Nettie's Song
It's after midnight and Jann in Lubbock responds to an email.
"What in the world is she doing up?" I wonder.
Then again, Why am I up?
"I'm having fun" I proclaim to myself and like a jolt of lightening it hits me.
An old nemesis of mine, "just for fun", has gotten out of control again.
(four hours later)
My eyesight is strained from watching tutorials on Adobe Premiere Pro CS4 which is probably the defacto standard for audio/video editing on a PC, but also I am discovering has an "in-fact-o" hard learning curve. You would think after 58 years i would learn the more bells and whistles something has the more difficult to operate it is going to be. but the "just for fun" side of me has been drawn to bells and whistles since I was about 3 minutes old.
A half finished video is being edited on my computer desktop. My heart is invested in this project which began in Austin in September. Now it has become apparent the Pentagon does not want me to finish this video because many of the images I am needing are under government restriction. The video I am working on is to accompany an audio track Cindy Symington recorded many years ago called Nettie's song. The Pentegon didn't target me personally, but one of their policies is certainly having the same effect.
I reflect back to my trip to Austin. Cindy and her husband Nick live on a secluded hillside . . . halfway between what I would describe as Eden and Oz. It is a wonderland of native shrubs that make you wonder where you really are. When I found out Sandra Bullock lived just down the road I decided I wasn't the only one who was confused.
We finally reached the point in our conversation where truth becomes a a place, not a thing. I saw inside her Indian soul and for a moment Cindy trusted me . . . at least as much as she could allow herself to trust anyone outside of Nick, her husband, and her two boys. Cindy has a difficult time trusting . . . not unexpected for an ancestor of those who walked the "Trail of Tears".
And then it happened. l call it the "patron moment" when what you are looking for finds you.
I was already aware of that, but said nothing. I am sent an email each time a comment is posted in with the text of the post on iit just in case someone posts something inappropriate and I need to take it down. There had been nothing inappropriate about Cindy's comment. Curiosity over the quick retraction had been on my mind since it happened. I felt there had to be a story behind it. I anxiously awaited her next words.
"What in the world is she doing up?" I wonder.
Then again, Why am I up?
"I'm having fun" I proclaim to myself and like a jolt of lightening it hits me.
An old nemesis of mine, "just for fun", has gotten out of control again.
(four hours later)
My eyesight is strained from watching tutorials on Adobe Premiere Pro CS4 which is probably the defacto standard for audio/video editing on a PC, but also I am discovering has an "in-fact-o" hard learning curve. You would think after 58 years i would learn the more bells and whistles something has the more difficult to operate it is going to be. but the "just for fun" side of me has been drawn to bells and whistles since I was about 3 minutes old.
A half finished video is being edited on my computer desktop. My heart is invested in this project which began in Austin in September. Now it has become apparent the Pentagon does not want me to finish this video because many of the images I am needing are under government restriction. The video I am working on is to accompany an audio track Cindy Symington recorded many years ago called Nettie's song. The Pentegon didn't target me personally, but one of their policies is certainly having the same effect.
I reflect back to my trip to Austin. Cindy and her husband Nick live on a secluded hillside . . . halfway between what I would describe as Eden and Oz. It is a wonderland of native shrubs that make you wonder where you really are. When I found out Sandra Bullock lived just down the road I decided I wasn't the only one who was confused.
"Ever met her?", I asked Cindy.
"Never even seen her", Cindy replied.. "She bought this really old historical place, tore it down and rebuilt. I wasn't to happy with her for doing that." Cindy hates disrespect for Mother Earth and to her a historical building with a 150 year past belongs to Mother Earth, not Ben Franklin.
Part native American, Cindy is proud of her heritage . . . so proud in fact I think she would gladly trade-in the other part of her white man DNA if she could. I suspect her to be a descendent of Cól-lee or some other great Indian chief. She has a natural way of quietly and respectfully holding your attention while you anticipate her next word in a state of semi enchantment. She would say I am embellishing, but I am not. She doesn't recognize her own spiritual power when communicating on a Indian high. Her words can be very meaningful . . . or pass unnoticed if you aren't attentive . . . much like the smoke signals her ancestors were known for.
"Never even seen her", Cindy replied.. "She bought this really old historical place, tore it down and rebuilt. I wasn't to happy with her for doing that." Cindy hates disrespect for Mother Earth and to her a historical building with a 150 year past belongs to Mother Earth, not Ben Franklin.
Part native American, Cindy is proud of her heritage . . . so proud in fact I think she would gladly trade-in the other part of her white man DNA if she could. I suspect her to be a descendent of Cól-lee or some other great Indian chief. She has a natural way of quietly and respectfully holding your attention while you anticipate her next word in a state of semi enchantment. She would say I am embellishing, but I am not. She doesn't recognize her own spiritual power when communicating on a Indian high. Her words can be very meaningful . . . or pass unnoticed if you aren't attentive . . . much like the smoke signals her ancestors were known for.
We sat on her back brickyard and talked for hours retracing our footsteps. revisiting our dreams . . . the ones we touched . . . the ones we didn't. About 30 feet below was a beautiful pool and in the distance, across a tree covered valley, was another hillside reflecting back more beauty . . . not even a hint a city surrounded us.
"How long have you lived here?"
"Twenty five years."
We shared the thrills of our victories and the agonies of our defeats. We talked about causes we had won and causes we had lost. To quote from the "Man of La Mancha" Cindy is" willing to march into hell for a heavenly cause" and has made that march many times over her life.
"How long have you lived here?"
"Twenty five years."
We shared the thrills of our victories and the agonies of our defeats. We talked about causes we had won and causes we had lost. To quote from the "Man of La Mancha" Cindy is" willing to march into hell for a heavenly cause" and has made that march many times over her life.
We finally reached the point in our conversation where truth becomes a a place, not a thing. I saw inside her Indian soul and for a moment Cindy trusted me . . . at least as much as she could allow herself to trust anyone outside of Nick, her husband, and her two boys. Cindy has a difficult time trusting . . . not unexpected for an ancestor of those who walked the "Trail of Tears".
And then it happened. l call it the "patron moment" when what you are looking for finds you.
Cindy looked at me and said " When you first posted the story on Rickey Marson I posted a comment, but after a few minutes I deleted it."
I was already aware of that, but said nothing. I am sent an email each time a comment is posted in with the text of the post on iit just in case someone posts something inappropriate and I need to take it down. There had been nothing inappropriate about Cindy's comment. Curiosity over the quick retraction had been on my mind since it happened. I felt there had to be a story behind it. I anxiously awaited her next words.
"I knew Rickey very well,. It broke my heart when he was killed. He is one of the main reasons I became so opposed to war. After he was laid to rest I wrote a song for his mother."
She wanted me to hear it
Cindy said nothing else.She didn't need to.
Cindy said nothing else.She didn't need to.
A tear ran down the cheek of one of the people sitting on the brickyard. I won't say which one.
I want you to hear Nettie's song.
For now I'll say nothing else. I don't think I need to.
Click on left side of this player and it should just play for you. If it doesn't you can download it and play it on Windows Media Player which is a standard program on all versions of Windows.
Played: 88 | Download | Duration: 00:03:04
Notes: In 2006 Cindy rewrote the third verse and changed the name from "Song for Rickey's Mom" to "Nettie".
This is a frame taken from the video I am working on. I wish I could play it, but it is far from complete. After listening to Cindy's lovely song I hope you can see the symbolism. "Why did he have to go away?"
Posted by Marvin David Webster at Wednesday, December 02, 2009 6:17 PM 
Categories: Classmates
Tags: hometown heros Vietnam War. Nettie
Categories: Classmates
Tags: hometown heros Vietnam War. Nettie
I am so glad you follow the paths that open for you. We all get to benefit from it.
I wasn't expecting to be touched so early this morning but was and thank you for it.
Just when the mundane starts getting hold of me, then something like this just washes it away.
What a journey you are on with your new venture. Thanks for sharing Nettie and the others with us. Judy
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