They Are Left to Stand Alone

In a small corner of lower East Texas, the Alabama-Coushatta Indian Reservation stands. Hollowed out of the wilderness of the Big Thicket, the tribe of approximately eleven hundred people remains rich in its traditions.
In the 1800’s, the Republic of Texas gave each tribe a league of land, 640 acres each, along the Trinity River, but the land was encroached upon by white settlers. At some point, the two tribes united into one, however, part of the tribe moved away and settled near Kidder, Louisiana.
The Alabama-Coushatta Indians were peaceful and lived in relative isolation and without government assistance for seventy years. Their land proved to be too poor to raise crops and the cost of modern machinery to help them expand was too expensive, so the tribal leaders looked for a better way to support the tribal members.
The Federal Government finally began to provide assistance, providing a hospital and school for the children and additional land. Although the aid was both needed and appreciated, there was still the fact that the tribe had no way to support itself. In order for the tribe to maintain its heritage and tradition, the tribal council worked out a plan to provide jobs and money for its members.
In the late 1950’s and early 1960’s, the tribe opened its gates to tourism. Each June there is an annual powwow which demonstrates to visitors some of their native culture. Native dances are performed for the visitors, and handcraft items are displayed and sold. They began providing guided tours for those guests who admired the nature and a campsite was established for tourists to relax in the wild. The stands of virgin timber held mysteries to the city dwellers of Houston and other nearby cities. Unfortunately, the tribe no longer operates the camping facilities, gift shop or the guided tours. The yearly powwow is their major attraction now.
The opportunity for a real boom to their tribal economy and prosperity of the tribe came in 2001 when they opened their casino. For a life of only nine months, the casino brought in a million dollars per month. The unemployment on the reservation went down from 30 percent to a mere 3 percent.
The Louisiana branch of Alabama-Coushatta Indians has operated a casino successfully for years, and still maintains a prosperous business. The tribe has become quite wealthy. Unfortunately for the Texas branch, the then Texas Attorney General John Cornyn ruled the operation of a gambling facility was illegal, in spite of a ruling by the Supreme Court in 1987 which ruled that since federally recognized Indian tribes are considered sovereign entities, they could have casinos outside of state jurisdiction. The casino was shut down in 2002 and remains closed.
While their fellow tribe members in Louisiana prosper, the tribe in Texas is again dependent mostly on tourism and government assistance. These proud people are still treated as inferior in a nation which proclaims equality for all. The tribe now encompasses 4600 acres of mostly uninhabitable land. The leaders reinforce their native language and rituals to their children to preserve their heritage and instill pride.
How much longer can the influx of modern society further erode their efforts? Every year the young generation leaves the tribe in search of a better life. The reservation system in America was a form of mandated poverty. The out-of-sight out-of-mind policy of the early 1900’s is still in force today. The reservation is something that could be a positive to the nurturing of tribal life, has also isolated them and kept them at bay of a chance at prospering.
There is one tribal operated casino still in operation in Texas. It is located in the El Paso, Texas area and has been allowed to operate. Where is the fairness of the law when one casino is closed and the other is left open? The Bible belt citizens of East Texas are against gambling and have a large political clout.
An effort to reinstate gambling on the reservation was unsuccessful recently and it may be some time before another attempt will be pushed forward. Until then, the Indians are on their own.
To learn more about the Alabama-Coushatta Indians history, I am including a link below.
www.texasindians.com/albam.htm - Texas Indians
www.alabama-coushatta.com/ac/index.php - Tribal history
www.offthekuff.com/mt/archives/007619.html - Tribe sues State over casino closing

A Bridge of Faith

For mankind to exist and prosper, someone has to continue taking one particular thing or combination of things and discovering how we might better use them. Inventors do this every day. The Lord created all things and placed them on the Earth, but it is up to us to turn them into more usable forms.

We can take a plastic plate and demonstrate how it can fly. We still use the plates for the original purpose, but isn’t it fun to toss a Frisbee around while playing with your kids or dog?

The Wright brothers took bicycle parts and some canvas and turned them into the first heavier than air object that could fly. Robert Fulton used fire and water to make steam to use as a power source for his engine to move his boat upstream against the water’s currents.

Comedian Aaron Wilburn tells a joke about the first person who looked at a cow and said, “I’m going to squeeze those things and drink whatever comes out. Friends, that took faith.”

Another wise soul was heard to say, “Wilber Wright showed man how to fly, but the Lord taught him to land.” It was a matter of faith for the Wright brothers to create their silly flying machine. Later generations merely accept it as a natural fact. However, it still takes faith, and a little drink, to give me strength to replicate their discovery.
Can you imagine being the first person to open the door of a space capsule and step out into the black nothingness of outer space with only the security of a small tether line? It took a great deal of study, planning and money to make it happen, true enough, but ultimately it was faith that made it happen.

We go to bed every night not knowing if there will be a tomorrow, but we have faith that it will come. I even make a list of things to do the next day and place it where I’ll have it as soon as I get up in the morning.

Dreamers and inventors look at things and don’t think about what it is; rather, they see what it can become. It takes faith to dream and believe in the possibilities.

I went to Corpus Christi, Texas to visit family with my wife some years ago. On Highway 181, as you enter the city, there is a large bridge which reaches 138 ft. nearly straight up, or it seems, into the air over the ship channel. The first time, and still today, it takes every ounce of faith I can muster to drive across that bridge. Would you like to have been the first person to drive a loaded eighteen wheeler truck across that bridge?

So, when someone tells you that something is impossible or that it doesn’t exist, just say, “Perhaps you’re right today, but will it be true tomorrow?”

You can click on this link and take a ride over the Harbor Bridge, Corpus Christi, Texas.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DWruuKOEEuY

I invite you to join me on my disjointed venture in life by becoming a blog follower. It only takes faith.

Humor Is My Refuge

There are those who revel in a sea of doom and gloom, and many who see the world with blind eyes, but I am one who prefers to seek refuge in a cloak of humor. Often, enjoying humor is inappropriate, and it can be hard to find, but you have to remember, I am a dreamer and live in a world hidden from view.

Dreamers often see things from a different perspective. Realists are too connected to the facts, figures, and laws that govern existence. Dreamers spend much of their time disassociated from truth. For those who aren’t funny by nature, they must seek pleasure from someone who is a little different.


Aaron Wilford, comedian

A good friend sent me a link to a humorous video of a comedian named, Aaron Wilburn. He is often unconventional to say the least, but I think he is a perfect example of someone of another world. I think his humor is worth noting, and I am bringing it to you.



In the video, Aaron tells us about several unusual country western song titles. Songs like:
“How can I miss you when you won’t go away?”
“If the phone doesn’t ring, you’ll know it’s me.”
“When you leave walkout backwards so I think you are walking in.”
“If I shot you when I wanted to, I’d be out by now.”
“If you won’t leave me alone, I’ll find someone who will.”
“I’m so miserable without you; it’s almost like having you here.”
“Sorry I made you cry, but at least your face is cleaner.”
“Take me out to the cornfield honey; I’ll kiss you between the ears.”
“The oil is all in Texas but the dipsticks are all in DC.”

The title song that Aaron sings in the video is:
“If my nose was running money, I’d blow it all on you.”

If you listen to the video, I think you will agree that Aaron Wilburn isn’t one of us. In fact, I think he is very special. He is not only humorous and a creative artist, but he gives us humor without four-letter-words or sexual innuendoes. I am old enough to remember back when all comedians performed humor like this. Red Skelton, Jerry Lewis, and Bill Cosby are but a few great examples.

I hope I can entertain my readers without having to lower to cheep vulgarity. If that day ever comes, that will be the last day I write. Aaron Wilbern video can be seen at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=egCeIwjIuZM
A special thanks to Aaron Wilburn for his talent, as well as to my friend, Chris.

Memories of a Special Place

I was driving through downtown with my granddaughter in the car with me when we drove past a three story building with a huge neon marquee, all brightly lit and welcoming.

“What is that, Papaw?” my granddaughter asked.

“That used to be where young people went and found their dreams,” I said.

I grew up in this small town with a rich history and that old building stands today as a reminder of another era. Built in the late 1930’s with the then popular art deco architecture, it serves as more than a place of history. That old building gave thousands of young kids an introduction to the outside world.

For many of the children of East Texas, the Crim Theater opened their eyes into the rest of the world. News reels brought scenes of the wars to life. Musicals brought us fantasies. The world of glitz and glamour was exposed for the first time to children of oil field workers and affluent alike.

The art deco period was one of excess. When you walked inside the foyer of the Crim, you were welcomed by the smell of freshly popped popcorn. A long glass counter filled with candies and gum introduced you to items never before seen. Behind the counter was a drink dispenser that offered a variety of different sodas.

Brightly designed carpet, seemingly six inches thick, became the magic carpet which escorted us into the theater. Over head was a mirrored ceiling with millions of one inch square mirrored tiles. I was mesmerized as I walked along looking up at the dancing light.

The theater was the largest single room I had ever been in. I think it was larger than the church I attended. Murals were painted on the side walls and a floor to ceiling dark blue curtain hid the magic movie screen. I would sit with my Coke and box of popcorn in ready for the matinee to begin.

The overhead lights would dim, the projector would flicker and come to life and the large curtain opened to reveal the stark white screen. Music announced the show’s beginning, coming from a hundred speakers. At least to a nine year old boy it seemed to be a hundred.

It cost ten cents to see the matinee and I thought they were the best. Roy Rogers and Dale Evans and all of the gang treated us to serial performances each week and other stars opened our imaginations. I flew in biplanes, shooting down the evil Red Barron and his comrades and dove in submarines and stalked the enemy in wide-eyed silence.

By the time I was a teen, the performance on the screen was secondary. New fantasies occupied my mind and the adventure into romance beckoned. I remember the first time I sat beside a girl who was not my kin. She was a cute redhead with a turned up nose. I knew I had fallen in love and we would have a life together for all time. Romance with the little redhead lasted one week and she moved on.

I held hands with a girl for the first time while watching an Alfred Hitchcock movie. I decided I liked scary movies after that. A frightening scene would come on and she would hold tightly to my hand. I knew I was in love and we would be together for all time.

Later on as romance blossomed, I brought several girls to the movies. We shared popcorn and held hands. There is something special about innocent kids with buttery fingers holding hands in the dark. I never fell really in love with one of them and knew I was doomed to live life alone.

The balcony was relegated to the serious romantics and I never ventured up there. I heard from a friend though that the boys and girls kissed and didn’t watch the movie. Ugh, I thought at the time. Such a waste of time and money. Yes, I was doomed.

By the time I was a senior in high school, the Crim had fallen into disrepair and the paint on the walls began to flake and peel. The little mirror tiles came loose from the ceiling and distorted the mystique it had once presented. The owner closed the old theater and everyone had to go to the less glamorous Texan Theater across the street.

I wish I could go back and visit that old theater one more time. To walk past the enticing concession counter on the plush carpet, with dancing mirrors overhead, would carry my soul back to that other time.

I could sit in wait with my popcorn in hand, and when the sound came up and the curtain opened, I know I would be nine years old again.

Mystery At The Top Of The Stairs

In the old Victorian house, on the third floor, was a room that was always kept locked. It was forbidden for the children of the home to enter and one of great mystery. The three children who lived in the home all speculated on what was hidden behind the foreboding door. Could it be treasures or perhaps the skeleton of a past owner?
Emma, Jacob, and Nancy were the children of Mary Purser who was recently widowed and had to move in with her elderly grandmother. The house was big but had fallen in disrepair in recent years. Cold in winter, hot in summer, it was much different from what they had previously called home. They had lived in a nice middleclass neighborhood in a new home with plenty of air conditioning and heat.
“I say we break off the lock and sneak in,” Jacob suggested.
“Silly, if you break the lock,” Emma said, “you will make so much noise that everyone will hear. You won’t be able to sneak anywhere. Everyone will come to investigate.” Emma was the oldest and was always ruining Jacob’s plans.
“Mommy will spank you if you break anything,” little Nancy said. Nancy was younger than her other siblings and often played the part of tattler.
“If you are so smart then,” Jacob challenged, “how should we get into the secret room?” Emma held her head up confidently as she answered.
“We can use the key, silly,” Emma said. “Grandmother keeps it hanging on a hook in the kitchen pantry. I saw it just yesterday.” Emma turned smugly and walked to the bedroom door to check to make sure they weren’t being overheard.
“Yeah, the key, damn,” Jacob responded.
“Don’t curse,” Emma scolded. “I have a plan as to how we get the key.”
“Okay, what is your plan?” Jacob asked reluctantly. He was dubious of Emma’s plans.
“Nancy and I will go in the sitting room with Mother and Grandmother,” Emma explained, “while you go to the kitchen and get the key.” Emma smiled with pride at her revelation.
“Hold it,” Jacob replied. “I have to do all of the dangerous stuff while you and Nancy sit and act innocent. What if I get caught?”
“You won’t get caught, silly,” Emma answered. “Nancy and I will sing and distract Mom and Grandmother. As long as you do your part, everything will be fine.” Jacob still had his doubt but without a better plan, he had no challenge.
So, it was agreed and the coverts headed off to the sitting room. Jacob stood outside the door listening, and when he heard his sisters begin their recital, he headed to the kitchen. The pantry door was next to the back door and when one door opened, it backed against the other. Therefore, only one door could be opened at a time.
Jacob quietly opened the pantry and looked for the key to the mystery room. Just as Emma had stated, the brass key was hanging in wait, with a yellow ribbon threaded through the hole and tied in a simple bow. The key hung on a rusted nail, but it was too high for Jacob to reach. He looked in the kitchen for something he could climb on.
Grandmother had a stool with a special talent. Hinged under the stool were foldout steps. She sometimes used the mechanism to reach things stored away on the upper shelves. Jacob stealthily moved the stool to the pantry and angled it just right. When in place, he folded out the steps and carefully made his climb.
Jacob took the two steps with care and then stepped onto the stool’s seat giving him just enough room to reach his prize. He removed the ribbon which was looped over the nail and grasped the brass key with success. Just as Jacob moved to step down, the back door opened and jarred the stool, causing Jacob to lose his footing and fall.
A loud commotion ensued as you might surmise as the stool tumbled to the wood floor and Jacob cried out in pain. His mother, who had been in the backyard and not the sitting room, had entered from the back door. She bent down to inspect the damage. Only Jacob’s pride had been bruised as well as his backside, but worst of all he had also been caught.
“What on earth?” His mother asked anxiously. The others from the sitting room entered and stood with curiosity. Jacob didn’t answer his mother for fear of repercussions.
“Jacob was stealing the key to the mystery closet,” Nancy blurted out with more than a little glee.
“What mystery closet,” their grandmother asked.
“The closet at the top of the stairs,” Nancy answered.
Their grandmother laughed and replied, “That isn’t much of a mystery closet. It is where I store my old luggage and travel trunks. I haven’t used any of them in years.” Everyone joined Grandmother in laughter except for Jacob. Not only had his backside been bruised, but his hopes of finding a treasure were dispelled as well.

Let Me Tell You a Story

Much of my family originated from Oklahoma roots. One was a speculator coming out with the land rush in 1893 and another was a gambler, yet after several generations of hard working families, our family has prospered and grown.
As a young teen, I would go back to visit my kin in the summers. One year I had occasion to stay for a while with my aunt and uncle. They lived outside of town on land my uncle’s family had settled and worked for generations.
Across the street from my uncle’s house stood an old store. It served somewhat as the community house. It housed a general store, a gas pump; it housed mail boxes like a post office, and quick lunches were served from a couple of hotplates. When there was a meeting of the community, a crowd would gather at the store, often overflowing to outside. Political issues would be discussed from a speaker standing on the front steps and talking at the top of his lungs.
I liked going there with my cousin. It was managed by one of his aunts and his uncle sold feed and veterinary supplies from a building next to the store. We would look over the numerous jars of hard candy in order to select the best one. A penny would buy a handful of sweets which we quickly consumed.
The center of the store was open except for a large black cast iron pot belly stove. One winter I went into the store and found many of the locals backed up to the heater as they soaked in its radiant heat. Many chewed tobacco and would spit in cups or one of the spittoons reserved for that purpose. Many of the country’s problems were solved while warming their behinds.
Now that I am older and looking back to those days, I recognize the simplicity of that era yet they faced much harder trials than we do today. They made their entire living from the land. A spell of bad weather could ruin their crops and jeopardize their future. I have often complained about the stress I have had to face, but I have never been at risk for my livelihood.
We are not necessarily a product of our past, but each of us has been marked by what we have seen and experienced. Much like a birthmark, our families have taught us how to live and what values to live by, and we have in turn taught our children.
I know I can never go back to that old store and feel the same influences I felt then, but I still long for the peace of that time. That is why I think I am so lucky. I have the love to remember and my stories to tell. Like most storytellers, I embellish as needed to serve my purpose and ignore that which I choose. That is what makes me smile, for I am the storyteller.

Can There be Romance?

I love sitting and watching the waves come in from the ocean, especially as the sun lowers it head and sinks into the pillow on the horizon. The steady breeze coming in from across the water wraps around me as it journeys inland. Sitting here makes me feel less alone.
My name is Juanita Rowe and I am enjoying my fourth day on the beach like this. I have been staying at the Ocean Blue Beach Resort this week as a getaway. I don’t know why I had to come all the way here to be alone; after all I was alone when I was at home.
I am an empty nester at the age of thirty-eight. A single parent mother who’s only son moved off to the university two months ago and left me in that big lonely house. I hadn’t realized how little life of my own I had. Bo, my son, was always the center attraction in my life, more so after my husband left for greener pastures. Bo had been both a good student and an athlete. He was in the school’s choir and drama program. He even lettered two years in both tennis and swimming.
But it was time for Bo to leave and find his own way. And it is time for me as well. Bo’s father moved out six years ago and has had two romances while I have been raising our son. It still makes me laugh when I recall Frank’s words when he told me he wanted a divorce. “These past years have been a charade for me. Now that I have found Betty, I truly know what love is.” Betty, the twenty-two year old part-time secretary with bleached blond hair.
Soon after Bo moved off to school, I circulated among my friends. They were all married and although they all expressed interest in easing my loneliness, they lived busy lives with families of their own. That is not to say they didn’t try. I had several blind dates, each with the “perfect man” for me.
Ugh! Some of the men they matched me up with... First was the fat guy with bad breath and glasses followed by the man with seven hands. My girlfriends meant well, but really. I’m not that lonely, am I? Well, I’m beginning to wonder. At least the man with searching hands would hold me when I cry.
When Gloria, my best friend since grade school, suggested I come out to the coast to the Ocean Blue Beach Resort, I laughed. What an idiotic thing to do. Gloria said it was a resort where mature singles went to find new mates. I told her I wasn’t going to do such a thing, but she kept pushing and finally wore down my resistance.
The resort is lovely and relaxing, but when the brochure said mature couples, they meant Mature with a capital M. I haven’t seen more than a dozen men close to my age here and they all had women in their arms. Well, one more day and it will be over and I’ll return home.
Juanita got up from the sandy beach and took one last look as the sun disappeared from view. She turned and headed back to her room. A quick shower and wardrobe change and she would head to dinner. The resort had an excellent chef and Juanita never missed a meal. She opened the door to her room and disappeared.
It took Juanita only thirty minutes to dress. Her empty stomach kept urging her on as she showered and changed. It did take time for her to make up her mind on the dress to wear. She first wanted to wear the fitted black skirt that showed off her curvy bottom and the peach colored silk blouse with the low cut front. It was the sexiest attire she had brought on the trip. Finally, Juanita decided on the cotton sundress and a scarf across her shoulders.
Juanita was feeling good as she walked down the long corridor leading to the dining room. At least she did until she reached the entry. A line of couples, hand in hand, stood waiting their turn to be seated. The room was quickly filling and by the time she was shown to her table for two, there were only a few empty tables.
Lord, I feel so out of place. Everyone has a partner except me. I stand out like a sore thumb. Why did I ever let Gloria talk me into coming here anyway? This is making me feel lonelier rather than cheering me up. If I had my car with me, I’d pack and head home tonight. It just isn’t meant for me to have a man.
A handsome young waiter handed Juanita a menu and recited the specials for the evening. It was an easy choice for her; the seafood gumbo and shrimp salad was exactly what she wanted. The waiter smiled and went to place her order. When he returned, he brought her a glass of wine and freshly baked French bread.
“You are a sweetheart,” Juanita said to the young man. “I could eat a whole loaf of this bread. Do you have any of that butter with the green stuff mixed in?” The waiter assured her he would bring her some garlic butter and parsley.
Juanita’s table was next to the wall of windows facing the ocean. She looked out at the expanse of darkness and watched as the moonlight glistened off the gentle waves. Where the ocean had lifted her spirits earlier in the day, now with darkness wreathing the ocean it made her feel forlorn.
There are some people who are alone in life by choice and others who are alone by fate she decided. Tomorrow I will pack most of my clothes and get ready to go home. I will start looking for a job as soon as I get back. I may not need to work to make a living, but it will give me purpose and keep me busy. Busy people aren’t lonely, are they?
With her attention focused on the scenery and her personal problems, Juanita didn’t hear the hostess at first. When the young lady interrupted her thoughts, Juanita turned and saw the hostess beside her table.
“We are so busy tonight,” the lady said, “I was wondering if you would mind if someone shared your table?” The lady was almost apologetic as she asked her question.
“Oh, sure, why not,” Juanita answered. “There really is a crowd tonight. Word must have gotten out about how good the food is.” She chuckled and the lady smiled and walked away. Within a minute, the hostess returned with a tall man following. The hostess placed a menu at the extra chair and the man pulled out the chair.
“Hi, my name is Eric Taylor,” the man said before sitting. He held out his hand to Juanita and she placed her hand in his. She was certain her jaw was hanging open as she looked up into the steel blue eyes of the man. He must have been about forty years old and in very good physical condition. He could have been an athlete if he were younger.
“I... I’m Juanita Rowe,” she replied. Eric released her hand and she missed the warmth of his touch. She knew she was staring but she couldn’t seem to look away.
“Thank you for letting me join you, Juanita,” Eric said, “may I call you Juanita?” She smiled at his question.
“Sure, even my friends call me that,” Juanita said as a joke. When Eric smiled, even his eyes seem to smile.
“I only arrived a few minutes ago,” Eric said. “My plane was late and when I checked in they told me dinner was being served. I haven’t even been to my room yet.” Juanita was looking into his face but barely hearing what he said.
“Oh, yes, the food is great,” Juanita finally replied. “I’m sure you’ll love it.” She moved her knife and fork around just to make herself break eye contact.
“Have you been here long, at the resort I mean?” Eric asked. Was he a bit nervous too?
“Four days,” she answered. “Tomorrow is my last day and then I go back home.” Eric’s eyes seemed to express disappointment.
“Too bad,” Eric said, “I was hoping you might show me around. I hate going to strange places, especially when I’m alone.” His smile brightened as he spoke.
“I guess I could show you some things tomorrow,” Juanita said. “I really hadn’t planned to do anything special.” Nothing other than pack for the trip home.
“I don’t want to impose,” Eric said, “but that would be nice.” The waiter took Eric’s order and hurried away. The conversation moved to where they each lived and status of their families. Eric had been married and then divorced with no children. He lived in Indianapolis, Indiana but also worked in Dallas.
“I live just east of Dallas,” Juanita said, “Isn’t that nice?” She surprised herself when she almost giggled. Eric gave a low soft laugh at her reaction.
“Yes, it is nice,” he replied. The waiter began serving the food and refilled the wine glasses. While they ate, they thought about the evening rather than exchanging much conversation.
Eric leaned back, pushed his plate back and moaned, “That was delicious. Would you like dessert?” His smile was sweeter than anything the chef could stir up.
“Oh, no, I am quiet full,” Juanita answered. “I’ll need to go to the gym before I’ll be able to sleep.” Eric looked into her eyes as he sipped from his wine glass.
“Go dancing with me,” Eric said. It wasn’t a question, more of a command. “There is a small band in the lounge next door. We could dance instead of working out in the gym. I think dancing would be much more fun.”
It was Juanita who looked back at Eric as she took a sip of wine. Was this handsome man making a pass? Was this stranger asking her out on a date? What were his intensions? Were they honorable? There were too many questions for her to consider.
“Yes, I would love to go dancing with you,” Juanita heard herself answer. How could she do this? She hadn’t been dancing with a man since before she married.
“Good, then it’s set,” Eric said. He picked up the tickets for the two dinners and signed his name with his room number. He stood and offered his hand and helped Juanita stand. Her legs were trembling as she tried to walk. When Eric’s hand pressed against the small of her back, she almost fainted.
Is this possible? Is it really happening? Maybe she isn’t the ugly duckling in the pond after all. Perhaps she is a swan and Eric is her prince. The only question remaining is, could she go through with this? It took only a moment and then Juanita raised her chin, smiled and proudly walked out of the dining room beside Eric.
Juanita’s answer was, yes, of course I can do this. After all, it’s only dancing. Isn’t it?
Darn now I wish I had worn that fitted skirt and sexy silk blouse.

Thoughts on a Rainy Day

After almost a month without a drop of rain, the skies opened and it rained all day. It was great to see the dark blue sky and smell the clean air for a change. The mixture of pollen and dust has greeted me every morning far too long.
Because of the laden moisture outside, there was little for me to do. On rainy days you can either twiddle your thumbs or do nothing, and I decided to do the latter. It is often hard to do nothing when there is so much to be done, but rainy days are forgiving and allow you to just relax.
My daddy had a lake house and all across the back side, the side facing the view of the lake, he constructed a sleeping porch. Most of the time it was used by everyone to sit and rock while visiting, but at night in the hot summertime, the kids would sleep out there in their sleeping bags. It was like camping out except you were protected from the insects by screen wire and from the rain by a tin roof.
If you ever had the experience of being inside a shelter with a tin roof when it was raining, you know what I am talking about. To hear the tap, tap, tap of raindrops against the metal surface can be entrancing. Even an occasional rumble of thunder in the distance can’t dispel the comforting music of the rain.
Usually my mother would wake us early and we would have a good breakfast, but on a rainy morning, she would let us laze around until maybe ten o’clock, or at least until the rain ended. After all, there was little for us to do. You can’t go fishing in the rain or play in the red dirt of East Texas. The normally bald hillside turned to slick red mud when it rained.
There wasn’t a television set either. We played cards and board games or sat and read books. Have you ever tried to read on a rainy day? I know you have and you know how hard it is. I remember sitting in one of the wooden rockers out on that screened in porch and trying to read one of Louis L’Amour’s westerns. I would read the same page over and over, interrupted by long pauses while I looked out over the lake as it rained.
Today I sat inside my modern well constructed home as it rained. I could barely hear the droplets thumping against the asphalt shingles. But in my head, my memories of years past, I still listened to the drumming sounds as they eased me into contentment.
It is so nice to have the rain return.

Celibate in the Country

I have been hearing a lot about the new movie, “Sex and the City 2” and decided to check it out. I am not much of a movie buff but when there is something special showing at the local theater, I will go see it. I Googled Sex and the City Review and found that the critics and movie goers alike were displeased with the movie.
“No redeeming values” is one reviewer’s statement. “Much ado about nothing” was another. All total, the reviews, for what they are worth, said that the film fell short of a success.
The reviews did get me thinking that I might try writing my own sequel, calling it “Celibate in the Country.” Yes, I know. Without sex in the title the movie would never sell, but it is an interesting concept just the same. Imagine spending an hour and forty-five minutes without a sex scene or direct reference to having intercourse.
Do any of you remember the television show “Petticoat Junction?” The three pretty sisters flittered about in every show but I can’t recall any of them even being kissed by a boy. I know, they went skinny dipping in the railroad’s big water tank but they never paraded around without clothes. Although the Shady Rest Hotel was located near Hooterville, the audience was never privy to what hooters were.
Another program of that day was “Green Acres.” It was created by the same man, Paul Henning. The Green Acres farm was located outside of Hooterville also and held the same moral values. The beautiful Eva Gabor stared with Eddie Albert in a comedic look at how city dwellers would act living in a country setting. No sex there either although the two actors made a lovely couple.
I know times have changed, but have they changed for the better? Our youth today are led away from imagination in so many ways. The old board games have been replaced by video monsters. Dominoes and cards are no longer part of growing up. Our children today don’t learn how to play and socialize except as led by some electronic program.
When I was growing up I had books and a radio. I drew pictures and designed futuristic dwellings I dreamed of building some day. The television was for news reports and a few well chosen evening programs, not the all day babysitter it has become today. Television and the cinema have taken away the mystery of sex which I grew up with.
I liken the electronic inundation of sex much like the illusion of magic. When we are young and innocent to how the magician manipulates his audience and uses tricks to distract, the mysteries he performs are seductive. The mystical feats of the magician keep us entranced and craving more. When we get older and are exposed to how the tricks are performed, his act loses much of its appeal. Not totally, but it certainly isn’t the same.
The comedians of this modern era bring us more insult as they introduce vulgarity into their acts. Since when did a string of four letter words become funny? I laughed right along with others as this slow transition took place, but now I look back and wonder how we could have let it happen. I enjoyed a certain comedian on television, I won’t disclose his name, and bought his newest CD a few years ago. It was so filthy that I never finished listening to the thing, and relegated it to file thirteen.
I am a prude, I will admit but I will continue to read my books, write for pleasure and dream. The world is so small if you don’t have an imagination. I prefer the vastness of my fantasies. I can be the hero or the villain and no one knows. I can span the universe in a single afternoon and sit beside a waterfall and be amazed by its simplicity.
Being an old fogy, I prefer simplicity. Country living doesn’t mean celibacy, far from it, but it is not the in your face sex we are exposed to daily on television and in the cinema. Let us lift our heads high and hold our children’s hands and help them grow to see the world as something positive and to respect those around them. Teach them to look for the mystery for without it we lose so much.

Where Is Mr. Bojangles?

I was going through the various stacks of paper I have lying about my office today. It has gotten to the point where I need to reorganize my stuff or build on to the house. I have a very precise filing system with older messages and notes on the bottom and the newer things stacked progressively on top. I can find almost anything I am looking for, given enough time.
As I sorted through the organized pile of clutter, I found a notation I had made some time back. I had come across something which had caught my eye at the time and I thought I might write something about it. That was two years ago, my how time flies. I must have been unable to organize my thoughts at the time, so I had filed the note away.
Today I read over the message. It had noted part of the lyrics for the song “Mr. Bojangles” typed out neatly with my thoughts scribbled in the margin. I remember listening to the old song many times. I could still hear the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band singing in the background as I read the words.
“I knew a man Bojangles and he’d dance for you
In worn out shoes
With silver hair, a ragged shirt, and baggy pants
The old soft shoe
He jumped so high, jumped so high
Then he lightly touched down.”
Have you ever walked down the streets in New Orleans or Memphis and listened to the easy flowing music oozing out of the bars and dance halls into the streets? Musicians play their soul wrenching tunes that make a body want to move in time. In the darkened clubs mostly drunken customers ground to the jive while other lifted their glasses in salute.
I remember watching two older men take turns outside a club on Beale Street in Memphis one sultry summer night. Dressed in apparent hand-me- down clothing, the men struck an interesting pose. One gentleman wearing a much too large white dress shirt and baggy slacks bent to tie his shiny lace up shoes, another gift from a charitable soul. The other man wore a dark red shirt and pants much shorter than his long legs. On his feet he also wore his best pair of dancing shoes.
The first man demonstrated his latest steps while rhythmic strains came from inside the bar. His agile body bent and contorted as his mind wandered into another realm. The second man began to imitate the steps of his competitor, adding some new moves of his own at the end. This battle went on through several songs before I could tear myself away from their unique demonstration.
“He said I dance now at every chance in honky tonks
for drinks and tips
But most the time I spend behind these county bars
‘cause I drinks a bit
He shook his head, and as he shook his head
I heard someone ask him please
Mr. Bojangles, Mr. Bojangles
Mr. Bojangles, dance.”
So simple; so easy, from the bowels of hard living, this uncomplicated man, Bojangles once lived and gave all that he had. His only talent it seemed was that of dance. His only desire in life was to be allowed to dance, and as he moved about the sidewalk, he would jump so high, jump so high and click his heels. The old gray haired man in baggy pants wore a smile of bliss and satisfaction.
Needless to say, after reading my old notes, I interrupted my housecleaning today and began to write. Like Bojangles and his call to dance, I have a need to write. I say thank you Bo for your graceful dance and thanks to the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band for inspiration. My life is simple now and I know that is how it is meant to be.
Tomorrow, or some other tomorrow, I don’t know when but I shall return to making sense from my clutter. But until then I will sit with pen and write my thoughts for you, friend.
“Mr. Bojangles, Mr. Bojangles,
Mr. Bojangles, dance.”

I Was Just Wondering

I watched race cars circle the race track last weekend in what seemed to be an endless exercise. Thirty-five cars drove at a maddening pace for some three hundred and sixty laps. Around and around and around they drove without the privilege of commercial breaks. I thought that was the best part of the whole race. A quick run to the kitchen for refills and then the next time I’d run down the hall to empty.
It is funny how we humans act. Have you ever wondered if animals ever looked at us the way we do them? You know, like going to a zoo and watching an exhibit of monkeys or maybe giraffes. Do you think a herd of hippopotami would sit contentedly for two and one-half hours watching brightly colored cars rush around in circles?
In Europe, the race tracks are spread out over many miles. People sit in stands or hang from balconies as the sleek automobiles flash by at top speed. Observers jump up and down as they cheer on their favorites. The only thing about the foreign races though, because the race track is so spread out, there are long intervals where no race cars can be seen. I guess the fans do much the same thing as I do during commercials...
* * *

A New Hero in Town

A police car drove into the center of the intersection of one of the city’s main arteries and a quiet neighborhood street. The red dome lights were flashing and the officer stepped out of the car and motioned traffic to stop. Following the police sedan was a bright red pickup with similar flashers. On the door of the truck a logo had been painted in the form of a fire department shield.
The fire chief steered his pickup onto the docile street and slowly moved past the middle class homes. The curious came from the houses to see what was going on. Children ran to stand at curb’s edge and wave as their parents followed at a more reserved pace.
Following the Fire Chief’s pickup was a forty-two foot long fire engine. Lights were flashing and suited firemen hung to the side and rear of the unit. As it paraded along, the fire truck was followed by an emergency response team in a white truck and an ambulance brought up the rear.
The caravan was slowly heading further into the small neighborhood, not at a rapid pace as the flashing lights might call for, but they moved steadily along the ribbon of pavement. As the big fire truck came even with each cluster of neighbors, shouts and waves greeted the heroes.
Yes, the firemen were heroes, saving many homes and buildings from destruction over the years, but today the hero was not the firemen. In fact, it was the firemen who were honoring their young champion. When the big truck reached the third house on the second block of Post Oak Street, the parade stopped. The firemen and rescue personnel began to exit their vehicles and then gather on the front lawn.
The house at 3105 Post Oak was plain compared to many of the other homes but it was neatly maintained and clean. The neighbors gathered on the opposite sides of the lawn as well as across the street. One of the firemen, wearing his heavy flame resistant jacket and pants, the large boots and helmet with neck strap, stepped to the front door of the house and motioned to knock.
Before the man could rap on the door facing, the door swung open and a young bubbly face appeared. The awestruck boy was speechless as he gawked at the big superhero fireman. Finally, the boy’s mother appeared and stood by her son.
“Yes, may I help you?” the woman asked.
“Ma’am, I’m Officer Baker and I was wondering if this is where young Johnny lives,” the man said.
“Why, yes it is,” she answered. “This is Johnny, my son.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” the fireman continued. “We are on a training exercise and need someone to ride in old Engine No. 32 and ring the bell. We are running short handed today. Son, do you think you’d like to do that for us?” The boy’s eyes were the size of saucers and his jaw almost touched the floor.
“Johnny is a big fan of the fire department,” Johnny’s mother replied. “He wants to be a fireman when he grows up.” She leaned down to her son and asked, “Would you like to help the firemen, Johnny?” She knew the boy would love the opportunity.
“For real?” Johnny asked with glee. “You really want me to help you?” He was almost jumping up and down as he waited for an answer.
“Yes indeed,” Officer Baker answered. “You are the only one we can call on for help. If you’re ready, then come and get up in the front cab with me and we’ll get moving. Time is wasting.” Johnny’s mother held his hand as they began to move across the yard to the fire truck.
It was a slow paced effort because Johnny was crippled and his balance unsure. You see, the fact is that young Johnny was very ill. For the past eighteen months, doctors had treated the boy and for a time it looked as if they had cured the cancer, but last month there had been a relapse and now there were no other treatments available.
The doctors told Johnny’s mother that he had only a short time left to live. A friend heard of the diagnosis and decided to make the boy’s dream come true. The city had approved of allowing their vehicles and equipment to be used and off duty officers volunteered to play out the drama.
Officer Baker lifted Johnny’s lean body up into the cab where a second officer sat. Johnny would sit between the two big men as they paraded through the nearby streets. As Baker got behind the steering wheel, the other man showed Johnny the controls. It was exciting and Johnny followed the man’s instructions.
Baker put the fire truck into gear and the line of vehicles began to proceed down the street. Cheers and waves came from the people lining the street. Obviously envious boys watched and dreamed of having an opportunity like this as well. With a signal from Officer Baker, Johnny engaged the signal bell. It rang insistently as they moved, but the big thrill came when they reached the main road and Johnny pushed the button for the siren.
The exercise lasted only a short time as the group of vehicles snaked around and back onto Johnny’s street. When they stopped in front of the house, Johnny’s mother was waiting. Tears filled her eyes as her only son was hoisted from the big truck, but her weeping was a result of happiness not sadness.
“Mommy, Mommy!” Johnny exclaimed as he fell into her arms. “I got to ring the bell and sound the siren. I even talked to some man on the radio.” His joy bordered on hysteria as his mother soothed him in her familiar embrace.
“I am so proud of you, Johnny,” she said as she kissed him. He covered his mouth with his hand so she couldn’t kiss him again.
“Don’t kiss me like I am a little baby,” Johnny scolded, “everyone is watching. I’m a fireman now.” His mother smiled and then looked up at the fireman.
“Thank you for letting...” she was saying before Baker interrupted her.
“Thank you, ma’am, for letting us borrow little Johnny today,” the big man said with tears forming in his eyes too. “He is a brave young man and did us a great service today. We all have kids of our own and only hope our boys and girls could behave as bravely as your son has.” Baker had to turn away to keep Johnny from seeing him cry.
“Come, Johnny,” she said. “Thank these good men and let’s go inside. You need to rest now. This has been a very big day.” Johnny shook some of the men’s hands and then walked back into his home. The mighty fire truck and other service vehicles drove away. No emergency here today, no call to be a hero.
This was the day to celebrate the town’s new hero. It was time to celebrate Fireman Johnny.