My daddy held the philosophy that childhood ended at the age of twelve and true to form on my 12th birthday the ritual began at supper.  Mama had made my favorite birthday meal of fried chicken, macaroni & cheese with corn on the cob.  The short biscuits were cooling on the window sill just waiting to be topped with fresh cut strawberries after supper and a round of Happy Birthday had been sung.

   I felt like I might vibrate right out of my skin setting there at the kitchen table waiting to be served supper and maybe get a gift or two.  Instead Daddy and Mama each stood behind their chairs, Mama looking down and Daddy looking at me real solemnly while holding a china plate.

   "You're 12 today so now you're grown - that means you got to start helping out around here and get a job.

   You won't be going to college.  That's for rich girls to get their M.R.S. degree which you don't need.  You'll go to the School of Hard Knocks and come out with a degree in Life.  You can't buy experience.  Remember that.

   This here's your plate that I'm not filling after today!"

   With that, he smashed the plate on the corner of the table.  It shattered into shards and fell on the floor, childhood's end.  Mama scurried to get the broom and quickly swept up the pieces and Daddy added, "Happy Birthday honey! Let's eat!"  Pulling out his chair, he lifted his leg over the back of it and sat down quickly. "Ain't you done sweepin' that up yet Grace?  I'm hungry!"  Then with a sideways glance at me he added, "I hear Drummer Boy Fried Chicken is hiring."

   Sure enough they were hiring and sure enough I got the job.  The uniform was an ugly dark red accented with a stiff navy blue apron and headpiece.  Both were made of a heavy nylon taffeta fabric that felt like a personal sauna standing in the cramped quarters behind the counter next to the grill and deep fryer.

   My first day the manager, Ken, wearing a tunic of the same awful red fabric and a pointed hat of navy with white trim gave me the official tour.  He was 22, pock-faced with a very high pitched voice.  We were briefly interrupted by a delivery boy with two cases of "Big Boomer Burgers" who asked if Ken really was the manager.  Drawing himself up to his FULL five foot 6 inch height, Ken pointed with one index finger at his plastic name tag that said MANAGER in big black letters while simultaneously pointing at his hat with the other finger and answered indignantly, "THAT'S why I wear the blue and WHITE hat Mister!"

   After signing for the Boomers, Ken led me over to the big metal deep fryer.  It had a factory sealed lid with a huge lever on the side that locked and unlocked it making it look like something out of an old submarine movie starring John Wayne.  Ken said this seal made it into a deep frying pressure cooker machine.  Apparently that was the secret behind the Drummer Boy chicken - it was simultaneously flash fried while also being steam pressure cooked resulting in crispy chicken outside with moist tender meat inside.

   Of course as Ken went on to explain, this was a highly watched and carefully timed operation.  If the person manually operating the fryer should release the valve one second too soon the fryer could explode in their face spraying them with hot fat and chicken bits, possibly scarring them for life.  But if they should leave the chicken in one second too long, the whole batch would be ruined and the cost of the chicken comes out of their check.  

   Then he told me the person who would hold that responsibility would be me.  ME!?  I don't want to be sprayed with hot fat!  I only make 80 cents an hour so if I ruined the chicken I'd be working for free and have no money left for my new room & board costs.  I buckled under the pressure and barely lasted two weeks.  I was a nervous wreck the whole time but my Mama said it was probably just the way the uniform made me feel.      

Yesterday on my lunch hour I got caught on the middle island of Park Avenue & 59th Street.  Cane in hand, waiting for the light to change I happened to look down and noticed that  imprinted there in the cement was what looked to be the impression of a rubber cane tip -just like the one on the end of the cane I carry.  Had some poor misguided gimp like myself tottered this way and accidentally stuck their cane into the once wet cement? 

I looked around and then with a shrug, I thought "What the heck!"  As if at my own personal mini-Grauman Chinese Theatre where tourists go to try and fit their own feet into the prints of the stars - I pressed my cane into the tip print and lo and behold - it was a PERFECT FIT! 

I stood excitedly for a moment frozen in anticipation of something magical about to happen like Cinderella wondering, "What Next?", once the glass slipper fit. . .or like the heroine in one of those Raiders of the Lost Ark movies in which I had reached the secret door with the secret key long before the Nazis and with the code cracked I was fully expecting the whole of Park Avenue to break open revealing the Cave of Crystal Canes or at least some kind of Park Avenue designer store with free couture. 

Instead the light changed and the pedestrians around me simply began to walk past me as if the world was left unchanged.  I began twisting the cane in it's grid thinking perhaps THAT would unlock the mystery place.  I twisted harder as if I were some panicked Harry Potter - but nothing. . .sigh! 

Still, as I walked away there was at least a small part of me feeling certain that the turn of my "cane key" had commenced an unseen chain reaction unfolding into the earth's center and I smugly walked away somewhat satisfied!

    Wonderful walk to work this morning - it's so great to be back on my feet again, even with a cane. I love being back in the world and I feel as if the world is embracing me and welcoming me back. 

The Streets of New York hand me image after image each morning - some amusing - some laugh out loud funny, while others tear at your heartstrings and make you treasure humanity. 

Like this morning when standing on the corner across from work a harried Japanese father pushed a stroller up beside me with an adorable little girl riding in it.  Stretching her arm up into the air, finger pointing, she said, "Look Daddy!  The clouds MOVE!" 

Her tone of voice was filled with wonder and my eyes followed hers, up to the pale blue morning sky and sure enough there were the clouds absolutely rolling by as if proudly parading their fluffy shapes for all to enjoy who might care to notice. 

I looked down at the little girl who looked up just then and we smiled at each other.  How happy I am that this sweet child made me take the time to notice.  And once again "Out of the mouths of babes. . ."

                              My Left Foot                                 

(with all due respect to Daniel Day Lewis)

    Well, as some of you may or may not know I've been out of commission for most of the summer due to surgery on my left foot.  I actually had my entire foot reconstructed  so you could say I have a whole new understanding!  I finally had to resort to surgery due to a "congenital deformity" which means I was born with an extra toe and some extra bones in my left foot-Mama always said it was God's way of giving me that "little something extra"-LOL! 

Then to complicate matters I was in a very bad car accident when I was 22 and ended up in a wheelchair for almost a year.  This compilation of circumstances led to my foot surgery but  the good news is that I am well on the mend and only using a cane - the bad news is that I have to wear these gigantic black & white sneakers that are two sizes too big until Ol' Lefty stops swelling  (anyone who knows me should know that I'm not exactly a "sneaker-kind-of-gal") but I'm not complaining because at least I'm walking-just not as stylishly as I might prefer.  In other words, Vanity thy name is Lindy Loo!   

Yes good ol' Lefty and me go way back and we have had a somewhat complicated relationship.  My mama didn't even notice my heart-shaped double toe until I was about six months old even though it was clearly there in the baby footprint that came with my baby book from the hospital.  But then again being the only woman doing washing, cooking and cleaning with no running water in a very small 4 room house with 4 big ol' six foot six men to feed,  an outhouse for the bathroom, a board for a washing machine & a line for the dryer and with wood to be chopped for heating - well it all  involves a lot of toting, lifting and just plain old hard work-so I sure don't hold that against her. 

 I was always a little mad at my poor old left foot for being so different, so I would punish it by putting it's sock on last while the right foot was immediately clothed and warm. But all that changed when the doctor told my mama that I should never wear saddle shoes that tied I should ONLY wear maryjanes with a strap to allow for my wider left foot.  Suddenly my "Sunday Best" shoes were my everyday shoes and since I was a girly girl I was very happy. I didn't even care when some of the girls at school acted like I was just a poor country girl putting on airs-or as the old Flatt & Scruggs tune warned, "Don't Get Above Your Raisin'".  

I was so happy with my shiny patent MaryJanes I decided to push it a little further in second grade.  Since I hated running laps in physical education, I asked Mama to write a note to teacher saying because of my extra toe I could no longer run laps. . .which was all well and good until my teacher, Mrs. McCoy decided to use me as a learning tool.  She had me take off my left shoe and sock, stand on a wooden crate and then proceeded to parade grades 1 through 6 past me - this "Freak of Nature"!  I never had so much sympathy for the two-headed calf at the fairground as I did that day!  Daddy said it was my own fault for trying to get out of running and Mama said she felt certain that I had enjoyed the attention!  Maybe she had something there because I did choose a life on the "wicked stage". 

Today I'm writing mainly because I want to thank all of you who were kind enough to send me messages and kind words urging a speedy recovery and including me in your prayers.  I know that it has a LOT to do with how well I am healing.  Although I managed to remain a hermit all summer with nary a visitor, it was not for lack of good friends trying to come by- I just needed the summer to go within myself and take a good hard look plus I only really enjoy attention when I'm onstage (or a milk crate apparently) and I can be shy-hard though it may be to believe. 

 It was a necessary hermitage for me and I thank my friends for being so understanding and patient with me while I was busy being a patient!.  That being said, I must give special shout outs to my friends who tried so hard to support me in my speedy recovery in so many ways: Like my dear, dear friend, Emily Cohen, who not only offered to visit but to bring me a fully roasted turkey that she would package and lug all the way from Staten Island!  What an incredible friend she is to me!  Also, Paul Thornton-a big part of my hillbilly family and his lovely "other half" Christine, Wayne Gray who even saw me in the hospital, James Harris, Diane Amos-"the Pine Sol Lady", Sasha Mullins, Arty Hill,  Scotty Westervelt, Sean Kershaw-who offered to drive me anywhere I needed to go, so kind, the Phare Play theatre group-especially Blake and Christine, Buddy & Brandi of the DixieBeeliners and of course, all the terrific friends that I have met here on MySpace who included me in their prayers and good wishes.  My goodeness-looks like I am one lucky lady!  Right Lefty?  "So Right!" 

I love you all so much and I got back onstage Saturday with the lovely Jamie Lyn Smith at her Honky Tonk Angels show so I'm well on my way.  Also I have to thank my incredible caregivers, my surgeon, Dr. Matthew Roberts, the nurses at the Hospital for Special Surgery-especially Milda & Dot, my incredible physical therapist, Keith Peterson and of course my love, Chicky Wicky - the Baron who took care of me all summer while I could only sit there with my leg hoisted in the air-He did a great job!  Lucky me!  Take care ya'll - Lindy's back and ready to roll!   XXOO, LL

Gobble! Gobble! Happy Thanksgiving! It's hard to believe this year has flown by and here we are at Turkey Day all ready.

As I look back at this year so far I must say it has been a wonderful magical journey filled with hills and valleys and I wouldn't trade one moment of any of it for anything.  My year almost became like one of those old tales told by a Buddhist monk in which something happens and they say "Oh that was a BAD thing!" to which the response is "No it was a good thing because. . ."

So although my middle brother became quite ill which was bad, it was also good because it brought us together again after a long while apart.

Though it was fantastic experience for me to be able to reach out and get to know one of my idols, regional singing star, Helen Hall, it broke my heart when she died though I was blessed to also get to know some of her family and I will treasure them all forever.

I've been blessed to make so many new friends and to perform with so many wonderful artists and musicians and I am grateful for each and every one of ya'll. 

I was honored to host the final Honky Tonk Hootenanny as CBGBs closed their doors for good and it was especially wonderful for Hilly-the owner to give us an entire night for that farewell as he said he was so happy that we were putting the C & BG back into the club as many folks had forgotten it was much more than a punk club and the original initials stood for Country, BlueGrass and Blues-while I said the Punks put the P into the bathroom-LOL!

I was also quite proud to be the Hillbilly Hostess who emceed the entire Brooklyn Country Music Festival in the beginning of September and it was a real sight to see the Black Cowboy Association turn up with all their horses and gear because they were so pleased about the country music.  Hats off to Alex Battles and Dock Oscar for making this event a huge success.

Then I was lucky enough to go to Nashville and have the most amazing time and to make so many new and old friends while I was there.  I began my week attending the Grand Ol' Opry and saw some of my real heroes like Jean Shepherd, Jan Howard, and Jeanne Seelye - only to end my week's stay with backstage passes to the Bluegrass Music Association Awards show and even managed to have a long chat with the great Tom T.Hall and to be privileged to hear Marty Stuart sing a duet with Robert Osborne of the legendary Osborne Brothers and so many more than I could ever name.

My monthly show, "Lindy Loo's Hillbilly Hayride" is still going strong with unbelievable talent lined up for it in the new year and the "Honky Tonk Hootenanny" has found a wonderful new home at The Mean Fiddler in mid-town Manhattan and we look forward to a long and successful run there.

In January of the new year Lindy Loo and the HoboCats all ready have a prime spot in the NYC Opry lineup and many more bookings are piling up even as I write.  Plus it looks like Lindy Loo, the Hillbilly Hostess, has her dance card filling up as well.  The best part is that I'm a lucky gal who KNOWS how lucky she is. 

Hoping all of ya'll have a wonderful Turkey Day-whatever you end up eating- and I look forward to networking and getting to work with all ya'll in the not so distant future.

Wishing you heaps of blessings from the bottom of my lil' ol' pea-picking heart!

Your eternal friend and fan, Lindy Loo 

All my life I have had a BIG laugh - from the time I was a little girl if I found something funny, and I often did and do, everyone in the neighboring vicinity knew about it. Folks have sometimes tried to make me feel bad about my laugh or shame me for it. Even my daddy one time, who was worried that I was going to ruin my chances with a "RICH" feller I was dating because of my laugh - "I don't know if you realize how LOUD you laugh," he said, "maybe you should try to be more quiet with your joy.'

But no matter how I might try-that booming laugh would just escape out my mouth and there just wasn't a thing that I could do about it. Once when I was working for a custom jeweler - he screamed at me, "Lindy Loo! I have a million dollars in precious stones laying on my desk and your laughter is driving me crazy! It must stop!" I felt so bad that tears stung at my eyes-afraid once again that the hillbilly inside me had revealed herself to these fancy folks I thought I had been fooling once again. The very next day, Han, one of the Chinese gentlemen who worked in the shop as one of the stone polishers came by my desk. He said, "I know you got in trouble yesterday for laughing so loud, but I go to the Temple of the Laughing Buddha and it is a good reason to be in trouble." With that he opened his closed hand to reveal a tiny statue of the Laughing Buddha saying, "You keep. He will remind you laughing is good thing." That Buddha sits on my dressing table and laughs at me every day with a most gleeful expression on his face.

Another time I was visiting a girlfriend and her somewhat controlling boyfriend and he jumped down my throat for laughing too loud in their hallway-he wasn't sleeping, we were just talking and having fun and he went mental at my laugh. "You need to watch your mouth and keep that BIG laugh to yourself!" he spewed. "Gee, Spike," I replied, "I don't think anyone has tried to make me feel badly about my laugh since my father died. . ." "Oh really?" he snarled back, "maybe you haven't had any REAL men in your life lately to put you in your place." At which point, though my redhead's temper was dying to explode out, I decided to hold my tongue so as not to put my girlfriend in an awkward position with HER real man.

 So given all that history of me and my laff, you can well imagine how moved I was when yesterday an older Israeli lady who had been sitting quietly in the reception area of my office said the kindest thing to me. She had been waiting for well over an hour for her friend who was in a meeting and had been so quiet I had almost forgotten she was there. As she stood up to leave she turned to me and said, "You have the most beautiful laugh my dear. It is kind of laugh that is to make people be happy." I thanked her most kindly and told her she had no idea how much her comment had meant to me.

 As a psychic once told me-"You are a joy child and you have been blessed with the cosmic giggle. Some will find this wonderful and some will be annoyed that they don't feel that way. This is the path that you have been chosen to walk." So grateful I shall remain that I can find the humor and joy in most things in life, even the darkest sort and I hope that you will find your way of being happy as well.

Only laughter until next we chat, Lindy Loo