What are the rich folks doing today?

I saw an El Dorado the other day that looked as long as a city block. I swear. It seemed waaaaay longer than any Cadillac I'd ever seen before.

It was a red convertible with chrome all over the place and it just went on forever. I'd like to see somebody try to parallel park that baby.

And, of course, it reminded me of a song. It wasn't "Cadillac Red'' by the Judds, or even "Cadillac Ranch'' by Bruce Springsteen. There have been plenty of tunes written about Caddies, but none capture the unparalleled bliss that Roger Miller sings about in his chorus to "Do Wacka Do'':

I see you’re goin’ down the street in your big Cadillac
You got girls in the front, you got girls in the back
Yeah, way in back, you got money in a sack
Both hands on the wheel and your shoulders rared back
Root-doot-doot-doot-doot do-wah

I've never owned a Cadillac, and probably never will. Luxury cars were never a big priority in my blue-collar family. We'd be more likely to kick the tires of a reconditioned VW bus -- there were at least two of those in the family -- than consider a status symbol like a Caddy, which was really unattainable anyway. Why dream about them?

But sing about them? You bet. It doesn't cost a dime, and you don't have to try put a coat of wax on 'em.

I remember, years ago, sitting on a sandbar on the upper Mississippi River with my cousin Bob. Uncle Gabe had just secured the lines to his houseboat and we were hanging out on one those rare picture-perfect summer days in Wisconsin. The beer was cold, we had caught a few fish and the warm rays of the sun felt as good as they can feel on your face. And my cousin turned to me and said: "I wonder what the rich folks are doing today.''

I wonder, indeed.

Walkin' in the Sun shine

How hot was Sun Records in 1956? Smoking hot.

On Labor Day weekend that year Johnny Cash was enjoying his first No. 1 record, "I Walk the Line,'' which had replaced Elvis Presley's "I Want You, I Need You, I Love You'' atop the charts. And a week later Elvis would be back on top with "Don't Be Cruel.''

Earlier that year Sun stablemate Carl Perkins scored his first chart-topper with "Blue Suede Shoes.''

You could say there was a whole lot of shakin' going on at Sun. A look back at the country charts shows that eight of the 11 songs that made it to No. 1 in '56 were produced by the upstart studio in Memphis.

NO. 1 COUNTRY SONGS OF 1956
Why Baby Why, Red Sovine & Webb Pierce, Decca
I Forgot to Remember to Forget, Elvis Presley, Sun
Heartbreak Hotel, Elvis Presley, Sun
I Don't Believe You've Met My Baby, Louvin Brothers, Capitol
Blue Suede Shoes, Carl Perkins, Sun
Crazy Arms, Ray Price, Columbia
I Want You, I Need You, I Love You, Elvis Presley, Sun
I Walk the Line, Johnny Cash, Sun
Don't Be Cruel, Elvis Presley, Sun
Hound Dog, Elvis Presley, Sun
Singing the Blues, Marty Robbins, Columbia

The following year Jerry Lee Lewis would bust through with, yes, "Whole Lot of Shakin' '' and Sun would become home of the "Million Dollar Quartet.'' But this day in 1956 belonged to 24-year-old Johnny Cash and his first boom-chicka-boom classic.

Lucky for us, there would be plenty more like it.

When in doubt, hang a left

Spontaneity is a beautiful thing. This afternoon Jess and I took a left where we generally take a right, so instead of winding up in Ybor City we found ourselves in beach chairs on Anna Maria Island. And from there, well, who woulda thunk...

Parasailing 500 feet over the Gulf of Mexico!

Neither of us is fond of heights, so the very idea of going up in a parachute attached by a rope to a boat manned by a couple of young brothers from Roseville, Minn., well if you know me you wouldn't think that could happen.

Did happen. And it was beautiful, exhilarating, and really not all that scary. Floating above the water with the best view of Florida's gorgeous west coast. Dolphins, rays and pristine beaches below. And those boys from Roseville? Good kids, and Jess happens to know their cousin -- she went to high school with him in Richfield.

Big adventure, small world, incredible day to be alive.

Maybe we'll just watch them roll cigars

Jessi Layne has been in town visiting and we've decided on a visit to Ybor City tonight. You'll never hear us complain about the night scene here in Bradenton, but occasionally you've got to step up to the plate for something on a grander scale than karaoke at In-Cahoots. (But we do give props to the warbling host, who did an amazing Jim Morrison last night.)

A visit to the old Cuban neighborhood in Tampa allows an opportunity to catch up on what's REALLY happening on the music scene. Oops: A look at the online listings suggests it's going to be a heavy rapper night. Pitbull is the headliner at Ritz Ybor, and Big Cheese is holding court at the Big Skye with Buffie the Body, Kit Muzik and Jim Jones.

Jim Jones? How you gonna rap with a handle like dat?

Obviously I'm not prepared for this. Maybe Jess will show me the ropes...

Taking one for the team

I'm happy to report that my family turned the anniversary of Dad's death into a celebration yesterday. That meant including a ceremonial 12-pack of Blatz in the proceedings.

My Dad and Blatz had a special relationship for many years, until "Milwaukee's Finest'' was sold and the brewing process was moved to La Crosse. Even then Dad showed loyalty to his favorite brand while many of the Whitehall locals -- certain that the taste had been compromised -- protested by switching to Pabst Blue Ribbon or some other previously inferior brew.

This allowed him to continue the time-honored ritual of having kids and grandkids sit in his lap for their first sip of beer -- a Blatz! (To which most of them made a face that said Yuck!!!) Eventually Dad, a renowned penny-pincher, would succumb to the "value beers'' so he could save a buck.

(Many of us didn't even realize Blatz was still being sold until we went hunting for it last year. We finally found it at a tavern in Independence, which provided a nice taste of irony: Independence, with its impressive strip of bars on the main drag, was a big PBR town back in the day.)

The picture of Mom included here is priceless. Rarely have we seen her hold a can of beer, much less put one to her lips. She tolerates light drinking only because she learned to tolerate her husband's affection for beer -- and that took years of practice by both of them. So talk about taking one for the team!

Now here's my humble and belated contribution: the Blatz jingle, at least the words as I remember them. No doubt Dad would have been singing this with the rest of us:

I'm from Milwaukee and I ought to know
It's draft-brewed Blatz beer wherever you go,
Smoother, refreshing, less filling that's clear
Blatz is Milwaukee's finest beer!

There is a tree

Today marks the first anniversary of my father's passing. Time passes quickly, yet wounds of loss heal so slowly...

We're probably no more emotionally prepared for this than we were a year ago when he suddenly left this world. But there is a plan: to plant a tree for him, a maple, on my sister's property off OK Lane just outside of Whitehall. (I added this picture Thursday.)

This is appropriate for reasons that go beyond the metaphor of life replacing death. Sue and Vitus' home has served as our unofficial family compound over the years. Every Christmas Eve I can remember as an adult has been hosted there, and you can add most other holidays, birthdays and special occasions. So memories of Dad are especially strong, and you don't need to turn the pages of a photo album to recall images of him teasing a grandkid, nibbling on a Norwegian pastry or taking a nap on a comfortable chair away from the hubub.

Then there is the tree thing. I planted a lot of trees with my father, who approached the task like any other he performed around the house or yard. Deliberately, and with great purpose. The hole had to be just right, the soil and bone meal put down carefully in layers, and there could be no air bubbles in the water we fed into the hole.

Afterward, often for years to come, we would fret and fidget if a tree struggled to take root and show hearty growth in its new environment. There was never a shortage of water, tree food or old fashioned wishing and praying as we awaited the verdict.

Despite much love, care and effort, not every single tree made it to maturity. But there are some beautiful mature trees in Whitehall, and others on our property outside town known as the "tree land'' that we can pridefully point to as towering success stories for our father.

I was trying to think of a song this morning that might be appropriate for the occasion, and I settled on "There is a Tree' by Carrie Newcomer:

Last night I dreamt you very near
Though the night was dark beyond the glass
I knew you'd left before I woke
But you'd fogged the window when you passed
The air was still and smelled like rain
Though I'd never known so dry a spell
And what I heard there in the dark
Are the secrets I will never tell?

There is a tree beyond the world
In its ancient roots a song is curled
I'm the fool whose life's been spent
Between what's said and what is meant...

Here's a link to a performance of the song. Carrie Newcomer could just as well have been singing from Sue and Vitus' front deck, which Dad built himself more than 20 years ago and which only this summer was replaced.

Now a new tree will stand nearby to remind us each fall, with its blazing color, the spiritual beauty of our father.

Thirty days hath September

Oh, it's a long, long while from May to December
But the days grow short when you reach September
When the autumn weather turns the leaves to flame
One hasn't got time for the waiting game

What's your favorite version of "September Song''? It's a sweet way to introduce our ninth month of the year, and there is no shortage of artists from which to choose. Everybody from Jimmy Durante to James Brown has covered the Kurt Weill standard. Even Lou Reed, though I haven't heard that version.

As much as I enjoy the trumpet of Chet Baker, I'm noodling between Willie Nelson and Frank Sinatra on this. Sinatra is Sinatra -- he won't disappoint. Meanwhile, Willie's turn helped make his splendid "Stardust'' album one of the gems of 1978 (though my favorite song is "Moonlight in Vermont'').

Oh, the days dwindle down to a precious few
September, November ...
And these few precious days I'll spend with you
These precious days I'll s pend with you

The important thing is we made to September. Baseball's pennant races are heating up, football's about to kick off, and the weather will soon begin to turn. There's bound to be a chili cook-off in your neighborhood before long.

September is a beautiful month, no matter where you are. I can't believe we only give it 30 days each year to prove itself.