Tag Archive: Daniel Roark


Charles the Buck

[Previous post about the deer here.]

As I said earlier, when Cyndy and I left our friend, Sally’s, home in Colorado to return home the last few times, a deer – a buck as it were – was laying in Sally’s front yard watching us pack and leave. We’d like to think he was saying good-bye in some way, but who the hell knows?

Turns out he’s been hanging out in the yard more lately. Sally said he’d been there most of the day today. We figured if he was going to hang out at her house, we might as well name him. We have a friend named Charles Buck. And the deer is a buck. Hence, Charles the Buck.

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Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark 

 

 

 

[Read part one.]

Immediately upon spotting the gun, Antonio felt the man’s left arm come around and clamp his chest under his chin, reclaiming his vise grip on Antonio’s right shoulder. Although he  had an urge to turn his head to see where the pistol was pointed, the preacher decided instantaneously that it would not be the wisest choice he could make. His heart was beating so fast that it seemed determined to fly out of his chest. At the same time his brain struggled between telling his eyes to close tightly to feel the barrel of the gun should it be pointed at his head, and telling them to remain open to eliminate the element of surprise.

Francis dropped the coffee pot, which shattered, sending hot coffee and shards of glass onto her shoes and legs. Her fear of the man holding Antonio and the gun offset the pain in her legs. That, and she was praying harder than she ever remembered praying. She wondered if it would matter to the gunman if he knew Antonio was a preacher.

The instant the coffee pot shattered, Fred Martinez, the owner of the truck stop who was still at the cash register, stepped on the floor alarm under the register that signaled the police. He always had unruly customers, but he had the alarm installed when a late night birthday party got  out of control. With the use of credit and debit cards, the truck stop never had enough cash that he thought someone would rob the place at gunpoint. Especially with all the glass and traffic.

“Pull down the shades, and turn the sign around!” the gunman demanded, pointing the gun at Francis – who fought hard against the fainting spell, which along with her fear, was turning her legs to jello.

Francis was not sure how her legs kept moving, but she moved toward the windows as quickly as she dared. As she reached up for the shade on the last window by the door, she spotted Steve Striden at the pump putting gas in his blue Ford F150. He looked around toward the restaurant. Francis tried to catch Steve’s eye as she pulled down the shade. She turned the open sign around in the window, glancing again toward the pump.

“Lock the door,” said the gunman, who had backed up against the wall dividing the restaurant from the store. “Now this one,” he said after she locked the front door, nodding to the door to his right.

The gunman still held Antonio in front of him. Antonio had said so many prayers they had turned into one long prayer. When the gunman had relocated – pulling Antonio with him – the preacher nearly lost his balance. He was sweating buckets and knew the gunman was, too.

Antonio was struggling to keep his bladder in check against the fear and coffee. But that did not keep him from noticing that the man with the gun and arm around his chest was getting nervous. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Which was when someone dropped something in the kitchen, Antonio felt the gunman twitch as he pointed the gun toward the kitchen, the gun fired, and Antonio’s ears rang.

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Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

 

 

 

[Read part one, two, three, four, five, six, seven]

My immediate concern following the robbery was to get another guitar – the sooner, the better. Fortunately, my parents’ homeowners insurance covered the loss, but not did not pay enough to replace my Martin.

I flew back to Dallas. The next day I was in McCord Music in Valley View Mall. They had sound-proof rooms in the back. I picked out about six guitars. Four were within the range of the insurance check, and two were in the “if I like one of these, maybe I can talk Dad into it” category.

I was apprehensive because I wanted a guitar then, but I wanted to get the right guitar. I don’t remember what kind the other guitars were. I picked up the first two, played them a bit, and put them back. Then I picked up the handmade bicentennial edition Alvarez. I loved the color because it matched my red hair. It had a clear pick guard which I loved. Then I began to play it. It sounded so sweet and when I sang it complimented my voice. It still does – and it really sounds good now with John Pearse strings. The only other set of strings the Alvarez has had on was whatever was on it when I bought it.

Obviously, I’ve never regretted my decision – or losing my Martin really.  I have three Alvarez guitars now. They’re all three great sounding guitars, although I still call that first Alvarez the “good” guitar. It’s the one I’ve got in the picture above. As you can hear when you listen to River That Flows that is out now from Southern Plains Revisited and other songs to come from that album, the Alvarez became an integral part of the Southern Plains sound.

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.(

paypal.me/danroark

 

 

 

V-Picks

It’s been a while since I’ve written about V-Picks. I’ve been using them for a good number of years. As I told Vinni – owner of V-Picks – a few years back:

“Since I can’t buy any more guitars and stay happily married, I began to collect capos, ending up with a collection of nice capos. I’ve been saving picks for years, but the material they were made of didn’t vary too much – mostly promotional picks. I had always used John Pearse picks which had the point offset so it fit my style perfectly. But it was still the old plastic medium pick, like the Fender tortoise shell pick everyone else used for years.

I began to see picks of different materials. Which was convenient so when I went to guitar and music trade shows, I could pick up different picks and Cyndy wouldn’t mind. But none of them produced a different tone on my guitar that was worth switching for fulltime. Some of the pick materials were not comfortable enough when playing. It was just an interesting collection.”

Then I tried V-Picks. Vinni Smith had a booth at a guitar show. I haven’t played anything else since. I never knew how much picks can change the tone of my guitars. I use different picks for certain songs. The Nashville pick on the bottom right is like a regular medium to heavy pick. V-Picks are acrylic picks. The heat from your hand sticks them to your fingers, making them easier to hold onto and almost impossible to drop.

V-Slide by V-Picks

Vinni, his wife, Nancy, and crew also make acrylic slides, among other things. Check out their products at V-Picks.com. Try their picks – you won’t be disappointed.

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

Taken Labor Day evening.

Okay, so snow is not necessarily a mountain thing, although it is prevalent for six months out of the year. But the temperature dropping from 90 to 30 degrees in a few hours with snow beginning to fall, on Labor Day, as it did last week, is most certainly a mountain thing.

As is the deer wandering around town as if they own the place, because, well, they were there first. So when they graze in the front yard or wander through the yard next door to reach the cul de sac as they have for years, you just watch. It’s a cool thing to watch anyway.

Bears have been wandering through for a couple of months now. They only tolerate the humans because they’re nice enough – and stupid enough in some cases – to provide their trash. As well as forgetting to close the garage door with a full refrigerator and freezer inside. Making a note of the bonus location, the bear hit that particular house three times. Apparently, he really enjoyed the freezer full of shrimp he got the first time.  

It’s a morning routine for Sally, Cyndy, and I in Colorado. Drinking our coftfee and watching the street, front and side yards for grazing or passing deer. We’re beginning to recognize some of them. It’s also fun to be driving around town and see deer in a yard, a roadside grassy area, or any grassy or shady area really.

The previous trip to Sally’s.

There is a particular deer that we know well. Each time Cyndy and I leave to head back home – like we did last Saturday – he’s laying in Sally’s front yard telling us good-bye. 

The same deer last Saturday.

 

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Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

 

 

 

[Parts One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six]

The rent on our upstairs apartment was $35 a month. I guess, with the house being in the neighborhood it was in, the owner just appreciated people who paid rent on time, took care of the place, and didn’t attract a lot of attention. That would change a bit, but that’s another story.

When any one of the four of us got paid, we would go to Spats in the West End for happy hour. Then we would pick up food and beer and head home. Joel and I – and anyone who happened by to jam – would play late into the night. When it neared three a.m. we’d head back to the store for more beer. Then the next time someone got paid, we’d do it again. But, with the exception of Spats, that was the routine on really any given evening. We worked at Deli Junction during the day.

One day we were running errands or somesuch. Joel was driving and I was drinking coffee in a styrofoam cup. We hit a bump and I held my cup up and didn’t spill a drop.

“I’m pretty good at that,” I boasted proudly.

Before too long, Joel stomped on the brakes. Of course I spilled coffee on my last clean shirt. And those were laundromat days. I was really pissed and couldn’t understand why he would do that just to be a smart ass. It didn’t take long for us to get past it, but I’ll never forget it. (I’m still pissed.)

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Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

Paypal.me/danroark

916 Acklen Ave., in Nashville

[Read Part One, Two, Three, Four, Five]

Joel and I worked at a sandwich shop in Nashville called Deli Junction. We worked days so we could play or practice at night. One afternoon while we were working, Joel got a phone call. The look on his face told me something was seriously wrong. We couldn’t both leave. He said someone had broken into the apartment. He said he would let me know what had happened.

What had happened was that someone had broken in and stolen every music and sound device in the apartment. My Martin D35 guitar, cassette recorder, stereo, tv, radio, and so forth. Joel’s room was a small room to the left of the kitchen. His Martin D35 was still there in its case.

As we sat there in the den in silence that night, we figured it must have been somebody who knew Joel, so he didn’t take his guitar. As we talked, I thought about the tv against the wall under a blanket or rug – I don’t remember which.

“They probably just figured it didn’t work, so they left it,” I said. “Let’s try it to see if it works.”

We uncovered it, turned it on, and sure as shit it worked. We laughed and everyone looked at me.

“I didn’t watch Perry Mason for nothing!”

It took a while, but we replaced the stereo, the cassette recorder and so on.

Stay tuned for what I did about my guitar being stolen.

_________________________________________

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

 

 

 

My song, Poor David’s Pub, will be released on Monday, August 31 on all the regular sites. The single release party will be the Poor David’s Pub/Kerrville Folk Festival Virtual Open Mic hosted by Rob Case on Monday Night 7 – 10:30 p.m. CT. The proceeds from the song, as with donations to the open mic, will go to Poor David’s Pub to be split with the Kerrville Folk Festival. Let’s help these venues keep going!

Watch and listen to the open mic on Facebook on Rob Case’s Open Mic – Poor David’s Pub page, or my page.

_______________________________________________

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

 

 

 

[Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4] The picture is of tuna fish salad Cyndy made. I can eat tuna fish and tuna fish salad now. I haven’t had the impulse to gag when I smelled it in years…

….In the upstairs apartment at 916 Acklen Ave. in Nashville, we took turns fixing meals when we ate int. On one occasion when it was my turn, I decided to fix tuna casserole. It was pretty freaking good as I recall – as long as I’m not smelling tuna while I think about it. It received compliments.

After dinner we went out for drinks. We we got back, we drank beer and watched tv, among other things. The casserole dish – meanwhile – had been pushed to the side of the table in the kitchen. It got covered up by other things. With all of us actually working at the same time, as well as practicing and playing shows, the dish was forgotten, for a while.

But, it happened to be particularly warm for the next few days. We began to notice a smell. I don’t remember how long we looked, but obviously we found it. Which is when everyone looked at me and said, “you cooked it, you clean it.” So I did, alternately holding my breath and gagging.

Finally, it was over and I was seriously sniffing dishwashing soap. I will not describe it for a couple of reasons. One is because I wouldn’t wish the experience on anyone else. The second is because I don’t know if I could accurately describe it and not run to the bathroom. As it is, it will be a few hours before I can have any of the tuna fish salad.

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Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

 

 

 

As you  may gather from the title, the virtual open mic on Monday night is a Zoom meeting shared on Facebook. Hosted by Rob Case, with the more than able assistance from his wife, Lynda, the open mic replaces (for the time being) the live Poor David’s Pub open mic. It also benefits Poor David’s Pub and the Kerrville Folk Festival. The show below is from Monday, Aug. 24.

More about the open mic itself shortly, but first the reason for the title. While the Zoom meeting is going on one laptop, I have the Facebook video going on the other laptop so Cyndy can hear it, too. However, as you may or may not know, there is a short time delay between Zoom and Facebook. During the open mic a few weeks ago, I was talking to Cyndy and forgot about the delay. When the song ended on Facebook, I clapped on camera so they could see me clap. Sadly, he had already begun the next song.

But wait, there’s more… one of the performers said something to me – again, watching on Facebook. By the time I got my headphones on, unmuted the mic, and answered them, they also had begun their next song. Thankfully, they hadn’t started singing yet. Needless to say, I’m much more careful now.

Back to the open mic. There are always different and unique songwriters. Not a bad way to spend a Monday night. And if you would like to play, contact Lynda Case on messenger. The list from the show below is Rob Case, Allen Larson, Cat McGee, Jackie Sue Langford, Darwin, Dan Roark, John Mason, Don Wall, Baylis Laramore, Scott Thornton, Jenni Mansfield Peal, Rick Valente, and Harry Hewlett.

Check it out! Then tune in on Monday. Or join us and play.

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

 

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