out loud.

So I’ve posted it after the break. (more…)

Some of Us Just Don’t Know

I have often written pieces about my childhood faith, and the journey since.  A fair portion of Coop was devoted to that story. As such, this blog post got me ruminating some.  Mr. Alden is mentor of mine (he gave me some early breaks and ink) and I appreciate his forthright and thoughtful exploration of what is always a tricky subject.  His is a nuanced take, and blessedly free of snickers or sledgehammers.