Rockwall Riding Club

Yesterday I drove from Washington Street to Airport Road to I30.  A city street crew is working on Airport Road near Hardie Mays' horse corral – well, it once was Hardie’s.  

In the summer months before we were driving and dating I would go with my girlfriend, Nancy, and her dad, Hardie, to the Rockwall Riding Club east of town.  The Riding Club was east of Hardie’s corral, across FM549 where the road turned to dirt.  The ‘club’ was little more than a dirt pasture with a wooden, unpainted fence around it.  For us, it was a really fun place to hang out on summer weekends.  On Saturday nights families would load their horses in trailers and head off to the riding club to barrel race.  I, personally, was always afraid to race so I’d ride my horse around the outer perimeters of the pasture and watch everybody else.

On nights when there was no horse racing I would spend the night at Nancy’s and sometimes on those nights Hardie and his cohorts would bring out their guitars and banjos.  Their den and kitchen was a big room and the musicians would gather at one side of the round kitchen table in a horseshoe arrangement and they would sing the latest country songs – many of those made popular by Roger Miller.

Hardie was a wonderful man, full of life, energy, and song.  Even today, more than 30 years later, when I hear a Roger Miller song I see Hardie with his guitar and his sweet smile.  I can still hear him singing “Dang Me” and I can hear him say “Hi, Darlin’ ” when I came in the house.

I am thankful for the moments we had together and for the effect he had on my youth and subsequently my life.  And I will always remember him.

PS.  The Rockwall Riding Club is now a housing subdivision in the same area where we once rode our horses.  I love the fact that the builder/developer gave the area its proper name.

Hayden's Spirit

This week I heard two songs for the first time.  HAYDEN’S SPIRIT and MISSING YOU by pianist Danny Wright.  These are the type of songs you would hear in a movie soundtrack; similar to the FOREST GUMP SUITE or the STEEL MAGNOLIAS’ DRIVE TO AUNT FERN’S. 

While at work I listen to Pandora radio on my computer and I have a channel for New Age Instrumental Radio.  Monday when HAYDEN’S SPIRIT started to play I moved from the work I was doing to look at the Pandora screen to see what the title of the song was.  As it played I felt Wesley’s spirit surround me and I just sat with my hands in my lap to savor the feeling until the song ended.  It has been 29 years since my first born passed away and I think of him every day, and occasionally his spirit is so strong around me that I feel he is comforting me. 

Later in the day I could not get the song off my mind.  I looked up Danny Wright via the internet and learned he is from Fort Worth and has been playing since he was four.  On his website there is a tab for ‘Fan Club’ so I clicked on it and it took me to his Facebook site.  I sent him a message and asked if he would share the background of the song and within a few hours he wrote me to let me know “the song was written for a special boy who passed away a few years ago”.  I wrote to thank him for responding and told him “it reminded me of my special boy who had passed away” – I wasn’t surprised when I received his response.  God finds unique ways to gift us everyday – we just have to be open to receiving them.

When I write the next great American novel and it is made into a movie; HAYDEN’S SPIRIT will be the main soundtrack (with approval by Danny Wright) and it will hopefully move those who hear it as much as it moved me.

PS - Enjoy the song on youtube -- http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Mf5ob9vNGQ&feature=artist

66 Bridge

On Highway 66, crossing the Lake Ray Hubbard bridge this morning I could see the old bridge poking its railings out of the water.  Standing at the corner of Kenway and Whittle Way in the late 60’s you could look off into the bottom land and see the old bridge standing up above the fields, before the lake came.  At night you could see car lights coming onto the bridge, leaving Rowlett and heading toward Rockwall.  The cars would travel the short distance across the bridge then the road tilted downward to the cotton fields to travel across the bottom land before making the climb up the hill to Rockwall.   

Before the rains come, take a minute to drive across the 66 bridge, look north and catch a glimpse of the past.    

In the Arena

Found this quote today and it reminded me of our moments in life -- had to share. 


"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat."  Teddy Roosevelt

Vacations

In a few weeks I’ll be heading to Italy on what I hope is a glorious vacation for Roy and I.  As a couple we have always taken vacations together – well, as least once each year.  And much to Roy’s chagrin, I take numerous other little vacations all year long – spring and fall with Mom, NYC with Laura and Mom, summer with my Steel Magnolia girlfriends, another summer trip with Jarrett and Jamison, a weekend trip with Laura and Tina, and sometimes I even add a day on to the frontend or backend of business trips.  (Can I say I love to travel!)

Vacations have been a part of my family since I can remember and I love planning for them as much as the actual trip. My Daddy always said the best part of vacation was returning home and seeing the Rockwall water tower on the hill (once located at Washington Street and Goliad).  Even my great-grandparents (Ma and Pa) took a vacation to California (I can’t even imagine how long that would have taken plus what did they do without fast food).  I know you must be asking where is this blog going –

When I think of vacations I recall my earliest remembrances of vacations, which were those my Grandparents took every summer with the Jacobs’.  Their favorite places to travel were to Eureka Springs, Arkansas or Estes Park, Colorado.  The Jacob’s owned Jacobs Dry Cleaners and it was next to Rockwall Drug Store.  The double door storefront is now a home interior business but back in the 60s it was owned by Vivian and Neta Jacobs.  Vivian wore slacks pulled high onto his belly with a tucked-in button front shirt; Neta always wore a belted dress with pumps -- they reminded me of Fred and Ethel Mertz.  

Vivian and Granddaddy were best buddies and spent weeks talking about their trips and what all they would do.  Usually they traveled in Granddaddy’s Mercury of which he would have just had ‘serviced’ at Andrews Ford prior to their departure. 

As customary during those days, and to ensure they had ample time for visiting, Granddaddy drove, Vivian sat in the passenger front seat, and the ladies sat in the backseat with the maps to provide back-seat directions.  A few days before their trip the cooking began for their first day on the road.  Once they were seated in the car Grandmama would place at her feet the aluminum foil wrapped poppy-seed pound cake she had made, and Neta would place the hand-towel wrapped fried chicken at her feet.  On the first day of the trip they would leave home early in the morning – usually at dawn; making stops for sightseeing; stopping for lunch at a roadside park to enjoy the chicken and cake; and arriving at their daily destination mid afternoon to allow time for a quick rest before dinner.  Each couple would be in their motel rooms before dark, looking forward to resting up for the next day’s adventures.  Every night my grandparents would call us and ask the same two questions, “how is everybody” and “did anybody die”, then they would tell us their adventures, what they ate for dinner, and if they found a souvenir that day. 

As soon as they returned home they would call us to let us know they were safely back in Rockwall.  We would pile in the car and drive to their house to hear about their trip and to see what special items they bought for us.  I can still see Granddaddy sitting in his recliner waiting for Grandmama to hand us our souvenir.  As we looked at our new treasure he would proudly tell us he had (of course) picked it out, and she secretly winked at us because we all knew who had selected the gift.  I expect the same routine was happening at the Jacob’s home.

This year in Italy I will text Laura and Mom to let them know what we are eating (and I hope it is lots of Gelato) and what great souvenirs we are finding.  Our first day in Rome I plan to climb the Spanish Steps, stopping on the top step to sit and take in the views.  I will silently thank God for the wonderful little town I was raised in and I will thank my Grandparents for the gifts they gave me then, and the gifts I still receive when I remember the moments.

Ciao

Still he is my friend

At what point do we realize our roots are important.  For me, I’ve always known Rockwall and the people who live here are interestingly unique and important, but recently I’ve become aware of just how important; and the moments are so many and so hard to appropriately capture in written form.  When I start to write about one moment, a thousand other memories flood my mind.  But today I want to remember a boy.

He was handsome, smart, and full of energy.  He was a creative spirit.  He always had a smile on his face and was quick to giggle secrets with a friend or two.  Sometimes I was the brunt of his giggles and sometimes I shared the secrets with him.  Always, always I wanted to be in his favor because of his energy – it could be so inspiring and just simply fun.  We grew up together and most school years we shared the same friends.  We rode our bikes on the same tree-lined streets; we drove our cars to the same school buildings; we both drove the ‘drag’ between the downtown square and the Dairy Queen; we both marched in the Rockwall Yellow Jacket Band; we sat near each other during graduation; even our grandfathers were best friends. 

One of my favorite memories of him was when we were in Junior High and for PE we would occasionally go to the football field to play.  The boy was always hanging out with me and my girlfriends and on this one particular day he was chasing us – one of the girls fell, her dress landing above her knees near her waist and the boy jumped on top of her to keep her from getting up – when our ‘teacher’ saw them (on top of each other) she screamed at them to get up and head to the principal’s office.  Even today, 40 years later, I still get a grin across my face when I see the boy look up at the wild-eyed teacher and wonder what he had done wrong.

Then the boy and I lost contact.  He moved from Rockwall.  Looking back it seemed more like he ran away from Rockwall.  I got married, bought a house, and stayed in town to raise my family on the same streets where we once played and rode bikes. 

Today I went to his funeral and heard how he had grown in his life, how his creative talent had been a part of each of his days.  He died on September 11, 2011 of complications from a long illness.  There were several of us from the Class of ’72 there to pay homage to Ken Myers.  I know we each have our individual memories of him, some much more recent than mine.  I wish I had stayed in contact with Ken.  I wish I had known him as the man he became in addition to knowing the boy.  I wish I had told him how often I think of him and smile about our school days together.

And so it sings to-day –

So may it sing always!

Let each mute measure end

With “Still he is my friend”

James W. Riley

Remembering 911

I was at work when the first plane hit Tower 1.  Mom called me to tell me about the plane crashing into the building so I went into a nearby conference room where we had a screen showing CNN.   Thinking it was an accident I watched for a second then went back to my office to get something (I don’t even remember what) and then Mom called again and with a scared voice told me another plane had hit Tower 2.  I ran back to the conference room and took a seat at the end of the table to watch as the events unfolded.   Others on my floor gathered in the room and took available seats – none of us said anything, we just watched the screen in horror.

In 1997 Roy, Laura, a friend (Lauren) and I made our first trip to New York.  We took a bus tour of the city and got off at the stop for the Twin Towers.  We went in the shops on the first floor and bought Godiva chocolate.  We saw where years before the terrorist had entered the garage of the towers and left the truck bomb in the basement.  We talked about how awful that day must have been for the people in the building. 

Laura & Darlene - NYC 2000

In January 2000 Laura and I visited New York again.   We rode the ferry to the Statue of Liberty and stood at the point of the island where the Hudson flowed proudly from Ms Liberty to Manhatten so that we could take our picture with the Twin Towers as our backdrop.  

Mom, Laura and I now have a tradition to go to NYC every December.  We shop, we see a few Broadway shows, and we enjoy great restaurants.  And every year we make a point to drive by the Twin Towers site and silently pay tribute to those who were there on September 11, 2001.

Following 911, like many others, I felt the need to ‘nest’ with my family close beside me – we all hugged each other a little more, spent more time together, and watched the news as we worried about additional attacks.

It shouldn’t take a horrible event for us to do that.  It shouldn’t take a staggering event for us to gather together and love one another.  It shouldn’t take a terrorist attack for Americans to pull together.

I believe each year on September 11 our thoughts of where we were and what we were doing in 2001 are remembered by each of us.  And each year on September 11 our future is reinforced with our thoughts that followed that day – to celebrate what WE HAVE and to know WE ARE AMERICAN and WE ARE STRONG!

Mr. Gaines' Tree

Finally it is September and I know cool weather is just around the corner – 60+ days of triple-digit weather is quite enough!  For me, the first glimpse of fall is when I travel through downtown, make the curve on Highway 66 and looking down the road a few blocks I can see Mr. Gaines’ tree has started to change color.  The giant tree proudly sits in front of the home that was built by Mr. Dick Gaines in the early 1900’s.  The tree is about 70 feet tall and appears to reach toward the sky; its limbs stretch to be almost as wide as it is tall.  Each year about mid-September the hundreds of leaves on the tree start to turn from lush green to tones of yellow and gold; then during the comfortable sunny days and the cool nights of October, before the leaves start to fall, the tree turns to a blaze of red and orange.  Once the first freeze nips at our little town on the hill, the tree drops its leaves into a colorful blanket falling across the highway.  The tree and its leaves perfectly represent the words of Leo Buscalgia:

It's been about happy times together.

It's been about the shade and the old people and the children.

It's been about colors in Fall.

It's been about seasons.