southern winds
many times recently i have found myself wandering through past memories; some sweet and some bittersweet and some so sad as to bring tears. the COMEDY WORKSHOP ANNEX is now a GOODWILL DROP OFF office and the cabaret is a cleaners. not a plague nor a sign saying that here southern comedy was born. the store, in front of which sam kinison crucified himself, still stands. that stunt started the mystic of the annex and soon crowds were lined up around the corner waiting for someone to leave that 88 seat theater so they could get in. we went from 8 until we ran out of comics or out of crowd and then the comics stayed way past 2, drinking snorting, smoking, joking, telling and retelling, laughing and sometimes passing out. they were good times filled with good people and the world was our oyster.
the beautiful old house that heather and i owned in the heights is now a church parking lot and all the wonderful oak trees have been cut down. i used to climb out of a second floor window and sit on the roof of the porch amongst those trees and listen to the birds who sang their songs of life and love and days gone bye. their melody haunts my memory to paraphrase stardust.
houston has always been good to me and still after all these years and all those cities and all those foreign ports with their exotic names and historic pasts, houston still holds a place in my heart. i will never move back, rhonda and i will make our final stand in las vegas but i will always come back to see friends and to drive the streets with their canopies of oak.
one of the problems of advancing age is the passing of so many friends and family. my mother, father, brother and sister have all gone on plus way too many close friends, running buddies and cohorts to even count but sometimes, in the late afternoon as the sun goes from the bright of noon to the golden beams that soften the view and expand the mind i see their faces and hear their voices and sometimes the pain of loss is almost more than i can bear.
today is bright and warm and the southern wind brings the smell of the gulf. alone in this little apartment in the montrose, i dwell in the past and put my recollections in a blog.
the beautiful old house that heather and i owned in the heights is now a church parking lot and all the wonderful oak trees have been cut down. i used to climb out of a second floor window and sit on the roof of the porch amongst those trees and listen to the birds who sang their songs of life and love and days gone bye. their melody haunts my memory to paraphrase stardust.
houston has always been good to me and still after all these years and all those cities and all those foreign ports with their exotic names and historic pasts, houston still holds a place in my heart. i will never move back, rhonda and i will make our final stand in las vegas but i will always come back to see friends and to drive the streets with their canopies of oak.
one of the problems of advancing age is the passing of so many friends and family. my mother, father, brother and sister have all gone on plus way too many close friends, running buddies and cohorts to even count but sometimes, in the late afternoon as the sun goes from the bright of noon to the golden beams that soften the view and expand the mind i see their faces and hear their voices and sometimes the pain of loss is almost more than i can bear.
today is bright and warm and the southern wind brings the smell of the gulf. alone in this little apartment in the montrose, i dwell in the past and put my recollections in a blog.
posted by Ron Shock | 11:03 AM
2 Comments:
I always enjoy reading your blog. One of few that both buoys my spirits and more often than not, makes me laugh right out loud. American Storyteller indeed. You are a beautiful writer.
P.S. Hope your doctor has finally put you in the all clear.
I hear you all too well, Ron. I live near to where I grew up and used to visit my old stomping grounds every so often... Now, I try not to - fields dozed over for housing tracts, Starbucks all over, you can't even get to the foothills that I used to hike, and on-and-on. :-(
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