Left Coast Cowboys

Anyone who’s been following my blog knows I’ve been under pressure to buy a gun, mostly from the British contingent. As my friend Rob says, “You’re an American. It’s part of your culture.” The plan accelerated two years ago when Republican blog chatter started claiming Obama was going to clamp down on gun ownership. I’d never thought much about having a gun, but when it suddenly seemed as if it was going to stop being easy to get one, I thought more seriously about getting myself armed up. What? You don’t think an East Coast educated Liberal needs a gun? Ever seen Jimmy Stewart in The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance? I rest my case.

And you see that’s been my problem. I’ve been basing my gun choices on my favorite cowboy stars. If Clint, John or Gary were packin’ it, I was ready to buy it. My other mistake, apparently, was to work backward from whatever it was I wanted to kill — which was, basically, nothing. Seems that’s the wrong approach. Or at least that’s what they told me today down at The Last Gun Shop.

I'm not sure why it's called The Last Gun Shop. Maybe because you have to get nearly 70 miles outside of San Francisco to find one.

Some situations just call for full disclosure. So when the young (and heavily armed) young man behind the counter asked, “How can I help you”, I spoke right up:

“Can you help a Liberal buy a gun?”

Yes, this pistol-packin' gal here and above is Jane Fonda in her role as Cat Ballou. A great Western comedy, complete with Lee Marvin in a dual role and a drunken horse.

That brought all the tough guys, many in camouflage jackets, crowding around the counter. Clearly I was not a typical visitor to gun shops. Even shops this close to Wine Country. (It should be noted that the town of Napa is actually a lot closer to hunting territory than it is to sipping territory. You have to go up the Valley a bit to find Cabernet instead of Calibers.)

“Well, do you have any idea what kind of gun you are looking for?”

“I kind of had my heart set on a Belle Starr/Miss Kitty sort of thing. You know a derringer. Maybe with a pearl handle.”

My nice young clerk wasn’t even going to dignify this with an answer. So I tried another tack. That full disclosure thing.

“See, I’m living part time out in the country. Alone. And there is a Mountain Lion on our property.”

As he reached for a shotgun that looked as if it would take down a buffalo, I quickly added:

“Oh, I don’t want to shoot the Mountain Lion. In fact, knowing Mountain Lions, I don’t think I’d even see it if it decided to leap off a ledge onto my neck. Actually, we’ve had some break-ins and I was looking for a gun for protection.”

That led to a completely different gun case. But still a series of firearms that looked entirely too deadly for my tastes.

As I gingerly tried hefting some of the rifles, I worked up the courage to make my real goal known:

“You know, I think I just want to scare someone away. What would happen if I shot someone with this gun?”

The answer was short and to the point: “He would die.”

“Um, do you have something that would just spray a little buckshot but not really kill or maim anyone? Kind of like the gun Dick Cheney used to shoot his friend in the face.”

As soon as I said it, I expected a sneer of contempt. But never underestimate the kindness of Gun Shop people.

“Look, why don’t we find you something that’s big enough that the Bad Guys can see it. And that is loud enough that it scares them.”

That's how I found myself holding a pump-action 20 gauge Remington shotgun.

“I think this is going to be the right gun for you”, said my new Gun Shop Buddy. “Listen to the sound of this pump action.”

You know that dramatic Tschhhhhh-Tsch sound when The Man With No Name pumps up his gun before the gunfight? That’s the sound this gun makes.

“There”, said my Gun Shop Buddy, “anyone sane and clean who hears this sound will know you mean business. You won’t even have to fire a shot.”

“Great”, said I, “Just what I want. A pre-emptive firearm.”

“Of course, if a meth-head is coming at you, you’ll completely re-evaluate your desire not to shoot anything.”

Hmmmm. Maybe. But I’m hoping the combination of terrier howling and now my completely bad-ass Western sounding pump action rifle will keep all but the baddest dudes away.

So now I just have to wait out ten days while the ATF checks out if I have any felonies to my name.

Call me a traitor to my political affiliations, but I’m kind of liking the idea of being armed.

My only question now:

Can I get gun racks fitted to my Prius?

Addendum: If you’re stumped by my Liberty Valance reference, this’ll help ya Pilgrim:

I’m late, but you didn’t think I’d let this day slip by without mention — a day that would have been Johnny Cash’s 78th birthday. I heard fans are paying homage by wearing black, but there has only ever been one and never will be another Man in Black. It’s sad that there is a perception among kids today that Johnny Cash was a Country singer. Yes, he was, but then so much more.

From June 7, 1969 to March 31, 1971, The Johnny Cash Show aired on ABC. I can’t even draw an equivalent with any other show today. It was a show that everyone from young kids (my brother and myself), our babysitters (who were tuning in, turning on and dropping out) and my father (a military officer) all planned our week around.  You never knew who would show up as a guest on Johnny Cash’s show — everyone from Louis Armstrong to Bob Dylan to Joni Mitchell, Gordon Lightfoot and Neil Young. Many young singers say they got their first serious airplay when Johnny Cash went to bat for them and had them on the show. The range of music covered was astounding. Judy Collins came on and sang two Jacques Brel songs. Eric Clapton, Carl Perkins and Johnny traded guitar licks with Eric coming out behind in my humble opinion. (I write more extensively about The Johnny Cash Show and include that clip here.)

Kids today. I don't think they understand how influential and generous Johnny Cash was in fostering new artists.

For an idea of Johnny Cash’s wide-ranging influence on musicians, you’d have to have read the tribute issue of Rolling Stone in the week after he died. Artists as diverse as Bob Dylan, Keith Richards, Bono, Wyclef Jean and various rappers listed him as an important influence. It’s not that they aspired to be Country singers, but that they all recognized in Johnny Cash a singer of unparalleled integrity: he sang his truth as he knew it. (Rolling Stone Online has a sampling of remembrances here.)

He was also the old style American Christian I wish we had more of. He recognized his frailties, once saying, “Some people know just how to go straight to Heaven. I’m someone who has to get there one half mile a day.” He had a strong faith, but never waved it in anyone’s face or forced it on anyone. He just lived it. And that was inspiration enough. When he sang, with the voice of an Old Testament Prophet, you just had to sit up and listen. Rick Rubin, his last producer and a Jew, tells how Johnny once asked if he could take his hand and pray with him. It became a ritual with the two of them, even during telephone conversations. Rubin says he felt blessed to be so honored by a man of faith and included in that faith, even if it wasn’t his own.

If any of the Old Testament Prophets had had a recording contract, they would have sounded like Johnny Cash.

It’s also worth remembering, that at a time when established stars like Frank Sinatra, etc., were ignoring the turmoil of the Sixties, Johnny Cash was visiting college campuses — and being embraced by students who were also listening to The Byrds, The Grateful Dead and Jimi Hendrix. “The Man in Black” and “What is Truth?” came out of his concern that the issues being protested by Sixties youth weren’t being given proper attention.

Then there are Native Americans, who at that time, before the American Indian Movement, had no real voice in America. Johnny was embraced as one of their own, even though it turned out he was mistaken in thinking he had Cherokee blood. Didn’t matter. He was the first major star to foster the career of Native American singer Buffy Saint-Marie, he made a movie about The Trail of Tears, his wrote the immortal Ballad of Ira Hayes and he gave many concerts to enthusiastic Native audiences.

Of course, his work and concerts in prisons are the stuff of legend. Based on that, I’ve heard some call Johnny “the original Punk”. But he wasn’t — at least if you define a Punk as a nihilistic criminal. Johnny’s lyrics always packed an Old Testament wallop. In a Johnny Cash song, you could break the law, but you paid the price. You might “shoot a man in Reno just to watch him die” but then you’d have to acknowledge “I know I had it comin’, I know I can’t be free”. You could “be in the arms of your best friend’s wife” but then you’d get hung and your paramour would have to “walk these hills in a long black veil”. There was no free lunch and no Gangsta Life in Johnny Cash’s world. And he stood up as the premier example of a man who’d had to pay for his sins.

This attitude is probably one of the reasons no less an authority than Bob Dylan said of Cash: “Johnny was and is the North Star; you could guide your ship by him.”

And did we mention the music? Kick ass!

Thanks, Johnny, and Happy Birthday up in Heaven. There will never be another like you.

Nobody is ever going to mistake me for African-American, but I’m an unrepentant history buff and a trivia queen. So when a month is announced that celebrates history — especially history that hasn’t always traditionally been in the curriculum (trivia by another name?), you know I’m going to be all over it like a cheap suit. Besides: Black History, White History, Green History, Purple History. If it happened in this country, it’s all American History. Therefore I’m claiming it.

The Two Terriers Twist? I’m seeking out what I think are the lesser known figures in the hopes that I’ll amaze you with little-known facts. Or maybe I won’t. Maybe the figures I highlight here are all well known and it’s been too many years since I was in High School. But maybe I’ll introduce you to some unsung heroes of American history.

Our first contestant:

Henry Ossian Flipper, First Black Graduate of West Point, Civil Engineer, Author

Born into slavery, Henry Ossian Flipper was appointed to the West Point Class of 1877 by his Atlanta Congressman. He endured four years of  ”silent treatment” where his fellow cadets refused to speak to him, look at him or acknowledge his existence. He graduated with distinction and served with honor until racism and a trumped up court martial stripped him of military status. Afterwards, he distinguished himself as a civil engineer, in the Spanish-American War and as assistant and advisor to the US Secretary of the Interior in 1921. He never stopped fighting to clear his name. In 1976, his descendants petitioned successfully to have his dismissal reversed and an honorable discharge dated retroactively to 1882. West Point now awards the annual Henry O. Flipper Award to graduating cadets at the Academy who “exhibit leadership, self-discipline, and perseverance in the face of unusual difficulties.” Read more about him through his autobiographies: The Colored Cadet at West Point and  Negro Frontiersman: The Western Memoirs of Henry O. Flipper.

Benjamin O. Davis, Jr., Tuskegee Airman, First African-American General in the US Air Force.

You get a two-fer with our next contestant. Son of the first African-American general in the United States Army, Benjamin O. Davis Jr. began his air career as a barnstorming teen pilot, eventually as a member of the famed Tuskegee Airmen and finally as the first African-American General of the Air Force. A member of the West Point Class of 1936, Davis suffered the same silent treatment as Ossian Flipper. During a distinguished and decorated military career through two wars, he was tapped by President Harry Truman to draft and help implement the full integration of the Armed Services in the Fifties. See him played by Andre Braugher in the movie The Tuskegee Airmen.

Now for some of the ladies:

Madam CJ Walker. Businesswoman, entrepreneur, philanthropist.

The Guinness Book of Records cites Walker as the first female who became a millionaire by her own achievements. Not the first African-American female. The first female. The first of her family to be born into freedom, she eventually developed her own line of cosmetics and haircare products formulated for African-American skin and hair. More than for amassing a fortune, Madam Walker should be remembered for the economic opportunities she created for thousands. Her agents, mostly black women, could earn from $5 to $15 per day in an era when unskilled white laborers were making about $11 per week — a fact in which she took great pride. She retired to an Italianate Villa in New York, designed by architect Vertner Tandy, the first registered black architect in the state. There she, and later her daughter, supported artists, musicians and playwrights including many members of the Harlem Renaissance. Her biography has been written by her great-great granddaughter. I’m nominating Oprah to play her in the movie version.

Mary Ellen Pleasant. Entrepreneur, Abolitionist. "The Mother of Civil Rights in California."

Our next contestant: hero, villain, groundbreaker or voodoo priestess? Her life is a mystery — partially of her own making. At various points, she claimed to be the daughter of a Voodoo priestess and the youngest son of a Governor of Virginia as well as  a relative of  and practitioner under famed New Orleans Voodoo Queen Marie Laveau. What is known is that she showed up in San Francisco during the Gold Rush and quickly amassed a fortune from boarding houses, catering companies and wise investments with insider trading tips from wealthy clients. Although she, at first passed for White, she didn’t conceal her race from fellow African-Americans and was adept at finding many of them jobs and political appointments. She was also active in the Abolitionist Movement, was a great friend of John Brown and was thought to have financed his attack on Harper’s Ferry. After the Civil War, she officially changed her legal status to Negro, took her rights battles to the courts, including integrating cable and street cars. Her Civil Rights work was unmatched until the 1960s and one of her victories was cited and upheld as late as the 1980s. A series of lawsuits with various relatives of her partners in the late 1800s unleashed a storm of smears and scandals making her the most talked about woman in the San Francisco tabloids. Newly dubbed “Mammy” Pleasant, she was variously accused of being a baby stealer, a baby eater, a multiple murderess, a madam, an embezzler and a thief. She’s buried in a Napa cemetery, but not under an epitaph she was said to have preferred: “A Friend to John Brown.” There is precious little information about her, but this filmaker seems determined to set the record straight.

And could we close without mentioning cowboys?

Nat Love AKA Deadwood Dick, one of the most famous Black Cowboys

How about the fact that some historians estimate that at least one quarter of all working cowboys were Black? Although racial discrimination certainly existed, there was a rough sort of frontier equality in parts of the West. There were relatively few people, much danger, lots of work  to be done and not a lot of social structures. Apparently cowboy crews were a pretty mixed lot of Whites, Blacks, Mexicans and sometimes Native Americans forced by necessity to rub shoulders. (Sort of makes you wonder about the John Wayne/Roy Rogers image of cowboy life many of us grew up with.) African-American cowboys, sometimes brought as slaves or sometimes escaped from slavery, became ranch hands, cowboys, even gunslingers, rustlers, dance hall girls and Gold Rush miners. There are lots of sources but check out The Oakland Black Cowboy Association for a start.

Bill Pickett, Rodeo Champion, Star of Wild West Shows, First Black Cowboy Movie Star

Addendum: One of my readers, Maybelline in Bakersfield, suggested I add Bill Pickett to the list. Pickett was a famous rodeo star who appeared with Buffalo Bill, Will Rogers, Tom Mix and others in rodeos and Wild West shows. He often traded on his Native American blood (Cherokee) to get himself admitted to rodeos that barred African Americans (he billed himself as Commanche.) You think cowboys are tough? Bill Pickett took that to the tenth power. He invented a form of steer wrestling called “Bulldogging.” Pickett’s method included biting a cow on the lip and then falling backwards. This technique eventually fell out of favor for more traditional steer wrestling and riding — and no doubt because PETA would have had something to say about tough ol’ Bill Pickett. But you might want to catch the Bill Pickett Invitational Rodeo, the nation’s only all Black touring rodeo. They’re touring this summer, including Oakland, Los Angeles, Bakersfield, Phoenix, Washington DC and Atlanta.

So that’s the contribution from Two Terrier Vineyards. Did we introduce you to anyone new? Got someone else to nominate? We’d like to hear from you. But remember our motto over here:

It doesn't matter if you're Black or White. Doesn't matter if you're Black AND White. It's all History and it's all good.

Thirty years ago June 11th, John Wayne died. Seems like he never left us. Two years ago, as I planned for an epic cross-country roadtrip with my niece, it was coincidentally, the 100th anniversary of John Wayne’s birth. At that time, I made it a point to get reacquainted with The Duke’s movies, mostly since we were planning to drive through Monument Valley, the scene of so many iconic John Ford/John Wayne Westerns.

Several days and several Ford/Wayne Westerns later, I came out of the experience with a 180 degree change of view from when I went in.

I hadn’t seen many Ford Westerns or I hadn’t seen them in decades. But my view was pretty much the common perception. John Ford was a genius who reinvigorated the Western and brought new adult themes to it. John Wayne, his frequent star, was a great presence, but no actor. What merit his performances have are all the result of good directing. At least on repeat viewing, I found that perception completely false.

Before you go to Monument Valley, you have to see all the Ford/Wayne Westerns that made this place the iconic look of the cinematic West.

I’m not denying the recognizable abilities of a superb filmmaker. More informed viewers than me such as Akira Kurosawa, Martin Scorsese, Steven Spielberg, George Lucas, Sam Peckinpah, Peter Bogdanovich, Sergio Leone, and Jean-Luc Godard have all cited Ford as an inspiration. He certainly broke new ground with his cinematography, especially in making Western landscapes further the story line and themes.

But at least the movies I viewed didn’t seem to hold up as well as they should have and didn’t seem as sophisticated as other films before and contemporary to them. Take The Searchers which is hailed for its gritty, dark portrait of a man obsessed with finding his kidnapped niece — not to save her, but perhaps to kill her since, in his mind, she’s now “the leavings of an Indian buck.” Great story and brilliantly told when the focus is on that thread. But Ford interweaves an almost vaudevillian secondary romantic plot into the proceedings which seems to undermine his main theme. In the niece storyline, we are confronted with the racial prejudices of Wayne and the settlers. Yet the romantic plot features a 1/8th Cherokee who is pursued by a white woman — a woman who has stated the kidnapped Debbie would be “better off with a bullet in her brain” than living with Indians. If that’s what she thinks, why is she so anxious to marry the part Indian? And why oh why does that storyline have to be treated like broad comedy complete with a fight scene that wouldn’t be out of place in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers? It’s completely jarring when it intrudes on the darker story.

I didn't think Ford's directing stood the test of time in The Searchers. But John Wayne did.

The portrayal of Indians in general is pretty cringe-worthy in most of the Ford movies I’ve now seen. Film scholars are always saying, “Ford was not prejudiced. He was trying to portray prejudice.” Well, I will give him this. He was an equal opportunity stereotyper. Although Ford was as Irish as Murphy’s cow, every one of his films seems to feature the kind of broad comedy whiskey drinkin’, Blarney talkin’, brawlin’ Irish buffoon that went out with the demise of Lucky Charms commercials. And he also seems to get a “Ya sure, ya betcha” Swede in most of his movies, as well. I can’t be sure, but I thought he actually had a Mexican character saying, “!Ai, Chihuahua!” (This would be a question for Ask A Mexican, but has any Mexican, anywhere and at any time, ever said, “!Ai, Chihuahua!”?)

The Duke, on the other hand, turns in understated, but complete performances in every film I’ve seen him in so far. If you are going to credit Ford for producing those performances with good direction, why didn’t his directing genius seem to extend to all the hammy, over the top performances of the other actors — including most of his leading ladies and certainly all the twinkly Irishmen and dithery Swedes?

To be fair, I watched the Duke in movies where he was directed by others. The same solid performances. Even Ford gave Wayne backhanded credit. According to Hollywood legend, when he saw Wayne’s dark performance in Red River, he said, “I never knew the big son of a bitch could act!”

Granted Red River was directed by Howard Hawks, who was no slouch himself. But again, I think the Duke gets the credit. Nobody turns in consistently good performances in movie after movie, under a variety of different directors, unless he’s at least a natural.

In Rio Bravo, Duke has great chemistry with a surprising co-star, Dean Martin as alcoholic ex-deputy, Dude. Dino has the same naturalistic acting as the Duke.

Speaking of a natural, check out Dean Martin in one of my favorite John Wayne Westerns so far, Rio Bravo. As one of the few men to stand with Wayne against an outlaw band, Martin plays a drunken ex-deputy, which some of you will call “not much of a stretch”. But Martin doesn’t play a drunk as Hollywood tended to in the Fifties, as a staggering, slurring slob. He underplays as a sweating, shaking wreck in the late stages of the DTs.

Angie Dickinson is around as the love interest for the Duke, but all the chemistry is between Wayne and Martin. While the other actors act. Wayne and Martin just are. It’s a great Western, even if Howard Hawks couldn’t resist adding a little comic relief with Walter Brennan as Wayne’s sidekick, Stumpy. Unfortunately, a little Walter Brennan goes a long way, but I’d suggest that Hawks uses him less than Ford would have.

In Liberty Valence, The Duke takes on Lee Marvin AND Lee Van Cleef. Jimmy Stewart isn't much help.

My next favorite Wayne movie: The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance. The Duke plays a classic Western tough guy, at a time when his kind was on the verge of becoming an anachronism. His foil is Jimmy Stewart as the young lawyer (and seriously too old for the part) who represents where the West is heading. Together, they have to face possibly the scariest array of bad guys ever filmed: Lee Marvin as the sadistic Liberty Valance and Lee Van Cleef as his sidekick. (That’s twice the bad guy power of most Westerns and that’s leaving out the members of Valance’s gang played by unknown character actors.) Surprisingly, next to the Duke, Jimmy Stewart — who generally gets credit for being an accomplished naturalistic actor — seems mannered and studied with his stuttering, dithery schtick. Ford, in addition to some great iconic shots, does also shoehorn in his trademark “Ya Sure, Ya Betcha” Swede. But he does a better job than in The Searchers with the theme of prejudice. One of the most sympathetic and loyal characters, Pompey, John Wayne’s Black handyman, is shown in one schoolhouse scene reciting the “All men are created equal” part of the Declaration of Independence. Then in later scenes, he’s shown not invited in to vote and later refused service at the bar. The Wayne character makes clear his views on the matter with one line, delivered without much embellishment: “Sully, give him a drink.”

Eventually I ended up seeing all of John Ford’s work. But I still maintain that John Wayne contributed as much to Ford’s legend as Ford did to Wayne’s.

So here’s to you, Duke. I’m glad I found you again. Now let’s get those cattle across the river.

Addendum: One of my favorite John Wayne stories has nothing to do with Westerns. An executive at the Bath Iron Works, the shipyard that has been producing US Navy vessels for over 100 years, told me about the time John Wayne was invited to christen a battleship. He smashed the champagne bottle over the hull, which was supposed to signal the hydraulics to release the ship down the ramp and into the water. Nothing happened. In as superstition-riddled an industry as the maritime world, this is the greatest bad juju — pretty much a curse on a ship for all time. There was a horrified pause. Then the Duke reached out with one long arm and gave the bow of the ship a shove. It slid down the ramp to thunderous applause.

Need more Duke? Roger Ebert of TV Critic fame and one of the best bloggers out there, put up this post earlier today. (But then Roger is always way ahead of most of us.) Read it for some wonderful personal remembrances of Wayne and a great deconstruction of his acting technique. Which was actually no technique.

Today was one of those days where everything went wrong. Starting at 4AM. Which is when the dogs suddenly decided they HAD to get to the park immediately. I contemplated trying to ignore them, but I knew where that would lead. Terriers have the metabolisms of hummingbirds and, when they say they’re ready “to go”, they really mean it. Thirty second warning.

So out to the park, where I discovered San Francisco had just had an unseasonable rain. All three of us slipped in the wet grass and came back to the house covered with mud from the newly resodded grounds. Not a good mix with a white comforter. At 4:25 AM, it’s easy to decide a few muddy pawprints on the duvet are nothing to lose sleep over. There are worse things.

Then it got worse. A fight broke out over a rawhide bone. (In which I was not involved.) However, it was such a fierce and emotional fight that both dogs lost control of their bladders. Which, of course, meant going back to something I thought I’d left behind in my single, pre-house owning days: a trip to the Laundromat (since home washing machines don’t handle duvets.)

The Little Hollywood Launderette is a lot more fun at night when the bars are open.

Well, I told myself, I’ll spend the hour or so in the nearby Internet Café, writing a post. Not to be. Seems this economic downturn has disproportionately affected cafes within a walking distance of the Little Hollywood Launderette. No Wi-Fi anywhere and, worse yet, no chance of a cup of joe which was sorely needed by this time in the morning.

This is all a long way around getting to my point, which is the tale of how I pulled myself up from these depths of despair. It was as simple as turning on my iPod and rediscovering the Zen philosophy that is a Willie Nelson song.

As I slumped down, thinking of all the stuff I needed to do and wasn’t doing, this pearl of wisdom rolled out from The Braided One:

I can be moving or I can be still
But still is still moving to me

I agree, Willie. You are Number ONE.

So, Willie, you’re saying that even though I’m stuck in a crummy Laundromat, I can still use the time to move something forward. Even if it’s just gathering thoughts, organizing a to-do list or, yes that’s right, getting the duvet cleaned.

While I was contemplating this valuable lesson and heading over to the only drier that would hold my duvet, a woman with multiple piercings jumped in front of me and slapped one black nailed hand on the top: “Mine, I got here first.”

Not a problem, in the next song, Willie had her fate sussed out:

Nobody slides my friend
You can try, but you’ll never win
You can run, you can hide but it’s still waitin’ inside
And nobody slides, my friend

Check out this book from Amazon.

Whew! Zen Master Willie telling me that I didn’t have to cause a scene with a tattooed, pierced Goth Girl. She’d eventually get hers.

This got me skimming through my country playlists to see what else Willie had to say about the state of the world. The Mother Lode of Life Philosophy seemed to be in one song: Nothin’ I Can Do About It Now.

I could cry for the time I’ve wasted
Buy that’s a waste of time and tears,
And I know just what I’d change
If I went back in time somehow
But there’s nothing I can do about it now.

However, another song had so much home-spun, hard-livin’ Texas wisdom poured into it, it could stand as The Gospel According to Willie. Here’s a taste:

I laugh when I can
I live with the rest
I learn that holding on means letting go
I try to be a friend
To the person on my left
They say you just can’t be too careful who you know
But that ain’t necessarily so

How about Willie Yoga? Photo: Yoga Journal

Is this guy the bandana-ed, cowboy-booted reincarnation of a Tibetan Lama or an Indian guru? Why is no one offering Willie Nelson Yoga? Instead of chanting, you stretch and pose to the wise words of  Zen Master Willie. Can you imagine how calm and centered you’d be after that? Probably as relaxed as I was when I left The Little Hollywood Launderette.

Until I saw the parking ticket on my car.

ADDENDUM: Here are the full lyrics of Ain’t Necessarily So:

You can break your eggs to count your chickens
And you can break your neck to keep your ducks all in a row
But don’t think every chance you take
Has to mean a new mistake
It ain’t necessarily so

Now depending on the soil and the season
You can plant a seed and you can watch it grow
But you can’t have a guarantee,
Cause everything that ought to be
ain’t necessarily so

I laugh when I can
I live with the rest
I learn that holding on means letting go
I try to be a friend
To the person on my left
They say you just can’t be too careful who you know
But that ain’t necessarily so

I’d like to have more faith in human logic
Basing all the rules on the proof that you could show
But I can’t take my guesses back
That I based on all those facts
That ain’t necessarily so

And every time I follow what I’m feeling
I end up in the same place my heart would have me go
If there’s one rule of life I trust
It’s everything outside your gut
ain’t necessarily so

I laugh when I can
I live with the rest
I learn that holding on means letting go
I try to be a friend
To the person on my left
They say you just can’t be too careful who you know
But that ain’t necessarily so

Thanks Lyricsmania.