Drinkin' Jazz on

-Happy Birthday, Jimmy Coe. -Thanks, Karen.

Drinkin' ale, sittin' in a blackened oak booth, talkin' dogs an' potbellied hogs. Thursday night's jam at Bear's:

Jimmy Coe, swingin' that golden sax; Pookie's playin' the same -"April is Pretty" an' I Do Know Dreams Come True."

Sippin' on jazz -my first time. Inside, this lounge coulda passed for an ol' time speakeasy, 'cept for a green lit "EXIT" sign

eyein' our middleaged crowd. I'm wearin' red, green an' black hockey shirt that says "Valk" on back an' "Macon Whoopee"

up front. Jimmy's eyes, starlit, glisten above th' pit, dim lit. Sweat streaks snake cheek-side, while he's a-fingerin' that shiny instrument,

Dionysian. Wine, Miller Lite chills out our blues, our troubles. His blues subdue, drips magic into our starving souls.

Soul sways my heartstrings -but Jimmy's mini-jazz concert stops at eight o'clock. My friends. An' me. We skip out. Drunk on Jimmy Coe's jazz. We stood mesmerized by th' tunes inside our heads. "Forgot my coat," I stalled, swam, 'gainst th' current of folk headin' for Third.

I sidled up to ol' Jimmy Coe, sayin' I had a great time. His dark eyes a-sparklin', shakin' my hand -- I wrapped my arms 'round Jimmy Coe, gave 'im a big ol' Teddy bear hug, whisperin', "Happy eightieth birthday," inside his brown ear.

An' I stole a kiss -from Jimmy's right cheek, before meltin' back into the mix, still shufflin', for the door.

Marge Mueller