STORIES

For years people have told me that I should write a book.  I agree.  I've attempted to put together fiction based on life, fiction based upon ideas, and enough autobiographies to paper my bathroom.  So now I've decided that this blog will be stories.

I'll still do random rantings about things that are happening, but I have so many stories to tell.  Who knows...maybe if I just collect enough of them I can make that a book.  Or two or maybe even three.

So here's the first one.

My buddy, Bill (Now Liam) McCurry is turning 86 tomorrow.  We were fast friends when I played at the Wine Cellar in Albuquerque, New Mexico.  It was a great place...lots of star quality entertainment passed in and out of those door through the years of its tenure as a great entertainment venue in Albuquerque.

I auditioned several times and finally got a go...I was immediately befriended by a former weather man who was fired when they asked him how cold it was going to get and he responded by warning the public to "haul in their brass monkeys."  We fell into buddyship from the get-go.

I have so many McCurry stories...we had a band of reprobates...Bill and Kurt and McCurry and Me...we did Sunday biscuits and Gravy, beer at the pick-up bar (Bill's truck) and so many songs...I can't remember if we loved Molly Malone or Waltzing Matilda or King Corracticus the most.  So I'll tell you one, just off the holidays.  A Christmas McCurry story.

It was two days before Christmas and the last night I was playing at the Cellar before the Christmas holidays. This was the late 70's.

McCurry came in and was in an Irish funk.  "I just don't feel the holidays."  I had set up my friend Eve to sneak presents in under our little Charlie Brown Tree and was anticipating my Jimmy awakening to a Christmas joy that I'd planned for a year.  The only way to give him Christmas was to do what I do to this day. The minute you see something that you know is a good present you buy it, wrap it and put it away.  That way all the money stress isn't at the holidays.

Anyhow, McCurry was Irishing and I was my usual no boyfriend who cares I'm going home to the love of my life who was my son, so I listened as he pined for the days when Christmas meant something.  Needless to say, the bartenders gave us all the leeway they could afford till they told us lights out and "Merry Christmas."

McCurry had a pickup truck at the time and there was a 6-pack of I don't remember now beer.  So we got in the truck and cracked the beers.  I hoisted my feet, weary of the 6" heels, onto the dashboard and I said "let's sing."  We knocked the aluminum cans together and I started...not with a jazz or pop song, but a carol.

"Silent Night...Holy Night..." McCurry sang with me.  We finished the song as well as our beer.  The drinking then became less important than what we'd started.  "Oh Come, All Ye Faithful."  "Joy to the World."  "Away in a Manger."

I think we may have cracked one more beer in the time we spent in that pickup truck, my feet saying "thank you" and our hearts singing songs.  I would like to say that a beautiful dusting of snow began late into our private concert...and it would be trite...but it really did happen.

As that little dust began, McCurry said "You need to get home."  I replied that I couldn't wait to see the Santa scene.  We air sipped the last of that can of beer and McCurry turned to me and said "Now it's Christmas."

Happy 86, McCurry.  Never a Christmas passes that I don't remember that Pick-em-up Parking lot Carole song Christmas.  You are forever a part of my heart and soul and I loved you then as I love you now. Happy, Happy Birthday.