Confessions of a Mandoholic

I have shared many stories and observations with you in my past blogs. As many of you know, the mandolin has become a very important part of my life. If confession is good for the soul, then this blog will help you understand the following statement:

“Hi, my name is Joey and I am a mandoholic”.

It has been said that there is a strong bond between a cowboy and his horse. We all saw that bond lived out on the TV screen with Roy and Trigger and the Lone Ranger and Silver. Print ads and television commercials have shown over the years the connection of a man with his old beat up pick-up truck. Dierks Bentley and the late Sam Walton are perfect examples.  Heck, my truck has 233,000 miles on her! The deeper that I get into the music world, both playing and researching for a book that I am writing, I have found the same to be true about these little instruments made of wires and wood and the pickers that play them.

Vince Gill’s song “This Old Guitar and Me” and John Denver’s “This Old Guitar” captured the hearts of many musicians about that special relationship that develops over years of song writing and playing on a special guitar. I have that relationship with a ’67 Gibson B-25 guitar.  She stole my heart as a teenager.

But, this mandolin thing takes it to another level. Having played the guitar since I was fourteen, I knew about mandolins or at least that is what I thought. An April Sunday morning years ago found me sitting on the front pew of a picturesque white clapboard country church in the Amish country of Ohio. At the invitation of the pastor, I was to speak that morning.

The pastor was a kind, unassuming man who had a problem with stuttering. He worked his way through welcoming the folks and a few announcements with scattered stops and restarts. Just before I was to speak he announced that he and his teenage daughter would sing a couple of songs for the special music. His daughter stepped on the stage with a beautiful old Martin D-28 and he reached around to uncase an old Aria Pro 2 mandolin. As his pick struck the first few notes of the introduction, something deep down inside of me came alive. My eyes focused on his fingers and my ears strained to capture ever note. As he sang, he never stuttered a word and their harmony was as smooth as warm honey. I could have listened to them for the entire morning.

After the back door handshakes and comments, I asked the pastor to show me his mandolin, not the vintage Martin and I was a guitar guy. Removing it from the old leather case, he placed it into my hands. A fire ignited in my soul. My mandolin journey had begun.

How is it that we become so attached to just a combination of wires and wood? After speaking with literally scores of mandolin players and builders, I find this common thread of bonding. My mandolin sits now in an antique bookcase with glass doors near my writing desk. Many mornings it is the first thing that I pick up after my morning coffee. More often than not, it is the last thing that I put down before going to bed the evening before.

When I am tired, playing it seems to give me strength. When I am anxious, it seems to give me peace. During the times that I hit a writer’s block it clears my head and helps me refocus my thoughts. Sometimes I pick a lively tune for fun, while other times I need the deep notes of the blues to help me with sorrow or sadness. As a Christian, I play old hymns or praise songs to thank the good Lord for how He has blessed me. I play it for others to hear or sometimes just for myself. It is as though it is my friend. How is that, isn’t it just wires and wood?

I guard it like a child when I fly and in some distant lonely motel room it takes me back home. I have watched it played by many of the best mandolin players on the planet. I have heard Mike Compton bring out the  Monroe in it; Jesse McReynolds cross pick it in only the way that he can play or Ricky Skaggs run out an unbelievable string of notes. Those special times filled my heart with both excitement and sympathy. Excitement because I heard it’s potential. Sympathy, because the mandolin deserves a much better player than me; although I am getting better, I don’t drop the pick nearly as much as I used to.

It is hard to understand this love affair that we have with these wonderful instruments. We name them; polish them and buy accessories for them. You can see mandolin folks walking around with tee shirts and ball caps adorned with mandolin images. The internet is filled with stops for the mandolin enthusiast with even a Mandolin Cafe, a place that I visit daily (www.Mandolincafe.com). We carry our mandolins to jams, festivals, church socials and even to park benches where we open the case in hopes to share the magic with anyone that comes along to listen. All of this because of our love for this simple little instrument made of wires and wood.

Musicians are certainly an interesting breed. Unless you have felt the life in a mandolin as it vibrates in your hand and hear its voice as it pulls music out of its depths and sends it across the strings into a world of waiting listeners, you probably won’t get this blog. It has been well said that “those who don’t hear the music think the dancer is mad”. Or as a great mandolin philosopher once said, “That ain’t no part of nothing”.

Let me assure you, when you do hear the music you’ll know why we dance and you find out that this is a part of something, the wonderful world of wires and wood.

Have a great week and leave a comment if you wish . . . .

© Joey Hancock 2010

Ring Tones

I was waiting in the checkout line at the grocery when my iphone rang. Well, it didn't really ring, it quacked. The check out lady looked at me with a smile and asked, “Did you just quack?”

Before I could answer, the phone quacked again. Without missing a beat, I leaned over toward her and said, “It is okay to bring my duck in the store with me isn't it, it's just too hot to leave him out in my truck”.

I reached in my coat pocket and pulled out my iphone, answered the call and winked at the checkout lady. It was my son, who is a Veterinarian, thus the duck ring tone.

You can hear every kind of ring tone in the world today. From Charlie Daniels'
“The Devil Went Down to Georgia” to a Bach Overture, they announce a special call from a special person.

Hearing them go off in church is a hoot. It always happens right when the preacher is waxing eloquent about the evils of the world and out of nowhere comes Toby Keith's “I Love This Bar”.

I was in line at the Walmart last week and a very large lady was in front of this young boy and his mom. The large lady's phone went off with a beeping ring tone and the boy pushed his mom and cried “Get out of the way, she's backing up!”

Ring tones are not new. When I was a boy, we had a party line telephone. That meant that more than one family shared the line. So, each family had a different ring. Our ring was two quick rings which signaled our family and the nosy lady who was on our party line to pick up the phone. Oh, I had some fun with her eavesdropping until the spankings became too painful.

Ring tones are designed to let you know who is calling. Here's a thought; what is God's ring tone in our lives? How do we know when He is calling us? Just like we have to set the ring tones on our new phones, we need to set the ring tone of our heart to hear from God. We are programmed to have a desire to hear from God, to even search for God. But, we must learn to listen when He speaks. So, each of us, in our own way, need to set the ring tone to our heart to hear from our heavenly Father. And He usually calls every day, sometimes even more often.

Have a great week and leave me a comment or your ring tone story.

God bless . . .

Joey

© Joey Hancock 2010

Happy Father’s Day

Here is a story out of my book Success Afield that I hope with bless you on this special weekend.

Fish Talkin’

The little red and white bobber danced on the still, green water like a kernel of corn ready to pop. Slowly, the bobber pulled down as the fish took it toward submerged tree top.

“Come on Hully, take it Hully, easy Hully,” I whispered to the fish.

“Dad, who are you talking to?” asked my seven year old son.

“Son, I am talking to the fish,” I replied as I lifted the rod and set the hook in a slab crappie’s mouth.

“See it works,” I said. “You should try it sometime.”

“You’re nuts,” he laughed. “Where did you learn that trick?”

I remember well. It was one of those childhood memories that live in your heart forever. Fats and Mary Waddell, who worked with my dad, took me on my first spring crappie fishing trip at the age of eight. Fats, a man over six feet tall who weighed about 140 pounds- go figure-taught me how to fish talk.

I watched in amazement as he put fish after fish in the boat. I was fishing right next to him with the same bait, yet he caught many more fish than me. He talked slowly and calmly to each fish taking his bait. So, I began to copy him. As the cork swam away, instead of jerking quickly like an eight year-old kid might, I talked to the fish until the cork was under; then with a steady lift, the fish was mine. Fats taught a kid how to be patient by never saying a word- at least to me.

My son’s cork was easing away. Under his breath I could hear the faint words, “Come on Hully, easy Hully.” The cork disappeared, and with a smooth lift the fish was hooked. Oh, by the way, that was just last week, over twenty years away from his first lesson in fish –talkin.”

Every day God gives us opportunites to teach our children and to pattern their lives. What have you been teaching you child lately? Give your kids the right example. They deserve it and God expects it.

Teach a youth about the way he should go;

Even when he is old he will not depart from it.

Proverbs 22:6

Have a blessed Father’s Day and leave me a comment or your story about your Dad and special moment …….. God bless ………

                                                                                                 

This One Thing

I am sitting here on my deck, coffee in hand gathering myself for a challenging week. There are decisions to be made, some tough, deadlines to be reached, getting closer with each tick of the clock and prayers to be prayed. Through all of this stuff called life, what is the one thing that I can do to lighten the load, walk a little easier, feel more happiness and encourage others? I know that one thing and I want to share it with you this morning.

I love westerns; you know John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, Kevin Costner and Roy. Yet, one of my favorite westerns doesn't have any of them riding away into the sunset. It has Billy Crystal bringing home a pet cow! Yep, “City Slickers” makes me laugh, but one line makes me think.

Curly, the tough cowboy played by Jack Palance, asks Mitch (Billy Crystal) a life changing question.

“Do you know what is the secret to life?” Curly asks as he holds up one finger.

“Your finger?”, Mitch answers.

“One thing, just one thing and you stick to that”, Curly replies.

“But what is that one thing?” Mitch fires back.

Curly with a smile as big as the Montana sky says “That's what you have to find out”.

All through the movie Mitch is haunted by that statement and the viewer is watching for any and every clue. The whole time Curly just smiles, hmm-mm?

Could that one thing be a smile? Could something as simple as a smile make a difference in a day, in a week or in a lifetime?

I think it can, as a matter of fact I know that it can. So, this week I am going to smile more. A smile is good for you and those around you. But, Joey I really am having a hard week and I don't have anything to truly smile about. Really? A smile is triggered often by the outside things like a cute puppy, a funny hat on a woman at the mall or a good joke. A smile can also be traced to a grateful heart, a happy hope that all will work out or a path of a purposeful life.

Don't let a rough spot in the wonderful path of your life rob you of your smile. It is contagious to others and comforting to you. So, just before you open the office door for that meeting you have been worried about all week, smile; just before you pick up the phone for that dreaded call that you are about to make, put on that smile. Just before you walk in the front door of home after a rough day, smile.

It might just be that one thing!

Have a great week and let me know what you think in the comments, God bless . . .

© Joey Hancock 2010

 

The weather that April afternoon in south Alabama was beautiful and a blessing for the bereaved family gathered at the graveside of Grandpa. He was a good man with a wonderful family; a God-fearing man who loved the outdoors and especially the spring of the year when he could put in his garden, go fishing and hunt turkeys. So, what was about to unfold was so appropriate.

I was conducting his graveside funeral in a small country church grave yard with about 50 friends and family. The opening scripture reading of the twenty third Psalm had been read, I had finished the eulogy and the lady singer was belting out her version of Amazing Grace with particularly high, off key notes, when down below back in the woods a Tom turkey cut loose with a soulful gobble. Each time that she would hit a high note that would wobble, he would gobble.

The family thought it touching; the friends thought that the turkey was more in key than the singer and the turkey hunters in the group were looking at me to wrap this thing up. The land where the turkey was gobbling was paper company land to which every turkey hunter at the funeral had permission in their pocket or on the visor of their truck to hunt.

The lady finally finished her singing to the blessing of the family and the mercy of the crowd. I prayed and then went down the line consoling the family and explaining that I had to leave quickly for a meeting. I encouraged all the folks there to stay a while and fellowship. Each turkey hunter had their wife with them who would heed my call to console and comfort, so I knew that I could get the jump on the men.

As I got in my car, everyone else was visiting and I was ahead of the game. Only 20 minutes from my house, I sped home to change clothes, grab my turkey gear and head out. If I was the first back, the others would honor it and let me hunt the turkey.

Turning into the gravel parking lot of the country church I saw that all the funeral folks were gone and there was only one lone car parked up next to the church. It was the car of a good hunter who went to my church in town and was there at the funeral. How did he do that? How did he get back so quickly? I saw his wife, where was she?
I reached into the back of my truck and grabbed my turkey vest and swung around to put it on. Coming out of the woods was the hunter with a huge gobbler over his shoulder. I noticed as he got closer to me, grinning from ear to ear, that he was wearing a camo jump suit over his regular suit and tie.

“Preacher”, he chided, “You’ll learn one day to keep your turkey hunting stuff with you and nice try with the lady folks and stuff, but my wife drove her own car”. 

I was raised as a scout to be prepared and I had gone away from my raising. When you have your head right and your heart right before walking out the door every morning, you are prepared for the day. Spend some time with the Lord each morning to prepare you for the unexpected gobbling at the gravesides of your life.
If you know a turkey hunter, pass this blog along. Please leave comment, thanks!

© Joey Hancock 2010

Empty

 

Admit it, you like everybody else likes to find stuff. Often it is the high point of our day when we find stuff. How great is it to run your hand into the pocket of the jeans that you had on last week and find a $20 that you had forgotten or when you find your favorite CD that you lost under the seat of the car?

Some stuff that we find because we lost it in the first place and other stuff we are find just by living life. I found a great BBQ place in MO last week just by being hungry and a friend taking me there. They served sliced BBQ pork covered in pimento cheese in a grilled sandwich. Wow!!

How about those times that you go looking for one thing and find something else? Most of us find our car keys that way. You know the ones that we already replaced. So many times, what we found was better than for what we were looking.

On the first Easter Sunday Mary and Martha went looking for one thing and found something else, which was so much better. Early that morning they went to the tomb of Jesus. They went with empty hearts to find a filled tomb, but they found an empty tomb that filled their hearts.

What will you find this Easter? Hopefully, you find a new realization of how much God loves you and an empty tomb that will fill your heart.  Have blessed Easter . . . . .

© Joey Hancock 2010

 

As Christmas day approaches, I see more and more of them. You have seen them as well. Men, just standing in a mall, a department store or a gift shop with a faraway look in their eyes and a single bead of perspiration easing down their forehead. They are a desperate breed, terrified group, tormented souls for they are the men who have forgotten what their wives told them that they wanted for Christmas. But yea, there is one group in even a worst condition. Those are the men who forgot and then just picked out something that they thought was cool. Oh, Lord have mercy on this fallen being as the gift wrap is torn. Permit me to share a story of a man who knew exactly what his wife wanted and didn’t forget.

The story begins with man’s most feared question followed by a not so good answer and then a Christmas ultimatum.

“Honey, does my new Christmas party dress make me look fat?” she asked as she modeled her new dress.

Fear gripped the heart of this husband, for in twenty five years of marriage he had never answered this question correctly.

“Uh”, he stumbled, “You asked the wrong man ‘cause I saw you before you got in it”. He had kept his batting average alive.

“Well sir, I have had it with twenty five years of answers that make me feel fat”, she stormed.

“You have one chance to make this up or I am out of here”, she continued, “This Christmas I want the gift that I have always wanted. And I want a brand new one, Candy Apple red sitting in the driveway on Christmas morning. And I want it to go from 0 to 160 in a flash. You got it?”

“Yes”, he stammered, “You’ll get it”.

Christmas day she came down the stairs with doubt in her heart and was amazed that he was sitting at the breakfast table with a cup of coffee in hand and a grin spread across his face.

“Well?” she questioned.

“It’s out here in the driveway just like you asked Candy Apple red and all”, he replied.

She threw her arms about him with a big hug and ran out to the driveway. He was exactly right. There it sat; a brand new Candy Apple red set of bathroom scales.

“Step on it”, he shouted, “and it’ll go from 0 to 160 in a flash!”

Merry Christmas and God Bless!!!!

Leave your comment on Joey’s blog page http://blog.joeyhancock.com      © Joey Hancock 2009

When Coffins Come Alive

This Halloween had been super productive and I had enough candy to last this ten year old boy for a few good weeks. My buddies and I had covered every house in our neighborhood and now we were breaking up to head home. As they disappeared into the darkness, I started for home. It’s funny that it doesn’t seem near as dark or spooky when you are with a crowd of other guys, but now the night had turned dark and dangerous. I wanted to be home as soon as I could and that meant taking the short cut behind Creamer’s Funeral Home. The dark alley split the funeral home and the community cemetery and I set out as quick as I could to get through this tortuous passage.

There by the back door of Creamers laid an old weather beaten coffin. I guess that they were putting it out for the garbage pick guy. Even though I thought that in my head, I couldn’t get it to stick in my heart. The vivid imagination of a ten year old boy high on Halloween candy came alive. If I only had my Daisy Red Rider BB gun, I’d be safe.  Easing to the left side of the alley, I walked as far away from the coffin as I could. I wouldn’t even look at the coffin lying beside the funeral home door.

Suddenly, the old coffin thumped and I jumped! At this point there was not a curious bone in my body and I hit the ground running only to hear the coffin dragging along behind me. The sound of a deep moaning kept coming out from inside the coffin. I knew that I could run faster without the huge bag of candy, but you know I’m a kid and he might get me, but he ain’t getting my candy. Around corners I would cut, but the coffin was gaining on me. Out of breath and up to a dead end, I just fell to the ground. The coffin was now over me and the slowly the lid began to open. What was I going to do? How could I be saved? I was going to be eaten by the old coffin. Yipes!!!

Then it occurred to me, I reached in my pocket and pulled out a Ludens Cough Drop and popped it in my mouth. It was the only way that I knew how to stop the Coffin!! Have a great weekend!!!

© Joey Hancock 2009

It is getting to be that time of the year again when the eating habits of the folks in the south start cranking up toward the holidays. Let’s face it, we southerners love to eat. It might be a church social, tailgating at the football game, grilling steaks at the hunting camp or our holiday family meal marathon, we love to eat. I heard that the number one pin up girl poster for our southern boys in the army overseas is Paula Dean.  So, I felt that it is time to address this issue in our culture; who stole supper and replaced it with dinner in the land of magnolias, Bob White quail, Spanish moss, cornbread and fried green tomatoes?
When I was a young boy, eating out was a treat. It was reserved for after church on special Sundays like Mother’s Day. Now a days, eating out is as common as spots on a puppy. Back in the day, we really never had a lot of choices about where to eat either. There was the meat and three down the Easley highway, hot dogs at Pete’s or the wonderful Italian restaurant Capri’s where Momma Capri would fix you the world’s best pizza pie.

Today for our family, it is an all day ritual to decide where to go. We get in the car and no one can make up their minds.  So, I am going to go into the restaurant business and get rich. I am going to name my restaurant, “I Don’t Know, Where Do You Want to Go?” Why, because, that is where everybody in my car always wants to go. And the daily special is going to be called, “I don’t know, what are you going to get?”  Make a choice, pick a dish, it ain’t rocket science or a life and death choice, it’s just a meal.

And while I am chasing this rabbit, let me ask, who renamed our meal times?  In the South it has always been breakfast, dinner (lunch if it was a sandwich) and supper. Who kicked out supper and replaced it with dinner? I want to kick them out of the South. Down here it is supper, like it says in the Good Book. In the evening when I go to the restaurant to get my meat and three veggies served with a hot roll, cornbread, a glass of sweet tea and little bowl of ‘nanner pudding, I don’t want a dinner menu, I want a supper menu. Well, I have to go; my wife is calling me to go out to supper.

“Honey, where do you want to go eat?”

“I don’t know, where do you want to go?”

“What are you going to get?”

“I don’t know, what are you going to get?”

© 2009 Joey Hancock                                                                                                                                           

They are as common as the steeples on the churches that they accompany. All across the southland in the backyard of almost every church, you will find the center piece of food and fellowship, the “Dinner on the Grounds” table. This practice transcends all denominational and political lines. Often the tables seat more folks than the meeting room inside the church.  I guess folks like pie more than preaching!

I was the special guest at a church Homecoming and Dinner on the Grounds where I saw something occur that I had never seen before or since. After the Pastor said grace, I was put to the front of the line to fill my plate. That was not going to be a problem. The table stretched out for sixty feet I reckon and it was packed with food. Not just food, but good old down home southern food that painted a picture fit for the cover of any cooking magazine. Paula Dean would have been proud.  And from the looks of the old wooden table it wasn’t the first meal that it had held. Glory, it was going to be an antacid night!
It didn’t take long to fill my chinette plate. Then, a gentleman behind me asked me an unusual question,
“Where’s your pocket knife?”

“Well, right here in my pocket,” I answered, “My wife frowns on me taking it out in public when there is food involved”.

“Naw, man. You don’t eat with it. You stick it up in the table where you stopped filling your plate and then when you come back for seconds, you’ll know where to start from,” he instructed.

Are you kidding, man that is awesome. I began to notice the table filling up with pocket knives marking the spots of round one. And these were not just any old pocket knives, but trading quality knives. Once the meal ended, then the trading began. What a tradition.
I guess that it is good to come back every once in a while to where we have come from. It gives perspective that is easy to lose in today’s world. As far as the knife thing, I did it one more time at an all you can eat seafood buffet, but the manager brought me my knife and asked me to leave.

Leave a comment about your “Dinner on the Grounds” or back to the old home place experiences …..
Joey Hancock
Copy write 2009