North out of Greenville on roads I'd never traveled before Thursday. Tiny towns with intriguing names. Celeste. Kingston. Leonard. Trenton. Bells. One of them proudly proclaiming a population of 213 on the two city limit signs located about a mile apart. Lots of blue and white historical markers. Second-time-around shops in abundance, so many that if I'd stopped at each I'd not yet be home.
Along with the first sign for mileage to Durant I saw fields of corn "as high as a elephant's eye." Green and growing, no visible means of irrigation, evidence that the rain has, so far, come regularly this summer. The drought not quite so bad there as here.
And then the jewel in the crown. Beautiful Bonham. Barely fifteen minutes to drive from southern to northern limits. If your thing is fast food you're in good shape, but if your taste runs to anything other than Mickey D's you're not. Yes, there's a high school, but it seemed small in comparison with other little Texas towns. A relative dearth of industry and available employment, Not a video store in sight. No bowling alley. Not even a movie theater.
But there's a gorgeous State Park, not grandiose but still grand in scale. And the mail carrier walks from house to house, instead of depending solely on the red/white/blue truck. Gracious, unpretentious, old homes with generous yards. Townfolk not just approachable in nature but ready and willing to stop whatever they are doing and spend as much of their time as needed to help you out when you ask for directions. A place where a tourist is treated not as an imposition in life, but the reason for it.
I understand why the young ones would want so desperately to leave. But I also know deep in my heart why there are folks who want to return. And others who have, simply, always been content to stay in their home on this range. God bless them all.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
celebration
And so another Fourth of July has come and gone. My favorite Holiday.
We won the Lions Club Bob Hughson Award for our entry in the Duncanville parade. Sure was fun, despite my poor feet. Sheila's big red truck was decorated so thoroughly you could barely see the color of the paint beneath the banners and ribbons and flags. Even the chairs in the back were appropriately colored. Regent Jo Ann Holt held the red white and blue trophy aloft for all to see as we wound our way through the town's main streets.
I noticed there were NO uniformed military personnel in the audience. Did see two elderly gentlemen wearing logo caps that proclaimed their Vet status. But what really got me was that as we marched I saw less than ten people who actually got out of their chairs and stood, hand over heart, as the National Standard, carried proudly and gloriously well by one of our newest Chapter members, went by.
Perhaps patriotism sleeps, but it has not died -- it is alive and well and living at First DeSoto. Sunday morning Kristi opened the proceedings for our class by singing the National Anthem. ALL of our people got out of their chairs and sang along. At noon the entire congregation stood at attention in the Life Center and said the Pledge of Allegiance. I get chills now just remembering.
"Oh thus be it ever when free men shall stand between their loved homes and the war's desolation; blessed with vict'ry and peace may the Heav'n rescued land praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a Nation."
As for me and mine, we care not for fashion, and less about political correctness, but more about honoring those who fought and died for our right to fly Our Flag. Not just on the 4th, but every day. Long may it wave!
We won the Lions Club Bob Hughson Award for our entry in the Duncanville parade. Sure was fun, despite my poor feet. Sheila's big red truck was decorated so thoroughly you could barely see the color of the paint beneath the banners and ribbons and flags. Even the chairs in the back were appropriately colored. Regent Jo Ann Holt held the red white and blue trophy aloft for all to see as we wound our way through the town's main streets.
I noticed there were NO uniformed military personnel in the audience. Did see two elderly gentlemen wearing logo caps that proclaimed their Vet status. But what really got me was that as we marched I saw less than ten people who actually got out of their chairs and stood, hand over heart, as the National Standard, carried proudly and gloriously well by one of our newest Chapter members, went by.
Perhaps patriotism sleeps, but it has not died -- it is alive and well and living at First DeSoto. Sunday morning Kristi opened the proceedings for our class by singing the National Anthem. ALL of our people got out of their chairs and sang along. At noon the entire congregation stood at attention in the Life Center and said the Pledge of Allegiance. I get chills now just remembering.
"Oh thus be it ever when free men shall stand between their loved homes and the war's desolation; blessed with vict'ry and peace may the Heav'n rescued land praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a Nation."
As for me and mine, we care not for fashion, and less about political correctness, but more about honoring those who fought and died for our right to fly Our Flag. Not just on the 4th, but every day. Long may it wave!
Monday, July 5, 2010
silent admiration
Saturday morning, sitting in my car in front of Charles and Elizabeth's house, ready to follow them to the parade, I had ten minutes all to myself.
Don't get me wrong, I'm delighted Jim is back home. In his absence I had time to read three books and enjoyed an all too infrequent bubble bath (despite kitty's propensity to stand on the side of the tub and swat at the foam). But there was a sense of urgency to those stolen minutes, as if my mind refused to shut down, driven to be doing something with my time.
Alone time is one thing. Alone and NOT DOING anything is an entirely different story.
Sitting there in the just becoming lightness, I turned off the engine, muted the radio, rolled down the windows, and listened in silent admiration to the delightful two-note etude of the little neighborhood doves.
Glanced over at the book in the passenger seat, but left it untouched. I have the utmost respect for the written word, and am deeply grateful for the salaries it provided me and mine throughout my formal working years, but a stale cold tome does not hold a candle to the sight of the sun rising on the horizon.
And the sound of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, while I am always awed by it, can in no way compare to nature's melody.
Sitting in a cathedral of trees, on bucket seat instead of pew, those few minutes were in no way a religious experience, but instead a deeply spiritual one. And, for me, on that gladsome glorious morning, it was the best kind.
Don't get me wrong, I'm delighted Jim is back home. In his absence I had time to read three books and enjoyed an all too infrequent bubble bath (despite kitty's propensity to stand on the side of the tub and swat at the foam). But there was a sense of urgency to those stolen minutes, as if my mind refused to shut down, driven to be doing something with my time.
Alone time is one thing. Alone and NOT DOING anything is an entirely different story.
Sitting there in the just becoming lightness, I turned off the engine, muted the radio, rolled down the windows, and listened in silent admiration to the delightful two-note etude of the little neighborhood doves.
Glanced over at the book in the passenger seat, but left it untouched. I have the utmost respect for the written word, and am deeply grateful for the salaries it provided me and mine throughout my formal working years, but a stale cold tome does not hold a candle to the sight of the sun rising on the horizon.
And the sound of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, while I am always awed by it, can in no way compare to nature's melody.
Sitting in a cathedral of trees, on bucket seat instead of pew, those few minutes were in no way a religious experience, but instead a deeply spiritual one. And, for me, on that gladsome glorious morning, it was the best kind.
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