F I C T I O N  Johnny quit the band to get married and start law school. We played together for the last time at their wedding reception, and then loaded the guitars and headed west for California without him. Another friend from school had rented a big house in Portola Valley and he was eager to become the new drummer who could book us into the San Francisco music scene.

We holed up to practice for two weeks, and then started playing the North Beach joints, including a few nights on stage with Carol Doda. The writing on the wall came after we cut the demo with Jim Lange in August. We listened to the playback and nobody, but nobody, thought there was a future. It’s a sad thing to see the dreams of artists dashed. The guys all drifted back to Houston, and I moved in with Bonnie.

We met when the group was playing Sunday nights in the Marina District. The Annex was a happening weekend scene, and she had come to town from Seattle with flowers in her hair. One thing led to another, and then she’s telling me I’m going to be a parent.

“Are you sure?”

She said she had not been to the doctor yet but had missed two periods and was absolutely never ever late.

“My parents will kill me. What are we gonna do?”

I was more than a little concerned that they might kill me first, so after some discouraging looks at options, I proposed, she accepted, and we drove her Austin-Healy down to Monterey where her parents lived comfortably and did the right thing with a lavish, if sudden, noon wedding at their church.

We were too young and stupid, and it turned out she wasn’t pregnant after all. What she was and continued to be was an actress, and a specialty model whose legs kept showing up in advertisements. She was doing a ton of local ads for the Bay Area papers, and that led to her working in Los Angeles, New York, Nice, and South America. I was spending a lot of my time alone and wondering about my pals back in Texas. Then I got the phone call I should have been expecting.

“We need to talk about this. When are you coming home?”

“That’s the point, you big dummy. We’re done. I’m really sorry, Rivers. This whole thing was a mistake.”

Harpeth Rivers is a New Mexico transplant from all over who has in the last year written songs about isosceles triangles, played bass guitar in a band, and declared himself “Retro-eclectic.” His novel-in-progress is entitled Last Year.

F I C T I O N   “Dad and I are buying a condo near Boulder.”

“Why?”

“So we can all be together on the weekends.”

“And do what?”

“You and Huston and Lola can board; Dad and I will ski.”

“Mom, I’m not into Boulder yet. Why are you jumping on Colorado? Remember my applications to Tulane and Miami? Where’s my flannel? I threw it in the laundry room yesterday. Can’t find it. I’m meeting up with Guy and Finn in thirty. Can we move on this? Chop, chop.”

“Don’t be disrespectful. I’m at the end of my rope….and prescription.”

“Chill mom. What prescription? I thought you were in a twelve step; sounds like not!”

“None of your business. I hope you never have to deal with three little whiners. The last time you even said ‘thank you’ was when we gave you the Beemer on your birthday. Now, nothing! No ‘please,’ no ‘thank you’ just a bunch of demands that make me crazy. One year of college for you, not to mention the other two kids, is going to cost more than I spent on Dr. Steinmetz all of last year. Botox isn’t cheap and if you add in the spa trips…well it’s a lot!

“Mom, get it together. Find my flannel so I can get going. I need your card, out of gas.”

“Take the Amex Black but don’t tell Dad. He’s so freaked out about everything these days. No humor, nothing. He’s thinking of selling the winery because it’s running at a loss. I told him, “Winery? Are you crazy? You only drink Scotch and what the hell do you know about wine? The Brownleys are a bad influence hon and just because they like wine doesn’t mean you had to buy a winery! God, you’re such a doormat. To be honest, you’re way too nice to Drake and Gina. Did you see that rock on her finger at the club last night? I wonder what she had to do to get that! Fake, fake, fake and I hope that diamond’s fake too. Would serve her right!”

“Mom, calm! Don’t beat Dad up! I’m outta here. Screw the flannel…later!”

“Text me, Linden, and don’t forget to pick up Huston at practice. Did you see my phone?”

“On the table, Mom. It buzzed. Gina.”

Kim Kohler writes on the uncertainties of living in a liberal hot spot where everybody has an opinion, every opinion counts and nobody uses turn signals.

F I C T I O N    We needed another song for the set, and I wanted it to be a waltz and also wanted to feature Cookie’s vocal. We had already spent some time arranging a cowboy tune, something about heroes and belt buckles- you have to start somewhere- and the obstacle, as always, is getting and paying for the rights to record somebody else’s songs. On this project we have partially skirted the issue by using material from the Public Domain. Another option could be to write our own song.

All I had to do was sell Cookie on the idea and then write the song. I was reassured by the idea that neither one of us was happy with the “heroes” arrangement. It’s a well-crafted tune, but it’s not a perfect fit with the rest of our material except that it is a waltz, and Cookie sings. Can we agree that there is an advantage in using one of our songs? Why not let our polish time be spent on something that we have written?

I gave myself an assignment to start a song in three-quarter time in the key of G using the waltz I learned from Cookie as a starting point. In many cases I begin with a title but in this instance the first line popped into my head along with a thousand other rejects, and it felt a good start to me.

There is a lot of satisfaction in saying what you mean and getting it to fit in the words of a song or a story. Once there is a structure then everything you hear or think you hear becomes another stanza or a verse or hook. Off I went listening to the progression from my “source song” in my head: three-quarter time starting on a G major chord. It’s a small step, but a big change, to think in six-eight time, then it’s already a new song. I like to write familiar but fresh.

The first line was easy, two pick-up notes and then:

(There is) Nothing original under the sun
Although it might not be true
What happens next is as big a surprise
To me as it must be for you

The tune is familiar, the chords are the same, aren’t they?
(Oh) Where have I heard that before?
On Top of Old Smokey? No, Down In the Valley, or
You are My Sunshine for sure.

Harpeth Rivers is a New Mexico transplant from all over who has in the last year written songs about isosceles triangles, played bass guitar in a band, and declared himself “Retro-eclectic.” His novel-in-progress is entitled Last Year.

F I C T I O N    Another in a continuing series of articles about what exactly animals and marine life are up to, that you always wanted to know.

We’ve all seen it. About an hour before sunset the cows come home. If we’re talking milk cows, they head for the barn because there’s food there and a place to get out of the wind. But what about cattle on open grazing land? Where are they heading? How do they spend their nights?

First of all, we’ve all heard the expression “herd mentality” and when it comes to cattle, there are always some dominant animals that decide where and when the herd moves. They are after all prey animals, so there’s safety in numbers. So after a hard day of grazing, cattle will seek out some lowland out of the wind and elements and find bedground for the night. You would be surprised at how much body heat an 1,800 pound cow can generate and they do have a whole lot of insulation, so I would not get too hung on whether or not they are cold. Ask a rancher in North Dakota how low the temperature has to get before a cow freezes.

There’s usually a lot of gossip about who saw what (Did you see that rusty old pick-up truck go by?), how much forage everyone had, and some of the goofy things the calves were up to that day. There is a lot of talk about the quality of the forage, so much like humans, cattle will drone on and on about where the best forage was, or complaining about the scarcity, or how long it took to chew cud.

Cattle are very social, so it’s not unusual for some of the better storytellers to break out a story that’s been handed down for generations for the listening pleasure of the rest of the herd. On some rare occasions, the herd will come across some Jimson weed and on those nights the cattle have a riproaring time getting high as kites (perhaps not the best comparison when you’re talking about an 1,800 pound animal) and having some really wicked hallucinations. If you’re wondering what kind of hallucination a cow might have, one of the most common ones is that a cow will think that the ear tag is some kind of radio controller that’s following every move the cow makes. Creepy yes, but not out of the realm of possibility.

So the next time you see cattle making their move around sunset, you’ll have a pretty good idea that the party is about to get started.

Jay Harrison is a graphic designer and writer whose work can be seen at DesignConcept. He’s written a mystery novel, which therefore makes him a pre-published author.