I want to wish a Happy Mother’s Day to all the great mother’s out there.  The number of faithful and wonderful mothers I could list here would probably keep me busy until next Mother’s Day.

I will give a shout out to some of those whom I have already wished a Happy Mother’s Day in person.

My Mom.  Happy Mother’s Day to you.  I thank you for all you have done.  You went above the call of duty many times.  I am grateful and blessed.

My Mother-in Law.  Thank you for being a kind soul.  Thank you most of all for giving us your daughter.

My sister.  You are a wonderful parent to your children.  Keep up the good work.

My wife.  You are simply the best.

WHERE THE SIDEWALK ENDS…

With an apologetic nod to Shel Silverstein, I found where the sidewalk ends last weekend.  It is on Charlestown Road in New Albany North of the Meijer store.

The sidewalk keeps going in the other direction.

Just down from this spot, if you keep walking in the direction of the sidewalk, is a eating establishment I have become quite fond of.  Though I refrained from entering the doors of the place, or going through the drive-thru,  I took this picture.  Do they even have a drive-up?  I don’t know.  I guess not.  You do go in and make your own.

Can’t help it.  I have a weakness for the place.  Guess I can help it.  I did not go in last week.  Hope they never build on of these in the county I live in.  If they did it would be like Norm Peterson making his way into Cheers.  Everyone would know my name.

I have always had a fascination of looking into the sun beneath a tree.  I know exactly what I was thinking when I looked up to the sun when I took this picture.  One day I will share it with you.  I mentioned this moment in a post I wrote last week around this time.  It was a significant place in time for me.  I found an answer.  I was given an answer.

The Moody Blues had to move their concert tonight from the snowy and picturesque venue that is Red Rocks Amphitheater outside Denver into the old relic of an indoor arena…the Denver Coliseum.  My research tells me the last time The Moody Blues played at the Denver Coliseum was December 11, 1970.  Talk about back to the future.

I made mention lately of John Lodge’s new solo effort.

I listened to it a few times this past week going up and down the road to work and back.  It only clocks in at about a half an hour with just eight songs.  I have enjoyed it.  The songs are very diverse.  He sings from the heart.  He is a true rock and roller.  Speaking of which, when I think of how John is going to be 70 later this year, I think about the old television promo that ran on the Louisville market promoting WRKA radio.  They mentioned The Moody Blues and their slogan over thirty years ago was “A Station for those between Rock (and Rolling) and Rocking (as in the rocking chair).  They were trying to appeal to a mature audience.  We had no way of believing a group could still be plugging into amps and cranking up the volume 50 years after they started.  I suppose the attitude was driven by the fact that if the Beatles only had a “live” life of less than ten years, no one else could survive that long either. It had never happened before.  That is one of the things I never forget when I see The Moodies today.  The are truly music history.  They opened for The Beatles.

John Lodge’s 1977 album  Natural Avenue.

I like this record too.  I have come to the point where I do skip a couple because I have had my fill of them.  My greatest criticism of this is that I have always thought the cover of this thing was dreadful.  The pic of him is bad.  The worn out “YES”- like Roger Dean sleeve work does not work for me.  I was delighted when John re-released this with an extra song not included on the original CD about twenty years ago..

This was much better.

Speaking of better… if any of you are under the weather right now, I feel your pain.  Medical pros call it sinusitis and bronchitis.  I call it I can’t breathe!  Thank God for medication and the fact that I can procure some when I am in need.

That is speaking the rights!

Danny Johnson

I am sitting here listening to the new album by John Lodge.

John is a member of The Moody Blues.

John is standing to my left in the picture.

This is a picture of John taken at Red Rocks outside of Denver.  This photo was taken four years ago tonight.  My dear wife, Carrie, and were fortunate enough to see the band at this iconic and meaningful place.

The Moodies will playing at Red Rocks this Sunday night.  No, we won’t be there.

10,000 Light Years Ago…that is the name of the album I am listening to.  There are 8 songs on it.  There were 8 songs of the band’s  classic “Seventh Sojourn” album from back in 1972.  It was the band’s seventh album.  I am listening to the seventh tune on this collection.  I must say it is all better than I anticipated.

John will be 70 this year.  His voice is not as strong as it once was.  His voice has never been his strongest suit.  He can write a song, however.  He wrote the show-stopping “I’m Just a Singer in a Rock and Roll Band” that is still played before “Nights in White Satin” at Moodies concerts.

John’s bass playing is also remarkable to this day.  He plays with a pick.  Many bass players are thumpers.  Not John.  His Precision Fender in played with the precision he gives it.

10,000 Light Years Ago is John’s first solo album in 38 years.  He recorded “Natural Avenue” in 1977 as The Moody Blues were on a self-imposed hiatus of a few years.  He re-released it about twenty years ago.  It had an extra tune on it.

I really do expect all five of the classic Moody Blues to get together for a show in 2017 to celebrate the 50th anniversary of Days of Future Passed, their first album.

Mike Pinder was at a concert in California last week.  He played with band in the early days.  His last show with them was in 1974 in San Francisco.

I have said before.  I will say it again.  I picked the right group to listen to.  Or they picked me.  Or maybe we both had some help.

Speaking the rights.

Danny Johnson

You know…you could…

That was the sentiment of a friend that reads speaktherights.com on a VERY regular basis.  I am thankful.

The “You know…you could…” was this person’s telling me I can easily log into my blog and throw down some stuff like I am right now…and if I did that everyday…I would make my 200 post goal.

Yes…I suppose I could do that.

But…that is not why I am here.

I write this stuff because I feel it is important.  I have received so much positive feedback from folks of all walks of life. They tell me they enjoy reading my posts.  The use the term “speak the rights” as part of their regular vernacular.  That is a pretty cool thing.  I am glad to be a part of that.  YES…a part of that.  That is what I feel like.

Do I have a gift for writing what I write?  Yes.  It is a God-given gift.  I never aspired to or planned on this.

While I have enjoyed the writings of many, I never copied any style.  I took creative writing classes.  Some were great.  Some were not so great.  Do I think about them when I sit down to write this?  No, I don’t.  And no…Millard Dunn did not teach my creative writing classes.  I wish he had.

I just take off and go.  Life is too short to over-analyze things.  That is not what speaktherights.com is about.   It is about, well, speaking the rights.

My friend Jeff Carpenter, the music studio whiz, called today to check on how a project we worked on a few weeks ago panned out.  I told him it went well.  My sister sang a song in his studio for a Kosair charities kick-off they were doing at her school.  It went very well.  Jeff was very complimentary of my sister’s ability to “hit it” so quickly.  She did a great job.

I hope and pray that Jeff and I get to do some more recording together…soon!  To do that, I will have to write some songs.   I better get busy.  I would be delighted to share this experience with you.

Speaking the rights.

Danny Johnson

So I started writing this  “blog”…I still hate that word…on July 8th of last year.  This is post number 148.

When I started writing this thing  I was acting like I knew what I was doing.  I was clueless.  I talked myself into knowing how to proceed.  It has worked out.

For whatever reason, I have found my way to five continents with the words I bang out on this laptop computer.  That is pretty cool.  I will never get to all these international locations physically.  I have no intention to do so.  Thoughts…and words, however, can take on  lives of their own; we know this.  Now I have tangible proof.  Does it feel good ?  Yes, it does.  Do I wish I had a larger audience?  Yes, I do.  Do I lose sleep over anything that has to do with this blog?  No, I don’t.  I just keep pecking away as the spirit moves me.

I did, however, in the middle of the fall, hope that I would put in 200 posts in 365 days.  That was my goal.  I don’t think I will reach it.  I have 66 days to write 52 more posts.  Can I do it?  Yes, I can.  Will I do it?  I doubt it.  After all, I do write when I think it is time.  Maybe  it will work out.  Perhaps I will hit a spell that is prolific beyond my wildest dreams.  I doubt it.

700 word is the usual intent, unless I know we will only be here for a short while…like tonight.  When I wrote a newspaper column, 700 words is what I aimed for.  Hoping like heck I could makes sense and keep someone…anyone….interested with the words I put forth, was what I wanted.

Some of these posts have exceeded 700 words…one ran like 3000 or something like that.  I had to add ice to my tea glass six times that day.

When I wrote newspaper columns I had an editor.  He rarely touched my stuff.  I thank him for that.  A couple if times he felt compelled to put his two cents in and make some cosmetic changes.  Did I lose sleep?  No, I didn’t.  He was the boss.  One is supposed to respect authority.

With this blog, I guess I am the boss.  It works out.  I push myself at times.  I have gone down a few dark alleys on these pages that were no picnic to write about.  Cathartic…that is the word.  Writing about some things that don’t always feel so good is always cathartic.  Yes, it does make me feel better.  Most of the times I feel better a few days later.

I walked six miles yesterday.   It felt good.  My dear wife, Carrie, was getting her hair done.   I walked as she was in the beauty parlor.  She told me her appointment would probably last about an hour and ten minutes.  Two hours and ten minutes later we saw each other again.  I walked the whole time.  My six mile estimate is kind.  I am sure it was more than that.  I enjoyed every step.  I even found where the side walk ends.

My walk was cathartic too.  I found a great universal truth as I walked.  I will share it with you one day…I think.  No, I am quite sure I will.  And I am quite sure I will continue to…

Speak the rights.

Danny Johnson

There is a school picture sitting a few inches to the left of my laptop computer as I type this.

This is my kindergarten school picture.  I was five, I suppose.  It was the 1973-1974 school year.

Forty years later we are relegated to this:

This is my 2013-12014 school picture.

Though the photo from my youth is a bit distorted and looks foggy compared to the original sitting near my computer, it seems appropriate that it looks that way.  Time has will put that kind of mist between present you and the younger you.  Forty years.  I don’t think I have ever even stopped to think I have been around that long…let alone have a photograph to compare myself to.

I enjoyed playing football when I was five.  That has not stopped.  On a separate tab on my computer, I am looking in on the NFL Draft.  The first round is happening tonight.  I still enjoy football.  We all know that.

Update:  Amari Cooper just got drafted by the Oakland Raiders.  Last year he played the Alabama Crimson Tide.  I was hoping he would hang out until number nine and the Giants would take him.

When I was five I ate bacon, eggs, and toast for breakfast.  I ate my bacon first.  I ate my eggs.  I ate my toast with plenty of butter and my beloved grape jelly.  This would be the meal that would start my day growing up.  My mother was a good sport.

My dear wife, Carrie, is a good sport too.  On most mornings she has my egg, my ham, and toast…dry these days…waiting on me as I open the morning paper.  She loves me.  Low cal bread has replaced good old wholesome white.  Blackberry fruit spread has fewer calories than the jelly.   No butter…or margarine.  My breakfast is a must to keep the machine rolling.  Thyroid issues and all that…stuff that I did not worry about when I was five has found a way to remind me I am forty-seven these days.

When I was five I had two grandfathers, a grandmother, and two great-grandmothers.  All the grandmothers were on my Dad’s side of the family.   I never met my Mom’s mother.  I regret that as much as anything I think I could.  I have been blessed.

They are all gone now.  When Granny died in November I was rendered a man with no grandparents left.  Hey, I am not complaining.  Forty-six years with my Granny…are you kidding me.  I am fortunate.

When I was five I loved to eat ice cream.  I still do.

When I was five I was on bicycle burning calories faster than I could take them in.  I was always on the go.  I am still always on the go.  Traveling to my work place,  I am in a car over two hours a day….not exactly a calorie burning endeavor.  That is why I spent forty-five minutes on the elliptical and then cooled down on the stationary bike as I watched homemade dvds of the show Ed.

When I was five I watched Cowboy Bob on Channel 4.  His real name is Bob Carter.  I met him about seven years ago thanks to my old friend Norm Taylor.  Cowboy Bob made me feel like a kid again.

What makes me feel like a kid?  Listening to the Bay City Rollers.  Riding a bike. Lying on the ground looking into a clear blue sky concentrating on planes flying 40,000 feet in the air above me.  Funny though, I can’t see them as well as I did back then.

I also feel like a kid when I turn on the Cincinnati Reds on radio.  Marty Brennaman is still calling the Reds games just like he did when I was sitting in the yard with my Dad.  He was in a folding lawn chair drinking a glass of cold lemonade.  I was chasing lightning bugs and kicking up freshly cut grass clippings in the whirlwind that was my nonstop existence.  When Johnny Bench was up to bat, however, I paused for the next pitch Marty would tell me about.

I’m outta here.  Going to go check the score the old fashioned way…on 700 WLW in Cincinnati.  50,000 watts, baby.

Speaking the rights.

Danny Johnson

My mind is firmly planted on my friends from New Hampshire.  Bob, Michelle, and their children Davis, Sabra, and Siera.  The last two are twin girls.  Know, Siera, I only put you last because your name falls alphabetically after your sister.  That is what English teachers do.

My dear wife, Carrie, and I are very fond of this bunch.  Carrie and Michelle go way back.  They graduated from high school together.  They spent a great deal of time together growing up.  Each time I hear them telling a story about something that happened back in the day, they both have such a fascinating look on their faces.  They laugh and they recall and they are both so grateful they have each other to relive those wonderful times they shared growing up together.  Who wouldn’t?

There is another Michelle in this mix too.  Same age.  Same class in high school.  Get the three of them together…and you might as well step aside.  I wish the three of them could get together more often,  just so I could watch them laugh.

I told about Bob in one of the first posts I wrote here in July of last year.  Bob took me to Fenway Park in Boston.  I still don’t believe I was actually there.  I think I was.  It seemed like a dream.  Bob drove to the game that day.  If you knew how much I drive every day you would know how important that was.  Bob drove.  I got to look around.  It is a time I hope I never forget.

Before my dear Carrie and I got to New Hampshire last summer, we spent a week in the Berkshires of western Massachusetts.   While we were there, we took to the vehicle on a couple of occasions and made short trips to do some sight-seeing and vittle finding.  The Old Forge restaurant in Lanesborough, MA is firmly planted in our Top 5 eateries of all time.  I got a mushroom ravioli that was probably the best thing I ever tasted in a restaurant North of Interstate 20.  What can I say, I am a southern boy a heart.

One day we went up to Bennington, Vermont…just a drive of forty miles or so from where we were staying.  I fell in love with the place.  The people? Friendly.  Speaking of friendly…we discovered Friendly’s Ice Cream Restaurant in Bennington and I was taken aback.  In the Midwest we have Dairy Queen.  In the Northeast, they have Friendly’s.  I like Dairy Queen.  I really like Friendly’s.  Give me a big waffle cone full of chocolate-chip ice cream and you will find a happy man.  Mission accomplished at the Bennington, VT Friendly’s.

If you get a chance to go to Bennington, I encourage you.  As I said, the people are friendly.  The town is spotless.  It is not a fancy place.  It is a nice place.

While we were in the Bennington visitor’s center, we were asked if we were familiar with the work of Robert Frost.  Being an English teacher from way back, I know who Robert Frost was…and I am very familiar with his work.  After all, most of us have read the poem The Road Not Taken…you know, the one where he talks about two paths in the woods.  One was worn and one was not.  He chose the road less traveled by and said it made all the difference.  He took the path that was not worn.  What Frost did not know was that he would create a worn path all his own.

The lady in the Bennington visitor’s center told us Robert Frost was buried in a cemetery at a church no more than a few miles from where we were talking about it.  What she said, I still think about and laugh.

‘If you are in the cemetery, you can find the grave of Robert Frost very easily.  There is a worn and beaten path that leads to his marker.”

Frost may have chose the road less traveled by in life…but he created a road most traveled by in death.  That is a classic oxymoron.

Sadness.

It is hard to let someone go.  Friendships don’t always last like we think they will.  It is hard to let them go.  Love affairs don’t always end the way we hope they will.  It is hard to let them go.

Even when we know it is best that we let someone go, it doesn’t mean it will be an easy thing.  It is hard to let someone we love go.

Our friends from New Hampshire have been back in town since late last week.  Michelle got to the hospital where her Mom was admitted and she never left….until…this morning. Nine nights she spent at the hospital.

Michelle’s mother, Mary Beth, lost her battle with cancer this morning.

Carrie and I left the hospital last night after midnight.  We were hanging out with Sabra and Siera and we also saw Bob and Davis.  We didn’t see Michelle.  And that was okay.  She did not want to leave her mother’s bedside.  Her dad, Tommy, was there too.  Our thoughts and our prayers are with them at this most difficult time.

No matter what the situation is…when you lose someone you love, it is hard to let them go.

That last sentence speaks the rights.

Danny Johnson

This is not why I love baseball.  But, I suppose it doesn’t hurt my affection for the game.

What is pictured above is my 1979 Brownstown Little League Champs trophy.  While my “stuff” is getting less and less important to me with every passing year, I still smile when I look at this trophy.

I was eleven years old.  I know I mentioned some of the logistics of this baseball season in a previous post.  I was playing for the Royals.  While we were playing a little league season, I was in the midst of moving from Brownstown to Harrison County.  The last few games of the season, I actually traveled over 50 miles to get to the baseball diamond to help my team win it all.  Win it all is exactly what we did.  We did not lose a single game.  The 1979 Brownstown Little League Royals were the 1972 Miami Dolphins.  We did not lose a game.

I played first base.  Blessed with a good glove, I could catch anything heading my direction. Throw it as hard as you want.  I could care less.  I could scoop it and dig it too…those pesky throws coming from deep in the infield that did not have enough steam on them were not a problem.

Foot speed?  There are sun dials that I could not keep up with.  Oh…I wasn’t woefully slow. I can tell you foot speed is the thing I had the least of…with the exception of courage when it was my time at bat.

I was a chicken at the plate.  Put a glove on me and I am Superman in the infield.  Take my cape…uh, my glove away, and I was a grade “A” weenie.  Put a stick of wood in my hands and I was doomed.  Oh, I got my share of hits.  I don’t think I did better than a double that year.  I just closed my eyes, tried to make contact, and ran at the first hint that contact had been made.  It wasn’t always like that.  If the pitcher was younger than I was and I thought I could stare at him and intimidate him a bit, I would stand there like I was Babe Ruth and dare him to put on over the plate.  The difference was Babe hit a great many home runs.  I hit singles and the occasion double.  I was a head case at bat.  I said it. I know it.  Heck, I knew it then.

That doesn’t change the fact that I was on a baseball team that didn’t lose a game in 1979.

This picture appeared in The Brownstown Banner.

I’m the one in the back row folding his arms with my peach basket of a glove under my right arm.  Most of us played in our jeans back then.  We had no official uniforms other than a T-shirt with a generic looking name on the front.  It was perfect.  That team was perfect.  One thing I have come to realize is not many folks can say they were on a team that did not lose a game.  I was there.  I was also there on some crappy teams too…don’t get me wrong.  I suppose that is why this old simple trophy means so much to me.  When I l look at the trophy we EARNED (this was before every kid got a trophy on the team just for showing up and for the hopes of raising some parent’s self-esteem), I hear a ball hitting my glove as Johnny Johnson throws a rope to me from third base.  We get the runner by two steps.  Johnny was a great baseball player.  I was not.

The Major League Baseball season is young in 2015.  I have watched the Cincinnati Reds play on television.  I have actually watched them more than I expected to.  I have yet to watch a full game.  I usually tune in about the fourth or fifth inning and keep watching if I like what I see.

Hopefully my dear wife, Carrie, and I will make it to a minor league park or two this season.  We enjoy watching the guys in the minors play their hearts out.  Our two favorite teams are in North Carolina.  The Asheville Tourists play in legendary McCormick Stadium.  There is no place I would rather watch a game.  We saw a no-hitter there.  We have also been fortunate enough to witness a few games at DBAP…Durham Bulls Athletic Park.

Speaking the balls and strikes rights.

Danny Johnson

So I have seen many music acts play live.  A few of them I could have done without.  I saw George Thorogood once.  Wow.  LOUD!  LOUD!! and LOUDER!  The room was small.  That did not help.  I was there at the behest of a buddy of mine I have not seen in nearly twenty years.  It has probably been near fourteen years since we have talked to each other on the phone.  Well…you can’t keep up with everybody, can you?  And don’t start in on that facebook phenomena with me.  Mullcat (that is what I called him) and I were quick on the phone.  Get the message…hang it up.  If we found a comfortable spot, however, we could sit and talk about the ills and the victories of life for hours.  That I miss.  Thorogood?  I only stuck around for six songs.  During those six songs I got kicked, pushed, beer spilled on me, and I think my left ear started to bleed.  I was out of there.

Phil Collins, as a solo performer or a member of Genesis, is one guy I never heard perform live.  His song “Against All Odds” was all over the radio the radio in the mid-80s.  In fact he had a slew of hit songs that, when folks stop and think about, are startling in number.

I had a Phil Collins 45 RPM record in 1985.  Singles is what we called them back then.  Singles is a silly name for the 45.  After all, there were two sides to it.  There were two songs.  Okay…I just looked it up.  The song “We Said Hello, Goodbye” was the B-side of the 45 I had.  The A-side…which means the most popular of the two… for those of you attending vinyl school here….was “Take Me Home”.

“We Said Hello, Goodbye” is a tune I fell for in a hurry when I was seventeen or eighteen years old.  There is an intro to the song that includes strings and piano and it is one of the most beautiful things I have heard to this day.  The song is an inspiration.  The song is a song of hope.  Though things don’t always work out the way we want them to, we can always set our sails for a new horizon.  We can and we will press onward.

I recently found a copy of the album it was on.  The album was called “No Jacket Required”.  Yes, I still call them albums when I feel like it.

I had not heard the intro to that song in over twenty years.  I have no doubt it has been that long.  Did I still like it?  Would I be writing this if I was disappointed?  Man…it was good.  It was real good.  It was better than I remembered.  The intro was a few seconds longer than I remembered.  Then, with piano leading the way, Phil Collins and his distinct voice made some simple words turn into a message with the tone of his awkward voice alone.  That is a special talent.

Understand, when I was growing up we did not know what the folks we heard coming from radio speakers looked like.  I did not know what Phil Collins looked like when I first heard the song “Against All Odds”.  My mind’s eye had a burly guy with a Grizzly Adams-like beard throwing his head back when he came to the high crescendo.  When I saw Phil Collins on TV singing the song I was taken aback.  That little pipsqueak sings this song? No.  Can’t be.  He did.

Thanks to all that have asked about my Uncle Roger.  His surgery was a success. I am most thankful.

Our dear friends from New Hampshire, Bob and Michelle and their three youngsters,  are in town.  Michelle flew in on Thursday.  Bob and the kids came in on Friday.  Michelle’s mother is not doing too well.  Our prayers continue to go up with them in mind.  Seems we have reached the point in life where we see too much of each other during difficult times and don’t take the time to see each other before hard times catch up to us again.

We’re all so busy.  Isn’t that the standard excuse?

Speaking the rights.

Danny Johnson

I took this photo a couple of weekends ago.  David Van Winkle and the other great Americans at the Van Winkle Service Center, you should go there, in Ramsey were tending to the oil changing my 1999 Dodge Stratus needed very badly.  The aforementioned establishment is a primary reason the car is still in as good of shape as it is.  When I came back around to pick it up, David Van Winkle made a comment that the car just keeps on going.   Yes, thanks to him.  The vehicle has 240,000-plus miles on it.  It still drives quite well.  The stereo is great and the gas mileage is acceptable.  Tunes and miles?  I drive alone in this car.  When I am not talking to God or my mother, I crank up The Moody Blues and the others on my iPod as I drive to and from work everyday.  That would be either 108 miles or 130 mile, depending on whether or not the East Fork of the White River is rolling over Highway 235.

When I took the picture above I was walking.  From the Van Winkle Service Center to the parking lot of North Harrison Elementary School (the Whiskey Run Road side), it is 1.25 miles if you take the gravel road on the South side of Hwy. 64 to the East entrance of the school system’s high school.  This is where I took the picture of the rail road tracks.  The direction the camera is looking is East.

If anyone else is scratching their head’s about the sensibility of a school being located on Whiskey Run Road, know you are not alone.

I walked 5 miles on this day.  I like to walk.  It is good exercise for the body and the mind.  Many of us have occupations that make us process information faster than we can comprehend as we are walking along a lonely gravel road with a cool Western breeze at our backs and, in my case, with ear buds snugly placed so that all the music stays between the ears.  I listen to slow songs and fast songs…rocking songs and sacred songs…country songs and mostly rock and roll songs.  I indicated what is on my iPod  many posts ago.

The Moody Blues claim the most songs on my iPod.  That is no shock to anyone who knows me.

Though I have yet to mention it yet, My dear wife, Carrie, and I  saw The Moody Blues sing last weekend.  I know. I know.  Some of you in the know just wondered aloud, “Again?”

Yes, again.  Another town and another venue.  This time at Merrillville, Indiana’s  Star Plaza Theatre.

The regular camera was not working.  I took this picture with my antiquated phone.  This phone does great when you have great light…the railroad tracks pic was taken by the same instrument, as have many other speaktherights.com pictures.

Maybe this was a good thing.  Maybe this is a good last shot, just in case this was the final Moody Blues concert we get to see.  I first saw them in 1986.  I was 18.  You do the math.

I do know the band has a few dates set for 2016.  You just never know.

Personally, I hope they hang in until 2017 and do a 50 year anniversary of Days of Future Passed at London’s Royal Albert Hall.  That would certainly be recorded.  Perhaps they could get the other two members from that day, Mike Pinder and Ray Thomas, back in the fray for a one-off performance.  I am probably dreaming here.  Pinder last played with the boys in 1974 at San Francisco’s “Cow Palace”.  Thomas retired from the group after 2002.

Know this…the concert we took in last weekend was one of the best Moodies performances I have ever seen.  Justin Hayward is still an impeccable guitar player and his voice is a marvel.  John Lodge still shows off as he is playing the bass and rocks with a purpose.  Graeme Edge, at 74, can still keep time with the sticks and incite a crowd with his antics.  I don’t think we could have asked for a better show.

Maybe I am the one who should walk away.

Speaking the rights…

Danny Johnson

Uncle Roger and me at the 2013 Hines Family Reunion

Somewhere in Georgia tonight my Uncle Roger is looking at the time of night and perhaps reading something.  Maybe he picked something up and put it down earlier than he planned.  For all I know he sat down today and read an entire novella in one setting.  The truth is, and I know many would attest to this, I just don’t know.  I have not talked to Uncle Roger in some time.  We have exchanged emails in the last month which means we put a few lines to each other’s way to acknowledge our existence with a few kind words thrown in for good measure and earnest faith.

I emailed him because I had stumbled across, thankfully, a piece of writing he penned that is over twenty years old.  I told him it is one of my favorite pieces of writing.  As I read it this many years on, I can still hear his kind, distinctly southern, life-giving voice.

A short time after I sent Uncle Roger an email,  I discovered he was going to have heart surgery.  I have heard the term “routine” thrown around when this procedure is mentioned.  Routine…until it needs to be done on you, I say.

Don’t get me wrong.  I have complete faith that Uncle Roger will come through his “procedure” just fine and he will press onward.  Whatever a mitral valve prolapse is,  I am confident that with the help of a skilled surgeon, Uncle Roger will kick its butt.

I’m sorry you won’t get to hear about Uncle Roger in the context he deserves.  If you have driven on Interstate 20 east of Jackson, Mississippi, you have driven a road he helped to plot.

Working ahead of a his time in 1960-something…I am bound to get the year wrong…he volunteered to teach at an all black high school in Meridian, Mississippi.  I have seen the photo of the faculty from that school year.  My uncle is the only white teacher and none of them could have been prouder to be there.  Isn’t it a shame that Hollywood won’t make a movie about Uncle Roger and his heart and desire to help students…black students…in that day and time in Mississippi.  He didn’t cause enough trouble for Hollywood.

I referenced the first paragraph of this post as a mirror to what I might be doing if I faced what my Uncle Roger is facing on April 16th this week.  I know he is also staying close to his wife Nancy and I know they are praying together.  If two kids were ever meant for each other, Roger and Nancy would be those two kids.

Roger and Nancy have four children.  I know they are faithful to our God and still anxious as they think about their beloved earthly father as he goes through the stress and anxiety of what April 16th will bring.  These are my cousins.  I love them and my heart is with them.

My Uncle Roger is an English teacher.  He always will be.  Did I take up a career in education because of him?  No… I did not.  Still it has been great to discuss and chew on with him the things that make students better students and better people.  The catalog of students’ lives he has touched is immeasurable.  Move over Mr. Holland.

Uncle Roger was a State Representative in Georgia for a number of years.  He even ran for Congress.  Had the dollar signs gone his way, and enough people had good sense, he would be taking a respite from Washington to have this procedure.  Or would he?  With his strong sense of service, I am delighted he is not in Washington.  I am glad he is outside of Atlanta trying to take care of himself.

The best thing I have left to say is that I am looking forward to visiting him again…perhaps this summer.  My dear wife, Carrie, and I spent a couple nights with Uncle Roger and Aunt Nancy a few years ago.  To hear those stories about his sixteen brothers and sisters, my mother being one of them, was pure joy and discovery.  We sat and talked into the night until the clock told us the next day had crept up on us at about story number forty-seven.  Good times.  Good times indeed.

Our hearts and prayers are with you, Uncle Roger…and Aunt Nancy….and cousins Christy, Wendy, Jeff, and Reagan…and their families. I look forward to the day we look at each other and talk about how it all went.  Uncle Roger will surely lead the discussion, as he should.

Speaking the rights…

Danny Johnson