Will Dudley: Home
Hello, I am Will Dudley, singing for you the best I can.
Sunday Morning in Wickenburg - November 20, 2011
Sunday Morning in Wickenburg is a little less busy on my busy street. The trucks don't show up early in the morning to enhance the inventories of the Subway and McDonald's and Shell Stations. On this Sunday morning I don't see a bunch of restored Chevy's and Ford's and Chrysler's cruising around being driven by septuagenarians taking their honey's out a morning drive, but it's still early, and the weather's worth talking about when it's 75 degrees at nine fifteen a.m. in late November. I expect to see bikers rolling around and through town by ten a.m. They dress in assorted leather outfits and the road to Kingman and the roads to Yuma and California all come through here. Big Harleys and whispering Hondas roll through on these warm days of autumn.
Tonight I'll be thrilled to be singing for some girls field hockey all stars. A huge part of the beauty of singing for my supper is never knowing who's going to be there. I keep hoping to sing for Natalie Portman on a weekend getaway, but it hasn't happened yet. Still, it might be a Tennessee politician or a California businessman on a weekend getaway with his wife. It might be my next best friend, who's to say?
Last night I was happy to holler for some folks from England. We cooked out, they ate chicken and potatoes and ranch beans, they drank wine while I sang, and the more they drank the better I got. Kids ran around in circles with the kid's counselor Elizabeth. They save a plate for me if I ask, and it's always a treat to eat the reheated beans at midnight and save some chicken or steak for the Sunday lunch. It's a nice day in Wickenburg, Arizona. Warm and dry. Tomorrow's Helen's birthday, and the last day of the Scorpio astrological sign. Happy Birthday, Helen, wherever you are, and adios Scorpio, see ya next year.
Tonight I'll be thrilled to be singing for some girls field hockey all stars. A huge part of the beauty of singing for my supper is never knowing who's going to be there. I keep hoping to sing for Natalie Portman on a weekend getaway, but it hasn't happened yet. Still, it might be a Tennessee politician or a California businessman on a weekend getaway with his wife. It might be my next best friend, who's to say?
Last night I was happy to holler for some folks from England. We cooked out, they ate chicken and potatoes and ranch beans, they drank wine while I sang, and the more they drank the better I got. Kids ran around in circles with the kid's counselor Elizabeth. They save a plate for me if I ask, and it's always a treat to eat the reheated beans at midnight and save some chicken or steak for the Sunday lunch. It's a nice day in Wickenburg, Arizona. Warm and dry. Tomorrow's Helen's birthday, and the last day of the Scorpio astrological sign. Happy Birthday, Helen, wherever you are, and adios Scorpio, see ya next year.
Talking Arizona - November 16, 2011
Talking Arizona: It is warm compared to Maine and dry compared to Minnesota. It’s a damn desert out here, might proclaim the Kansan or the South Carolinian. “What the hell is that Jap looking flag?” I heard an old man say who obviously had just gotten off the turnip truck. I said it was the sunrise over the Valley of the Sun right here in Arizona. Being optimistic, I smiled at him. He was looking at my holster and 9mm. I left it buttoned down and walked away shaking my head. I didn’t want him to freak out, yell gun and run away. I’m sure he was adjusting to his culture shock over the state flag. Besides, he was shitting his pants, I could smell it.
A train whistle blows at 9 a.m., and a big milk truck pulls into the McDonalds that sits just down from the Dunkin Donuts on highway 60. Further west is the Mojave and into Blythe, (where the hell is Blythe?) California. The Joshua Tree resides in these deserts. If you follow the bypass to Las Vegas, you’ll miss the Gold Miners and the Gila Monster sculptured along the pedestrian walks and the living tortoise which resides nearby, waiting for the sculptured monster to move.
The milk truck leaves and an octogenarian on a moped, wearing a highway worker’s heat and light reflective vest and a bicycle helmet rides in and almost runs over the surprised sixteen year old skateboarder.
For the next few hours, desert 4 wheelers go by, Budget rent a trucks and Fed Ex trucks come and go along with motorcycles and assorted bicycles and pedestrians, police officers and little old ladies walking little bitty dogs out into the rock garden and around the covered wagon. Beware the cactus.
So it happens than noon rolls around and the afternoon highway patrol coffee clatch occurs between the subway and the dunkin donuts. There are punctuations of afternoon sirens and the occasional old man lost at the grocery store moments that tend to occur in McDonald's parking lots in towns with large populations of retired folk, but the sun shone down on my Arizona home, and as it slowly sinks into the west, leaving me at the mercy of the light of my laptop and a candle, I am reminded that every day above ground is a good day. Bodda bing, bodda boom, ba da ba.
A train whistle blows at 9 a.m., and a big milk truck pulls into the McDonalds that sits just down from the Dunkin Donuts on highway 60. Further west is the Mojave and into Blythe, (where the hell is Blythe?) California. The Joshua Tree resides in these deserts. If you follow the bypass to Las Vegas, you’ll miss the Gold Miners and the Gila Monster sculptured along the pedestrian walks and the living tortoise which resides nearby, waiting for the sculptured monster to move.
The milk truck leaves and an octogenarian on a moped, wearing a highway worker’s heat and light reflective vest and a bicycle helmet rides in and almost runs over the surprised sixteen year old skateboarder.
For the next few hours, desert 4 wheelers go by, Budget rent a trucks and Fed Ex trucks come and go along with motorcycles and assorted bicycles and pedestrians, police officers and little old ladies walking little bitty dogs out into the rock garden and around the covered wagon. Beware the cactus.
So it happens than noon rolls around and the afternoon highway patrol coffee clatch occurs between the subway and the dunkin donuts. There are punctuations of afternoon sirens and the occasional old man lost at the grocery store moments that tend to occur in McDonald's parking lots in towns with large populations of retired folk, but the sun shone down on my Arizona home, and as it slowly sinks into the west, leaving me at the mercy of the light of my laptop and a candle, I am reminded that every day above ground is a good day. Bodda bing, bodda boom, ba da ba.