Song words and mundane thoughts etc.
Since we have been so bad about putting new adventures up here on a regular basis. We have decided to use this as a place to share song lyrics and mundane ramblings
When we have something new and exciting going on we'll add that too....
Theses are a few ramblings about my newest song LITTLE BIRD. A few thoughts on when I wrote it and where the inspiration came from... I wrote this song because birds have been messengers for me my whole life starting with a humming bird landing in my hand when I was 5. Whenever I feel overwhelmed or in need of a new perspective, birds provide that for me. I wrote this from the perspective of what female birds might teach me in life. I had to edit how many verses I put in as you can imagine but these speak to me right now. ( little fact, the house sparrow always nests within 150' of where people are.. she shows up in a verse) We hope you enjoy this song and I will add the words and the missing verses later!
This is an Essay on Frans song TWO BAD GUYS Jose Villanueva
He came from south of the border Seems like a long time ago
He left a wife and 11 children Down in old Mexico City
To the best of my recollection, it was a chilly spring morning and the sun was shining brightly over the small Colorado town called Rifle. I arrived at work early, as usual, to fuel up my backhoe and dump truck. Then I began my regular routine of systematically greasing all the fittings on the back hoe and checking the trailer hitch and safety chains. Midway through my routine, the boss sloshed out through the muddy lot and while I was crouched down behind the back hoe wheel he said, " Fran, this is Joe. He's going to be your helper from now on. "I stood up to see a man of medium stature and was instantly struck by the look in his eyes.There was an electric aura about him, an intensity that I saw close up, once before, when I had encountered a wild Bob cat, which had fallen prey to a bounty hunters trap. Joe possessed that intensity for life, for surviving moment to moment, yet he was the most cheerful, positive person I had ever met.This would become more meaningful to me in the next year that we worked together as a team. He'd sleep with one eye open 'cause he worked illegally in a small Colorado town sending his pay home to his family Some of the locals would disparagingly call Joe "wetback". I had encountered such prejudice many times in my travels and it angered me. However, Joe didn't seem bothered by it. In fact, whenever he saw me get angry he would laugh and say, " poco a poco Pancho, take it easy, it's OK, lets go to work. "Then I would say, " Yeah, mucho trabajo; poquito dinero," Which was another issue that bothered me, Joe's low pay. Once again it didn't seem to bother Joe much. Each week he sent half of his paycheck home to his wife and children, who had lived in a small one room house in Mexico city. With the money Joe sent home, his wife was able to purchase the adjoining one room house.I remember how proud Joe was on the day he brought the picture of the new place to with him to work. His wife had taken a picture with an Instamatic camera of the 2 adjacent buildings with her and several of the kids standing in front.
He said his oldest son played the Quatro
He made music for pay
that's why he's still in old Mexico
and Joe hoped that's where he'd stay
On one occasion, When I invited Joe over for dinner, as my wife and I were preparing the meal, I glanced out the window and saw Joe energetically striding across our lot with something on his back. When he got to the door, exceptionally excited, he swung an old accordion off his shoulder and handed it to me to play. Joe knew that what I really loved to do was to write songs and sing and play music. Many time Joe asked me to play him a song, So I'd pick up my guitar or mandolin or maybe my fiddle and play a new tune for him. But Joe didn't know that the first instrument I had ever played was the accordion, and though I hadn't played one in years, I took the accordion from him, sat and played a simple polka, then a waltz and finally sang a song I had written while Joe danced. You see Joe had carried this " box of teeth" around with him for 2 years. It was a present for his oldest son, his name sake. Joe hadn't seen his son, in fact any f his family, for 3 years. Hearing this accordion played for the first time, Joe knew his efforts weren't wasted, that this was the present he would proudly greet his son with when next they met.
He tried with his might to have no regret
I wonder if it all caught up with him yet
And he'd tell me with a smile and a south pointed hand
How he lost some friends to the Rio Grande
Joe had been arrested and deported twice since first coming to the US to work. Ironically the most dangerous time of the year, when the Rio Grande is in it's flood stage, is the most successful time for the Mexican workers to cross the US border. Due to the extreme conditions, it is more difficult for the border patrol to do their job. Joe had made two such crossings, and spoke without regret of friends he had lost, swept away by the rivers current. He seemed proud to be counted among the men who risked their lives so their families would be fed. Joe was loved and respected by the local Mexican community, and graciously took me into his family of friends. He introduced me as his Amigo, Francisco. I was met with much hospitality and quickly given the nick name, "Poncho." Joe was very careful not to take advantage of their hospitality. Even when they would beg us to stay, He would politely refuse. He knew they had received citizenship papers and He didn't want to bring them trouble. So we would say Adios to the men, some of whom still had a flicker of the intensity in their eyes that I had come to admire in the eyes of their friend Jose. We would say Adios to the women, pretty and round and also the beautiful children, who would run out behind the pick up truck and shout."Goodbye Poncho, Adios Jose."
And he's called me chiquito I'd call him hombre viejo
But he was not that old and I was not that young
We were just two Hombres on the run
Yes, we were dos hombres malos on the run
In the year that Joe and I were a team, I taught him some English and he taught me some Spanish. Being 15 years my senior,he called me chiquito, At first out of retaliation, then later out of respect I called him hombre viejo. I taught him how to run the equipment, which he learned well, with his typical enthusiasm. This gave him more job security, but unfortunately no more pay. I know that in that years time I learned much more from Joe than he learned from me. I learned that, free from the hobbles of a pride driven ego, we are all teachers and we are all students, that the power of a positive spirit is a main ingredient of contentment and it deepened my belief in the sameness of all human beings.
Jose Villanueva Here's to you where ever you may be
Jose Villanueva I wonder, do you ever think of me
This song and essay we're written 30 years ago. Much has changed on the border. This is published at this time with deep respect for the men and women who risk their lives to support their families.