Volume 9 – #3 – March 2006

The long, bitter winter is finally over in Texas. It’s time to put away the snow shovels and grab the sunscreen. I’m joking. The 2005-2006 cold weather never showed up. You know, when I was a kid, we had snow in our corner of Texas every year. It was common. These days, snow and ice are shocking freaks of nature around here. The temperature this winter averaged around 80. Let’s see, global warming, record-breaking violent storms, war in the Middle East, lots of eligible anti-Christ candidates, inevitable pandemics, creeping famine and drought. Either something’s going on, or I guess it’s not. Sure looks like the end of the world to me, but with all the radical Christians running amok spouting doom and gloom, I don’t know. They just can’t be right, especially if there’s a God. This should all be pretty serious business, and it is. But, sadly, from my perspective these events are reduced to fodder for another “ripped from the headlines” movie or TV show. You know, almost every side of every issue these days is stupid. Conservatives are stupid. Liberals are stupid. Red states are stupid, as are blue states. Sensationalism is what drives the media. It doesn’t even really matter which side of any fence anyone is on as long as the stories draw gawkers. Nothing is subtle. Everything and everyone is in your face, pissed off about something. How can everyone be right? Is it possible that in lots of cases, there simply isn’t a right or wrong, just stubbornly opposing viewpoints? Sometimes I think anger in most people is just a solution to boredom. It makes one feel good to criticize. Putting someone down is a sure fire way to make you feel superior, at least temporarily. And that’s the key. Shallow opinions breed shallow solutions. Don’t get me wrong. There are plenty of situations in the world that need correcting. Lots of folks are suffering at the hands of others (or nature), but I bet 95 % of the bitching that’s polluting the world is groundless and, as I said earlier, stupid. None of us, even in the best of circumstances, will be around much longer anyway. Hmmm. Sounds like I’m bitching. Okay, shift gears. Polka music is happy music.

Live Brave Combo shows are starting to sprout like weeds. Check our itinerary often. Dates are being added daily all over this troubled land. We’re about to enter full-blown festival season, which, of course, means sweat. It is our sincere desire to transport our audience to new musical worlds, free from worry and the burden of self-consciousness. And, wait till you hear our new rhumba version of the old Jefferson Airplane hit, “White Rabbit,” with Ann Marie delivering creepy quivering vocals. We have about 50 other new songs, too, including a rocking Mitch Ryder/Led Zeppelin medley and a new Polish tidbit called, “Kiss Me Sweetheart.” I hope to work the In-a-Gadda-da-Vida drum solo into something soon, like a polka hymn with Yiddish lyrics. Shake it up, Baby.

Freckles tribute.
One late afternoon, fourteen years ago, my wife, Jane, and I were driving through the dense piney woods of East Texas. We were headed to her parent’s home in Queen City, Texas, when we passed a familiar roadside park that was named for one of Jane’s relatives. As we glanced at the park, we noticed a little animal head look up from a drainage ditch. It was a puppy; a three or four-month-old female bird dog, white with golden spots and dots all over it. We both groaned (we didn’t want to see another abandoned East Texas country dog) as we pulled into the park. Of course, the puppy wouldn’t come to us, but was emaciated and obviously hungry. It was hovering near a piece of white bread covered in ants that another do-gooder had apparently left. We tried to grab her for a few minutes and realized we needed help. There was only about one hour of sunlight left, so we jumped back in the car, drove the remaining 15 miles to Jane’s parent’s house, picked them up, drove back to the park, surrounded the puppy, snagged her and made her part of the family. We prefer simple, to the point, unimaginative names, I guess, and soon dubbed her, “Freckles.” She was really shy and understandably nervous for a few days and then gradually blossomed and decided that I belonged to her. No animal will ever love me like Freckles did. She was obedient (sit, stay, catch, all that stuff) and protective and established herself easily as alpha dog. In her prime, she was quite beautiful and exotic for an ol’ dumped bird dog, loping around the yard like a sleek deer. And her instincts were, at times, astounding, if not humorous. She could focus on something in the house and just stand frozen for long periods of time, though I’m sure she had no idea what she was doing. She was always the first to greet me when I would come home and wanted to be as close to me as possible. About six years ago, Freckles developed a rare disease that caused her mouth to form ulcers and would infect her teeth and gums, thus beginning regular visits to a specialist in Dallas who scraped her gums and pulled infected teeth. Eventually, she could eat only soft food and was no longer able to play with her toys, because they wrecked her mouth. Recently, her liver started to fail, probably due to all the medicine she took over the years to control her disease, and just a few months ago her overall condition suddenly worsened. One day this month she collapsed after getting sick at her stomach. She died two blocks from the vet’s office, in the car, as we were driving to put her to sleep. I was in the back seat with her when it happened and I had to say goodbye to my little girl. She lived a long life, happy despite her illness, and insisted that most things go her way. However, I wasn’t prepared for the impact of her dying. In the final hours, as she was panting and shaking on the kitchen floor, I could do nothing for her, but hold her, let the vet know it was time and prepare her for death. Some people probably think that Jane and I love our animals too much and give them too much control over our lives, but to us, it’s unquestionably worth it. We know that she was lucky beyond belief the day we drove by and took her home. But we also know it was mutual. She looked at me in a way that I knew she was thankful and was possibly the only animal companion we’ll ever have that would lay down her life for us. She was not a small dog, so her cedar box of ashes will figure prominently on our shelf of cremated kids. When I stop crying I’ll probably write some corny little Freckles song that will embarrass me enough to start living again. Right now, though, I’m too sad.