A STRANGE AUTO ACCIDENT

Several years ago, I was a witness to a strange auto accident near Atlanta, Georgia.  I was stopped at a red light.  Directly in front of me was an older red Toyota.  In the lane to my right, beside the Toyota was a concrete pumping truck – the huge and heavy vehicle with a hopper at one end, and a huge articulated tube on the top.  Both the Toyota and the cement truck were at the front of the lanes, waiting for the light to change.

The passenger of the Toyota leaned out of his opened window and spoke to the truck driver, who also leaned out to reply.  The conversation continued for a minute or so.  I assumed they were exchanging road directions or other pleasantries.  The fun began when the light changed.

The Toyota passenger opened his door, got out and leapt into the open window of the cement truck!  From the waist down, he was hanging out the window.  The truck drove off, and the female driver of the Toyota was screaming!  The truck continued to accelerate up the hill from the light, twitching across the lane wildly, for about 400 yards.  It then veered to the left, the front tires hopped the median into the grass.  The door opened, the rider falls out of the window onto the ground, and the driver hopped out.  They squared-off, like prize fighters, in the traffic lane.

I, being a bit of a reserved smart-ass, pulled up next to them and shouted “You two need to grow up.  And besides, YOU, your truck is rolling away.”

Yes.  While the two were preparing for their man-to-man pummel dance, the cement truck rolled back slowly and the front tires hopped off the curb.  All of us watched while the truck (some of these weigh up to 50 tons) straightened into the traffic lane, made the 400 yard return backwards as if professionally piloted, made a graceful turn at the intersection still going backwards, and made a real mess of the car waiting at the side street to turn left.  The poor driver chased after the truck, as if he could catch it, or do something with it if he did catch it.

The poor person back at the intersection had nowhere to go, with cars behind her and beside her.  I assume she was looking, watching for her light to change, and saw the back end of the monster coming at her.

I drove on to the post office and passed the spot on my return.  I stopped at one of the officers directing traffic, and he glared at me for my failure to obey his hand signals.  I unrolled my window and asked if they had a reliable witness for the accident.  He barked yes.  I then asked if they knew about the fight.  The officer got a confused and startled look, said to wait, and conferred with the other officers.  Apparently a witness was available, because the officer gave me a sincere thanks and told me they were fine.

I have been in several auto accidents, probably all avoidable in the big scheme, but probably not avoidable in real life.  My truck was rear-ended by a lady in the rain.  It is easy to forget how much stopping distance can be reduced in wet conditions, particularly before the prevalence of anti-lock brakes.  Several years before that, I rear-ended a car in my VW bus, under similar circumstances.  Fortunately my punishment was an apology and a handshake and we were back on our way.   Good judgment may not eliminate car accidents, but it sure can help to reduce them.

Exiting a 50-ton truck without putting it in park, setting the emergency brake, or chocking the wheels on a hill, while hopping out for a little fistfight is probably not good judgment.  I don’t know a lot about cruise ships, but I am sure they have rules of prudence as well…

WHERE BLAME LIES

The economy around Houston has suffered in recent years, no doubt.  But it has been nothing like the downturn experienced in other parts of our nation.  Many northern cities have been devastated.  Atlanta, a town I know well, probably falls somewhere in the middle.

As a landlord, I have witnessed many changes.  Prior to the downturn, most of my renters were Hispanic.  To be more accurate in my description, they were Mexican.  All spoke Spanish as their primary language, a majority were not conversant in English.  Most were in the US illegally, and many would share their stories about coming to the US through the river or across the desert.  They worked here in construction, at fast food, as maids and gardeners.

I will save our political discussion of immigration for another time.  My point is when the economy faltered, probably 80 to 90 percent of the Mexicans left.  Their employers stopped employing and there was no work, so they left for more prosperous parts of the country or just went home.  One I knew well, Martin provided a prosperous life for his family.  In a small town in Mexico, his family lived in a 3 bedroom, 2 bath home that rivaled the size of the town mayor’s home.  Before his job went away, Martin left Atlanta for better prospects.

Atlanta had been experiencing a building boom which, had gone on pretty much from the 1970s until a few years ago.  Across the northern suburbs, builders were building huge and beautiful homes to sell for more than $1 million each.  When the party stopped, these homes sat unfinished, many framed and sheathed until very recently.  Five years after the crew threw their tools in the truck and went home, exposed plywood delaminated in the sun and rain, piles of construction debris slowly rotted from the bottom, and scavengers pulled any recyclable metals from the shells.

Likewise, retail spaces lined the roads.  On a trip to Atlanta last year, I observed that about 90 percent of the retail space along the road connecting my place to stay with my place to work was vacant.  More recently, some of it has occupants, but one wonders if they are making a living, paying the bills, or slowly failing.

The part of all of this that hit home the most, so-to-speak, was the value of my property.  I have not had an appraisal, but I do not need one to know things have changed.  Someone bought a property near mine.  They paid about the same per unit that I paid in 1990.  It is one thing to buy a home with little down and be upside down.  It is another to see twenty years of equity vanish.  I suppose it has recovered some, but probably not a lot.

I started writing this with a point to make, but I have forgotten where I was going with it all.  I will just say that here in Texas we have been fortunate with our economic conditions.  I will also say that if you were smart and careful, if you did things right, you are not to blame for what has happened.  Don’t believe the politicians when they try to place the blame at your feet.  It is a lie.

I will not go out campaigning.  I have lived my life such that I have many responsibilities, and I cannot easily leave my business for the vulgar beauty-and-propaganda contest we call a campaign.  People who know me know my character – If you want to know about me, ask someone who knows me.  Or ask me – I will tell you .  I will not align myself with a party.  I will make what I believe to be the best decision for a circumstance.  I have no interest in pleasing those political animals that govern for a living – those who have learned to feed themselves from the public trough.  Had they sound judgment, they would be ashamed of themselves.   A President must show firm, decisive judgment and good reasoning.  A campaign does not reflect reasoning, it just shows an ability to tear down others and argue about details that probably don’t matter and probably should not be part of the legal scope of the President to begin with.

I will not accept the Presidential salary.  If I had lived my life such that I would run for President but could not support myself for four years, nor borrow the money to do the same, I would be too much of a failure in life to consider myself qualified.  The position should be an honor, not a job.  I can write a book after I leave office.

Likewise, I will not spend the people’s money to redecorate the White House.  My plan will to be there for four years, and to work for those four years.  I need a bed, a desk, a good staff, and a stocked kitchen.  I am not too high-and-mighty to open a can of soup.  I will not feel insulted by a stain on the carpet, nor a smudge on the wall.  I am there to work for you and work hard, and get out when my time is done.  I will not be a fashion leader.  I will dress appropriate for an occasion, but my clothes will likely come from a thrift store, like many of my clothes now do.  I will accept no gifts, period.  If you have something you think I should have, come see me after I leave office.  When my power is passed to the next leader, if you are still interested in giving gifts, we can talk then.

I will not take “vacations.”  I may go home to work a bit.  I did not have a decent vacation for the first ten years of my marriage – I can certainly make it for four years, particularly when I am working for someone else, someone else’s time, in someone else’s house.  If a struggling student can make it through college without a vacation, it would seem like the leader of the free world could show the same commitment to a task.

Should you think you need me for another four years, I will likely accept, but I will not campaign.  I will stay at the job, work at the job, and finish my responsibilities.  If you are not able to quantify me after four years of my work, if you still cannot form a judgment of me, I don’t want your vote anyway.

“A commune?  Like that would last!”

We recently visited the site of the Amana Colonies in Iowa, and the above was a remark by a fellow visitor that I heard in the museum.  I will admit that communal living does not have much appeal to me, but with the people of the Amana Colonies, it had a 150 year run, which is pretty good.

It started in Germany, as a then-radical reaction to the Lutheran Church being not far-enough removed from the Catholic Church.  The followers thought Christianity should be a more personal thing and more egalitarian.  All were equal in the eyes of God.  Some were inspired leaders, though no better in God’s eye than another.  Nearly all activities of the colonies were handled communally – cooking, cleaning, building and repair.  They shared and exchanged, each having only a small collection of personal items.

It would be easy to lump the Amana people in with the Shakers or even modern day cults like the Branch Davidians or even Jim Jones’ people. This is probably not fair.  They considered their leaders inspired, but never infallible, and the leaders kept their confidence in the scripture and the good of the people.  They consumed alcohol, they married and procreated, and they enjoyed life.

Their way of life began to fail during the 1930s, along with the lives of a large portion of Americans.  The Great Depression brought on economic hardship and forced them to reassess their future viability.  They did not die in a conflagration and they did not “drink the Kool-Aid” as it were.  What did they do?  They formed a corporation!  Remember the Amana Radarange, the first microwave?  Yep, it was them.  Though they no longer live communally, many descendants live in the area, and are businessmen and women or employees, just like the rest of us.

Our museum guide was a descendant of the commune members.  I avoided the term “communist” there, just because it seemed so harsh, though technically accurate.  The guide was very frank about the eventual failure of the way of life, and the fact that it probably could never be recreated in the modern world.

We are a big ‘ol country and we can accommodate a lot of different little raindrops under our big umbrella.  Some things we tolerate well, and some things less so.  I mentioned the Branch Davidians of Waco a couple of paragraphs ago.  Koresch was apparently molesting the little girls – bad by any measure and apparently common among the Texas fringe cults.  No argument there, except it is not a capital crime.  But want to have a little fun and a lesson in religious tolerance?  Go back and read some of the old news stories about the Branch Davidians in Waco.  In your mind, make a couple of revisions.  When it says “compound” substitute “church.”  When it says “cult leader” read “pastor.”

You might just feel a little chill…

We had planned to visit the Great Lakes area last fall, but our plans were changed by an embezzling employee.  That story we will save for another time.  This trip would be the last of a series -Six trips that will have shown us the 48 contiguous states in six years.  We lacked seeing Michigan, Iowa, Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin, Missouri and Minnesota.  We usually leave home with a list of about six things to see per state, a GPS, and literally no idea which way we will turn when we reach the edge of our subdivision.  Most of our trips have been over a month, with one finishing up at 49 days away.

Most of our trip departure times were planned well  in advance and found us fully prepared to leave when the time came.  This trip we decided to go just a few days before we departed.  We had it in our mind, but had not completely committed to the idea – lots of stuff going on at home was keeping us distracted.  The plan required us to be gone no more than a month, because we have some dear friends coming from the UK.  Our departing was delayed slightly by a generator repair, so we had slightly less than a month to get gone and get back.  When we got home, we had traveled over 4,700 miles.  I try not to think about the fuel amount or cost.  Wolfe says we might get ten MPG, and I just keep reminding myself of that.  The tough don’t calculate, they just drive on!

We spent probably three out of four nights in Walmart parking lots, rather than campgrounds.  Campgrounds are great for emptying tanks, filling tanks, keeping comfortable in hot or cold weather (on someone else’s electricity), doing laundry, or just sitting for a day.  They are also handy when a destination does not have good parking for big stuff.  Walmart has been good to us, from welcoming us to stay, having nice security come by and say “We’ll be watching out for you – sleep well”, to an astounding deal of a $35 plus filter oil change in our previous coach!  I suppose we could afford campgrounds every night, but I assure you we could not stomach it.  A couple of times, we have paid $75 for one night in a campground.

Our biggest destination disappointment in the states we saw on this trip?  Gnaw Bone, Indiana, the flea market capital of the world.  We saw two flea markets, both closed on that Friday, and apparently one closed and for sale.  It may be true that they have the most booths per capita, but it is a small town.  The POW museum in Algona, Minnesota was only open on weekends, so we missed that.  I was really looking forward to seeing that.  I have read how the US soldiers in Japanese POW camps were more likely to die in a camp than in combat.  I have also read how the German POWs in a Texas camp so loved the way they were treated, they moved to Texas after the war!

The best things we saw were the St. Louis Arch on a windy day, and from the observation windows above, feeling it sway in the breeze.  The glass-bottom boat shipwreck tour in Munising, Michigan was spectacular.  When I was maybe five, I rode the 20,000 Leagues ride in Disneyland, and was captivated by the water splashing over the windows and the fake treasure under the water surface.  I think I felt the same way, nearly fifty years later, on the shipwreck tour.  We saw three sites through the clear water, one apparently from the late 1700s.  I recommend this tour highly!

The Patee House Museum in St Joseph was amazing.  It is a strange collection of strange stuff.  They say it is one of the best western museums in the country, and I believe it.  Some of the “stuff” includes: the Pony Express office, recreations of the other offices of the time, a tube radio collection, cars, vacuum tubes, and more.  The lack of a central theme makes it all the more fun – you have no idea what the next room will hold.  In the office recreations, they place one item that does not belong to the time period represented.  It is meant to keep the kiddies occupied, but Kelly and I found it a lot of fun.

The Lincoln Museum in Hannibal, Missouri was much better than I expected – lots of history, alternate interpretations, relics, and the like.  Be sure to watch the films!

You FT people, you want to hear about the mechanical stuff?  There are stories to tell! 

First, our Brake Buddy was found dead, just days before our departure.  We shipped it to the repair people, who thought it might be back in time.  No luck, we had them ship it to my cousin in Minneapolis.

After a couple of days out, I took a good look at our tow bar, and decided the angle from car to coach was more than it should have been, so I bought a drop hitch at Walmart.  I went to switch it out and, uhhh, where’s the key for the locking hitch pin?  Nowhere to be found!  We looked everywhere and it is just gone.  I also discovered that the ball was not coming out of the old hitch without a much bigger wrench than the 18-inch crescent wrench I had.  I walked over to the Lowe’s and bought a new ball, a new pin, and a Dremel, just like the TWO I have at home.  The Dremel, with a cutting disk sliced through the old pin and I went about reassembling it.  The new hitch pin was not a key-locking type – It has a slide that locks in place to hold the pin.  When I slid the pin into the receiver, it opened inside the receiver!  It took me about ten minutes with the needle-nose pliers to get it turned back so it would come out the other side.  When reassembled, the tow bar was nice and level.

During a light rain, a fellow motorist told us our stop lights were not working.  We pulled into a parking lot and found this to be true.  The problem, which turned out to be a symptom was a burned fuse in the dash.  Our previous coach has wiring that was a little different, though I don’t remember exactly how.  When we plugged my Echo into the new coach, the lights worked fine.  That is, until the coach headlights were turned on.  Then blown fuse.  I rewired the taillights and we were back on the road.

We woke up to a very cold morning several days later, with the front furnace running, but not blowing hot air.  A quick check found the house batteries down to nine-point-something.  Ooops!  I cleaned the connections, and verified the charging system.  It looks like our house batteries, two 8Ds are dying.  At first, they will show 12.8 volts.  After a couple minutes of load, they show 12.6.  After an evening of just lights and water pump, they are down to about 11 volts.  Still researching for replacement.

We had a tire drop from 95 pounds to 40 pounds in three days.  I reinflated it, and checked it for the rest of the trip with no problems.

One day, we heard something skittering across the roof while we drove.  We assumed it to be an acorn from the trees above us the night before.  We heard it again and I pulled off to investigate.  I found a single screw, which I assumed to be either from the bucket I used a week before to work on the top, or a left-out screw from air conditioner maintenance a few weeks earlier.  We drove on. A couple of miles later, WHAM!  I look in the side mirror to see our omni antenna hit the road and roll off into the grassy median.  We had never used it so it probably was not much of a loss.  I am glad it didn’t hurt anyone.

Twice, our electric black water valve failed to close fully.  If you have not experienced this, I am sure you can imagine…

The second day of our trip, one of the belt tensioners on the engine began squealing terribly.  I did what all “good” mechanics do – I soaked it with WD-40 until the squealing stopped.  After about ten miles, I checked the temperature of the pulley with a non-contact thermometer, and it was a cool as the non-squeaker.  I made a mental note to check on getting a replacement, and then forgot to do same.  Four thousand miles later it is still there.  It is on my to-do list.

The transmission…  We pulled out of Onamia, Minnesota headed to see my cousins in Minneapolis.  Twenty minutes on the road, the transmission lunges, then no propulsion, then the dreaded “snake eyes” on the Allison selector display.  We rolled to the side of the road and got on the internet.  Our great FT people had good suggestions.  I did the obvious – checked fuses, looked for loose wires, checked plug connections, and looked for a big puddle on the ground.  I spoke with a tech in Bloomington, and he opined with good authority that the computer had died.  Based on a blown fuse, he thought the failure was due to the computer failing, not an external problem causing the fuse and computer to fail.  We unhooked the car and drove two hours at a forced march to get to the shop before they closed.  I bought another computer and we drove the two hours back to the coach.  I installed the computer and we were on our way…

…for about three miles, when the transmission lunged again, and the display went blank.  I am thinking many thousands of dollars at this point.  Well, the new computer did not have the same connector retaining clips as the old one, and one of the connectors fell out.  Replug, and a bit of foam behind the cable to hold it into place, and another two hours of driving to park very near where we were several hours ago.  Getting home took us another thousand miles with no transmission issues.

The nicest road was in Oklahoma, new and silky smooth.  The worst road was in Iowa.  We were on a pretty nice and smooth backroad, but there was a dip we did not see coming.  We hit bottom HARD.  We stopped not long after, and I was expecting to see a leveler jack missing, our step crushed, or a trail of oil or trans fluid.  No problems, but I am convinced something on the chassis hit ground.  We have bottomed the suspension out before, and it was nothing like that.  During my inspection, I did find that the sway bar bushings are worn and floppy, and I am looking for replacements.  So that’s what the clunky noises are on the rough roads.

So we are home, with a list of tasks to complete on the coach.  The grass is about as dead as when we left.  We picked up our bin full of mail and have gotten most of it sorted and dealt with.  Groceries are back in the fridge.

I have found that it takes about a week and a half for us to get into the travel groove.  Then we eat at a normal schedule, we sleep better, and we seem to come to a Walmart or campground every day at a good quitting time.  After a month “at sea,” we are ready to return, and it takes about five days to develop the “at home” routine again.  We have spent nearly eight months of the last six years in a motorhome, and most of that in a little, practically indestructible 26-foot Safari.  We drove the Apache Trail in that coach, towing a car.  We turned it around in a cornfield once.  We backed it a half mile back up a one-lane dirt road at dusk.  We were beaten to silliness by an insanely rough interstate near Boston.  We spent over an hour at twelve MPH, driving from Death Valley up and over the mountains toward Rhyolite.  We sold that motorhome to a nearly 90-year-old Colombian man, who paid in $9000 cash and a diamond ring (seriously – the ring appraised for $3300.)  In some ways, I miss the Safari.  I don’t miss the brutal ride or the lack of space.  I do miss parking about anywhere, and our driving it 60,000 miles with only two on-the-road repairs – a furnace and a broken pulley adjuster bolt.  It had twin beds that were exactly six feet, and I am exactly six feet.  I am grateful for the space we have now, and the ability to climb a hill faster than walking speed.  It was time for a bigger one.

Where are we going next?

My email program asked a simple question.  It inquired if I would like to compact and archive old messages.  I thought that sounded fine.  I was wrong.

In addition to this column appearing in the DGT, I send an email notice to a hundred or so friends and relatives to let them know when I have posted my column on my website.  This habit all began maybe twenty years ago, when I decided I would not be the one to not stay in touch with close friends and relatives.  When a family get-together happened, I could say “but I wrote to YOU!”  I began a quarterly household newsletter, and mailed it to about fifty friends and family members.  At the beginning, it was a typed letter, photocopied, and stuffed into hand-addresses envelopes.  It evolved to computer-based word processing and a printer. Later, I even had a label maker on my computer to print the address labels.  With the development of email, the job of course got much simpler.  I kept as drafts, five emails which together include the email names on my list – names of friends, family, people met on vacations, book buyers, people I met at the restaurant, and even some unsolicited requests.  The list was built over several years.

When I asked my email program to compact my old messages, it deleted my drafts.  This was very bad! It left me with my email list gone, and but a partial handwritten list and the thousand or so emails in my program address book.  The identities of some of the addresses in the address book are obvious, because they have a name associated with them.  Some are cryptic, a seemingly random combination of numbers and letters.  Many of the emails in the address book should not be part of my Texas Takes list – police department, accountant, auto parts seller, customer service addresses, etc.

So I sat down and worked my way through the mess and recreated the drafts.  I have no doubt some will get a message they are not interested in, some regular readers are lost forever , a person or two who asked to be removed will be back on the list.  I guess that is the hazard of relying on modern technology, and saying yes to a computer suggestion one does not really understand.  I hope the recipients understand.

I thought seriously about just dropping the whole matter, but I received a few inquiries from readers about their reminders.  I have no way of knowing how many are interested, but the interest of a few is enough for me.  It is not like selling books – that leaves a physical record of orders and sales.  When you give something intangible away for free, there is no accounting and little feedback.  I just throw it out there, and hope someone is interested.  If you are an internet reader, you should get your reminder by the time you see this.

If you like this column, just let me know!  Your interest makes it a lot easier to make it happen.  Writing for a small newspaper is not a paid position.  I do it hoping people will enjoy it.  It is not often you can have someone work for you for free.

Drop me an email at mattbrunermusic@eastex.net

THANK A TEACHER

In my junior year of high school, I attended the class from hell.  Tony Andersen taught a class meant in some twisted sadistic way for high school seniors, that combined college-level macroeconomics, microeconomics, home finance and basic investing in a single high school class.  I have no idea how he got away with it.

Class began when the bell rang, and Mr. Andersen closed and locked the door.  You did not come in late, without an escort from the front office.  While he walked from the door to his desk, he began the lecture.  He continued the lecture until he was finished.  When the bell rang to leave, one did not dare close a book or get up, that was cause for several minutes more lecture  –  and that would make our entire class late to the next period.

I suppose we had some sort of textbook, but I do not remember it.  For most classes in school at the time, we read the textbook and a handout or two, and maybe scribbled a daily page or two of notes.  In Mr. Andersen’s class, we would leave with a dozen or more pages of notes.  We often compared notes after class to fill in what we missed.  It was like a rapid-fire Robin Williams comedy routine, except not at all funny.  Any fact might be on the test, and the facts came too fast to follow in a text, or even find what passage to highlight.  It was a mad dash to keep up for an entire year.

If you nodded off or appeared bored, you might find yourself in front of the class reading.  If you missed a class, you hoped to have a friend to share their precious, hard-earned notes.  If you missed a couple classes, your test scores would show it.  If you missed many classes, you were doomed.

And the tests… These were not a form test taken from a text.  They were not last year’s tests recycled.  They were long, complicated, and were very difficult to finish in a class period.  The typical test might be ten pages, and included definitions, multiple choice, true-false, short-answer, long-answer and an essay.  I remember the first tests of the year resulting in a class AVERAGE of about 35 percent.  Earnest students were getting fives and tens on these tests!  I don’t know if the tests got easier, but I know we did get better at them, and I think a curve was eventually instituted so someone would end up with a decent grade.

Tony Andersen kicked our asses, and kicked them hard.

At the time, I was too harried to think much about the significance of the experience.  Since then, I have thought about it a lot.  College-level economics classes were a review for me – I didn’t have to study much to get excellent grades, and I was a star student.  I entered college at the beginning of my senior high school year knowing how to balance a checkbook, how to purchase stocks through a broker, how to compute compound interest by hand, how to value a bond, how most investments worked.  I also knew how to study and learn under pressure and without hand-holding.

When I first walked into a college class of 150 people in an auditorium, the atmosphere was familiar – you didn’t chat, you didn’t ask lots of questions, you shut up and got to work.  Mr. Andersen prepared me for how college felt.  In this huge college class, a biology class, I excelled and was a tutor to other students.  I would never say that I did not work hard in college or graduate school, but I did go in knowing what to expect.  Thank you, Mr. Andersen.

During high school, few students had nice things to say about Mr. Andersen, nor did I.  But I did know something special was happening.  Just today, I encountered a fellow student on the ‘net who was kept off drugs by Mr. Andersen, and feels she owes him a huge debt.  So far, efforts to locate Mr. Andersen have failed.

I also remember well the moment when high school stopped becoming a social club to me and became a serious learning tool.  During a pep rally, it was announced that the football team had made something like fourth place in the single-A county-level ranks, and the crowd went wild.  Then it was announced that the high school debate team had paid their own way to Wake Forest University, where Mr. Andersen had led them to second place IN THE NATION.  The announcement was met with confused looks and the sounds of crickets…

That was my last pep rally.  It gave me an extra hour a week to study for my economics class.

MUSIC TOWN?

Live music seems to be booming in Coldspring.  Crystal’s has live music three nights a week now – acts on Friday and Saturday nights, plus an open mic on Thursday.  Elaine’s has music regularly, and hosts  tribute shows featuring the music of Hank Williams and Patsy Cline.  I have heard reports that Sharon’s has live music from time-to-time.  I have long thought that Coldspring needs to be known for something other than having a courthouse.  Maybe we can become a live music town!

It still amazes me how seriously Texans regard live music.  In other parts of the country, there is little interest in smaller acts, or shows are mainly attended by twenty-somethings.  Around here it is for everyone!  Thanks to all of you that support our tiny but growing music scene, be it from buying our music, sharing a personal review with friends, dropping a tip in the jar, or just letting us know you had a good time.

I have often thought of Walmart’s music section as a barometer of the music industry. Several years ago, our “local” store had two full aisles of music CDs and DVDs. Then it was one aisle. Then it was 1/2 aisle.  I recently heard that Walmart was ending its online music sales.

I am guessing that Walmart has found that it can't make enough through on-line music sales to justify the expense of maintaining their offerings. I can't blame them for that. But it is really scary, too.  If Walmart, with aggressive purchasing and pricing, cannot make money with recorded music, where does that leave anyone else involved in recorded music?  There are a few good-selling albums each year, but most albums don’t sell a whole lot anymore.  Illegal downloads have taken a bite, but I think there is a lot more involved.

A couple of years ago, at about the same time, I self-published a book and released an independent CD, and I sell them both at my shows. The book is $15, and the CD is now $1. I have sold well over 200 books and about 10 CDs. Some of this is certainly the quality of the items, subjective for sure, but I think most of it is a lack of interest in paying for new recorded music.

We are huge music consumers in our house - thousands of old, fashioned vinyl records, thousands of CDs, satellite radio, hundreds of performance DVDs. Now all of our CDs and a couple hundred of our vinyl albums are on our laptop computer, and we buy maybe five CDs in a year, including downloads. Music is now digital files, transferred from CD to computer to listening device.

We once bought two or three a week, and would often leave a store with a dozen at a time. It just seems music is so available, we are so saturated with it there is little reason to purchase it - I just press the space bar on the laptop and listen to the thousands of songs already there.

I remember a time when I would watch for a release date of a new album, go to the record store on that day, and rush home to listen to the music, and bathe in the glory of the cover. Did I just get old, or have things really changed that much?  I really miss the excitement that was once attached to music purchases, but I don’t know how to recreate it.  I posted this question on a music forum, and asked if I had gotten old or if the music industry had changed.  The best answer was “Yes and yes.”

Maybe the industry is transitioning back to live music over recorded music.  At least in our little town, this seems to be the case.