Where I’ll Be Snug And Sheltered From The Storm

It is warm today. Scott said it’s going to rain. I don’t care.

Now, the radio is telling me to expect hail. Sixty mile an hour winds. I care about that…a little.

I don’t like driving in high speed wind. Being pelted by the sky is okay.

I like it when it all comes down.

Right now, I’m at the gas station disappointed the price of fuel has increased ten cents a gallon.

What can I do?

Not much other than take three dollar bills, eight quarters to the cashier and say, ” Five bucks on pump seven.”

Then, I think I’ll drive home and take a nap.

Posted in Blues, Memoir, Money, Poetry, Uncategorized | 2 Comments

I Tell The Clock There Is No Reason For Alarm

I have no stories today.

No stories I want to tell.

I’m not up for it.

I’m out of practice.

I’m the Anti-Resolutionist.

What ever that means.

Last night, I closed my eyes promising myself a new attitude when I woke.

I guess I’m still asleep.

Posted in Blues, Denial, humor, Love, Poetry, Recovery, Relationships, Uncategorized | 1 Comment

Story Of My Life

Jay’s message to me said, “We missed it by five minutes. They found another band in town so he’s going to use them. Sorry. We missed it by five minutes.” 

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Wide Awake and Singing

It’s cold everywhere this section of the country. Only problem is, here in Northwest Florida, we’re still not used to it.

Some forcasts call for snow. I hope that happens. I’d love to go walking in it and watch as some of those frozen flakes melt in the palm of my hand. I want enough to make a stunted snowman. I want it to cover my brother’s lawn.

Then I want the sun to come out and melt it all. I want that bright sky to warm things just enough to make me a working musician again. 

New Year’s Eve weekend has been a bust. 

Eighty percent of my shows are outdoors.

Club owners say, “Folks don’t care about tunes enough to brave the temperature.” 

And most places won’t move me inside.

I know and usually accept all of the drawbacks of my profession with good humor. But the drizzly rain falling from gray clouds to coat my winshield has put an edge to my mood. I want to go home, get warm and sleepy under the covers. 

But I won’t.

I can’t. 

It’s New Year’s Eve. And, even if I’m shivering, I’m going to stand and welcome the New Year

Posted in 12 Step Meetings, Blues, Co-Dependency, humor, Love, Memoir, Money, Parenting, Poetry, Recovery, Relationships, Uncategorized | 2 Comments

Last Month Of The Year

Joey has a Christmas concert tonight. 

He plays the trumpet. 

His band teacher thinks he has a gift.

So do I but I’m biased and claim credit for his interest coz, when he was a baby riding back seat driver in his car seat, I’d play CDs of Louis Armstrong, Kermit Ruffins, Rebirth Brass Band, Fats Domino, Dr. John and I’d sing to him at the top of my lungs. 

Then, when he was in second grade, on holiday break from school, I’d pick him up and we’d go shopping for presents. 

He’d get in my car and ask, “Got any music to get us in the spirit?” 

That year, my favorite was The Blind Boys of Alabama’s Christmas Album so I put it on the player. 

Joey was jumpin’ from the first note and, by the time the final track, “Last Month of the Year,” started, he was singing full throttle, ” October, no. November, no, no. The twenty fifth day of December. When was Jesus born?”

I loved that time spent with him. It was joyous. Today, he’s thirteen and is concentrating on his mannishness.



The coaches love him. And he loves them.

The other day, he said, “I think I’m gonna quit band.”

And I said, “No, sir.”

“But I’ve got so much…”

“And all I ask is you keep that horn close to your heart. Even if it’s only in the band room.”

He rolled his eyes and dropped the subject.

But he’s on stage tonight and I’m in the audience. 

Afterwards, in the car, it won’t be Christmas music on his i-phone. That’s okay coz tonight he played that hundred dollar pawn shop trumpet I bought him like he meant it. 

Coz he meant it. Just like he means it on the football field, like he means it on the basketball court. Just like he meant it when he was eight years old singing, “When was Jesus born?”

Posted in Blues, Love, Memoir, Parenting, Poetry, Recovery, Relationships, Uncategorized | Leave a comment


“AND I FEEL THE SAME WAY ABOUT WRITING” @JosephJohnFull4 https://medium.com/@joefingas/and-i-feel-the-same-way-about-writing-e88cd0eff1ab

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The Friendly Ghost Of Christmas Past.

Last night, driving home from our show at the Biker’s Stage, we passed an enitre block of houses lit up for Christmas. Red, green and white lights. Some beaming steady while others blinked on and off.

I said to Will, “They are shimmering through the night air.”

Will said, “Yeah.”

I said, ” I love Christmas lights. My best childhood holiday memory is jumping in the family car, The Old Man behind the wheel, with my brothers and, sometimes, Mom in there with us, ready to tour the town in search of illumination.”

“I know what you mean, man. I’ve got my own to remember.”

“What d’ya say? Let’s relive the good ole days.”

As soon as I could, I made a right into a ritzy neighborhood and, just like that, we were flat ass diggin’ the digital icicles dripping from every kind of tree. Poplar, oak and pine. Seventeen Santas on seventeen rooftops barking orders to one hundred thirty six regular reindeer and seventeen red nosed rudolphs, one of which, I swear, was a fiber optic, animated Bullwinkle the Moose.

I told Will, “I could ride around checkin’ out all the lights but I better not. This car eats up the gas.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “Maybe next time.”

I helped Will unload his gear, fist bumped and hugged him good bye.

I pulled into a gas station and put fifty of the hundred bucks I had made playing music on the counter and told the cashier, ” On pump 8. It won’t filler up but it’ll be close enough.”

I pumped the gas, got into my brother’s Mescalade, and turned onto the quiet Sunday street.

I was looking for light.

Posted in 12 Step Meetings, Blues, humor, Love, Memoir, Money, Poetry, Recovery, Relationships, Uncategorized | Leave a comment