will play 4 beer

Thanks to Restore Old Town Greenwood for the opportunity to jangle our guitars out back behind Planetary Brewing Company. An extra special thanks for the growlers of java stout that we took home! Cheers!

thank you

Thank you to everyone who joined us for Kyrie Eleison 10 last night! We had so much fun sharing our songs with everyone. Special thanks to CGC and everyone who stayed late to help pack up our gear and put everything back in its place.

ten long years later

Ten long years ago, I unleashed into the world a collection of songs titled Kyrie Eleison. Some of these songs had been percolating for a bit, but most of them were written in the wake of a season that ran deep with grief and turmoil. 

In February of Twenty Ought Six, after years of attempting pregnancy with zero success, MJ had been heralded the message that she was at long last carrying new life deep within her belly. On the very same day, I was delivered the gut-wrenching request to leave the church where I had served as youth ministry equipper for three and a half years. No longer would we serve in the church family where we made friends and loved kids whose lives MJ and I poured ourselves into. Grieving this impending divorce and wrought with anger, I agreed to finish out the month in my position at the church during which time we had our one ray of sunshine snuffed out. After only two weeks, we suffered our first miscarriage. It was an emotional fustercluck that left us reeling for months if not years. 

The months that followed would find MJ and I withdrawing from friends and the church at large. We retreated into the trees and coasted along the clouds. He hopped along islands where no one knew us but ourselves. We gave up the solitude of our home to house loved ones. We spent time with friends and family who were suffering pain of varying kinds. This season also found me articulating in sound and lyric the frustration, anger, and sadness that plagued me from the moment I'd received each punch in the gut. These were emotions immediately felt and translated to song. Together with a handful of songs that had been simmering for months already, they work as a narrative that serve to remind me of the hope that wins out despite the many many shortcomings of humanity.

November Twenty Sixteen marks ten years since I performed live with some friends in celebration of this record's release. Two of those friends, my cousin Jason and my friend Ryan along with Jason's son Tyler and Ryan's brother Jordan will be joining me at the very church that set me free for a performance of Kyrie Eleison in its entirety. I'm thrilled to be revisiting these songs and telling the stories of their inception. It's pretty incredible to be looking at them from ten years on the other side. We've done a whole lot of healing and forgiving and growing as human beings since then. We've still got a long way to go. So why harbor animosity? We have the choice to move forward with one another: Strangers becoming friends, friends changing the world.

Joel Rockey & Friends Perform Kyrie Eleison

Friday, November 11 at 7pm

Center Grove Church

Greenwood, IN

the bathroom renovation, part two: the laundry side

When we purchased Rockey Manor way back in the summer of Twenty Thirteen, we had a dream of transforming this room that had been divided into a less-than-darling kitchenette/bathroom. Our dream was a large family bathroom that would also serve as laundry central.

That pantry(?) to the right was gutted to make room for our future washer and dryer...

Things get worse before they get better (no doy).

With all of the electric wiring and plumbing to be installed and rerouted behind those walls, we ended up tearing out most of the plaster on the walls to make things easyish on ourselves.

Check those new hot and cold supplies for our future wash basin...

After all electric and water lines were in place, we put up fresh gypsum on all the walls.

Nice gams, flyboy.

Here's a shot of the finishing stages of the drywall...

and another...

aaaaaand one more featuring an upside down tub...

Whew. Exhausting. 

After we got the walls all dolled up in fresh paint, we cleaned up some baseboards salvaged from our lovely neighbors' home...

We also hung the mirror that IKEA no longer sells, but that we purchased off the wall of mirrors leading to their second floor bathrooms... 

Here's the washer and dryer nestled in all snug into their little nook...

Boy, this post is getting ridiculously tedious. I'm starting to think that a simple "before" and "after" pic would have been more than sufficient. But, alas, I have already uploaded all of these images of minute details and must march forward.

How about pics of a couple secondhand pieces we picked up...

Like this metal cart we found at Midland Antiques in charming downtown Indianapolis...

And this, one of two porcelain chain lamps we found for just a few bones on the eBay...

And finally, let's step back to take a look at that aforementioned "after" shot...

Wow!

Good grief, it took us longer than necessary to get there. But don't you feel like you really got to know our new bathroom on an uncomfortably intimate level? Because if we haven't accomplished that, then what the hell good is a blog anyhow? 

Am I right?

I'm right.

You're welcome.

Well, it took so long getting around to posting about the bathroom that it's probably about time we peeked in on the dining room.

[ooh, cliffhanger]

SaveSave

the bathroom renovation, part one: the shower side

Greeting, family, friends, and internet trolls! I'm about to fill your eyeholes with images of the recently (mostly) completed bathroom renovation at Rockey Manor. It's going to be intense. If you need some time to prepare yourself, THIS SHOULD GET YOU IN THE MOOD.

And away we go.

For almost three years, our little family has learned to perform all bathroom related tasks in a less-than-stress-free bathroom that has been in varying stages of decay. This decay includes but is certainly not limited to the rotting wood floor that the toilet sits precariously upon. At the time of this writing, the toilet patron casualty total is still zero.

Seeing as how aesthetics are currently a non-concern in the garbage bathroom, Baby Jane and I began writing messages on the wall facing the toilet (see above pic). We try to find little ways to make the best of a kinda crappy situation (pun absolutely intended).

Now let's take a look at the major overhaul that's been going on upstairs while we've been sharing a bathroom with CAVE CRICKETS on the first floor.

When we first took a gander at our soon-to-be home/project, the first space we toured on the second floor was this kitchenette. This once-single room had had its doorway opened up to the ceiling and been divided in to a kitchenette and very narrow "bathing closet". We assume that the door used for the bathroom portion of this space once served as the door to the hallway. We would, in due time, return that door to it's rightful place. Stay tuned for more on that door situation.

Upon stepping inside the aforementioned "bathing closet" we would find this faux "crumbling" plastered chimney next to a compressed board basin cabinet and winterized commode. 

On the other end of this narrow space was the diminutive bathing tub you see pictured below...

Yikes. This tub seriously wouldn't accommodate anyone larger than an eleven-year-old child.

Once we acquired ownership of our home, the first order of business was to beat the everliving hell out of it. We ripped out any walls that weren't part of the original structure including the one you no longer see here...

The bathing closet and former kitchenette have at long last been joined in holy matrimony and become one!

Hmmm...

Oh boy.

We pulled up all of the flooring that had been laid over the original wood floorboards and discarded all the old fixtures...

Hey. See that corner on the right where the tiny baby shower used to be? You could totally look right through the floor into the kitchen...

Hi there, sexy.

While we patiently demolished our future bathing room, our future bathing tub (donated by our more-than-generous neighbors) sat on our formerly enclosed front porch. It was a good place to sit and ponder on what the hell we were thinking when we signed up for this insane adventure.

We decided that the floor on the "bathing end" of the bathroom would be tiled. We pulled up the floorboards and prepared to install new sub-flooring by enlisting our old pal Mr Hummel to help us add some much needed structural support...

Look at him go.

It's like that level is an extension of his very being. Also notice that the plaster has been removed from the chimney. So chic, you freak.

After constructing a wall, floor, and bench for our walk-in shower, we talked Mr Hummel into returning to help us pour the concrete.

With the concrete poured and cement board screwed down to the floors and shower walls, we were ready to get tiling. Of course we knew that our efforts would need the guidance and steady hand of this master tile setter...

He's got those tiny, nimble fingers for those hard-to-reach corners.

Look, gang! 

We've got the makings of what appears to be a shower...

Moving on to the floor where our tub and toilet will sit...

MJ cutting tile like a boss...

Once all the tile was set, i shook off the dust from my once-fine-tuned grouting skills... 

Keep trying, fun boy.

One last pic before the final reveal...

Sub-floor space presented various opportunities for some creative plumbing solutions. 

Needless to say, we rose to the occasion. So far nothing seems to be crawling back up through the drain attached to that PVC monstrosity.

And now for the final reveal.

Before...

...aaaaaaaaaaaand...

After...

Before...

...aaaaaaaaaaaand...

After...

Before...

Ugh!

...aaaaaaaaaaaand...

After...

Who wouldn't wanna poop in that corner?

Stay tuned for 

Part Two: The Laundry Side

(and for more on the aforementioned "door situation")

sometimes it snows in april

I read the news and now I'm sitting in a public place eating chicken and waffle fries while my children scream and frolic with their friends in a plastic room that smells like feet.

The loss of Prince is shocking and sad for a great many of reasons. The man was only fifty seven! He was arguably at the top of his game (does he ever fail to astound when he's holding a guitar?) Oh, and also, like Bowie, he seemed impossibly, eternally ageless. 

I grew hearing of Prince and occasionally happening upon one of his songs here and there on the radio and the bygone music television channels of my youth. However, my real introduction to  the breadth of his mad genius came via one of my closest high school friends. 

 Beginning my junior year of high school and lasting well into our college days I spent countless hours as one of a rotating cast of characters riding in my friend Patrick's car. I remember he had one of those multiple disc changers that he had to load from the trunk. Among others, Patrick's compact disc collection consisted of Parliament, Lenny Kravitz, Queen, and mostly Prince. A shit ton of Prince. Our wise ass crew was never without a soundtrack to accompany our teenage shenanigans and you best believe those shenanigans were riding high on some funky New Power soul. 

Over the years, I became familiar with albums like Lovesexy and Sign O The Times and songs like "She's Always In My Hair" which weren't anything of which I had previously been aware or expected. I joined my friend on many a trek to record stores in search of one more Prince bootleg. I found myself caught up in conversations revolving around the details of this man's peculiar relationships with protégés and record companies. Eventually, regardless of how obsessive i may have found my friend's fandom to be, I got it. It only takes one glimpse of this guy letting loose on a guitar solo to realize you're experiencing something special. That swagger. That sly grin. Effortlessly manipulating that guitar. He was like Mozart and Hendrix and James Brown and like no one else before or after. 

 Many have and will continue to write more adequate words than I'm certainly able to conjure. These are my memories. Just a few memories of my formative years. Years which were set to a good deal of music composed and performed by this guy who changed his name as much as he changed his wardrobe. I'm grateful for the inspiration he's given to artists over the years. I'm grateful for these memories. 

Thanks Patrick. 

 Thanks Prince. 

my ally

This week, we celebrate sixty five youthful years of a son, brother, friend, teacher, father, mentor, grandfather, hero. 

I've forever admired my dad for so many reasons. We are incredibly different human beings and yet I consider him to be one of my closest allies. When he didn't know what else to do with me, he loved me. We've grown together. He makes me feel like he's my biggest fan and I hope that he knows that I am his. There isn't a day that goes by that I'm not grateful for his presence in my life. 

He held my ankle when I first learned to ride an incredibly still horse.

Together we crept through a sea of white people in incredibly tight short shorts...

And laughed at our fortune when we successfully made it out unscathed.

We once celebrated his birthday with a chocolate Garfield cake and I missed my chance to photograph him. Enduring one of my mild temper tantrums, he kept as cool, calm, and collected as anyone could expect while continuing to pose when I retrieved my camera.

Always a class act.

Let's cleanse the pallet with this adorable snapshot of the two of us passed out after an intense episode of M*A*S*H (I can only assume).

If there was ever any doubt about the man's style, one need look no further than this.

Here's to you, Dad!