And Then, Scheherazade TOTALLY Lost Her Head ....

A Tale of 1001 Nights, by Boulanger

Once upon a time there was a Persian king, Shahryar, whose first wife was unfaithful to him. So, in a classic case of overreaction, and to ensure he would never again be cuckolded, Shahryar became a practitioner of serial matrimony (no illicit relationships for him when murder was an option!), ordering each new bride beheaded on the morning following their wedding night ... thus also avoiding the messiness of PMS, Peter Pan syndrome, divorce, alimony and child support ... but I digress.

After dispatching 3000 or so wives (and probably running out of virginal candidates), Shahryar wed the beautiful and intelligent proto-feminist Scheherazade. And Scheherazade, who had enhanced her education by extensively studying history and folklore, proved a seductive spinner of fantastic and wonderful (yet ethically- and morally-instructive) tales such as Aladdin and his magic lamp, Sinbad and Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves (whose connection to Shahryar's government is as yet undocumented but still under investigation). It is written that Scheherazade thereby changed her fate, utterly enchanting Shahryar with stories, and stories within stories, woven into a tapestry over 1001 nights, ultimately saving herself and others who would have followed her, from the previously implacable vengeance of Shahryar.

It is generally believed that after such captivating nights of spell-binding tales, Shahryar saw the error of his ways, settled down with Scheherazade and lived happily ever after. Unfortunately, recent research (and extrapolation) indicates to the discerning mind two other possible scenarios: (1) that on the morning after the 1001st night, Shahryar neglected to mention to his sycophants whether or not he had enjoyed the latest tale, or to engage in any discussion thereof, so said sycophants assumed that Scheherazade had failed to entertain the king and dragged her off to her long-delayed appointment with the scimitar; or (2) that Scheherazade, driven to despair after striving mightily to engage the king, but failing to elicit any reciprocal response(s), ran off with the more simpatico sycophant-in-chief and became a Hollywood screenwriter, currently walking picket lines in Los Angeles.

But enough speculation about matters of limited interest ... back to the blog! By now, we all should have roused from our Thanksgiving stupor in eager anticipation of the year-end festivities to come: Chanukah, Christmas, Kwanzaa, the Winter Solstice marking the "rebirth" of the sun, the dawning of a new year (Western or Asian, or both), Boxing Day ... whatever wraps your particular package ....




Winter Solstice

Chestnuts roasting, Jack Frost nipping, Yule logs burning, halls decked, eggs a-nogging, lords a-leaping ... arguably, we have arrived at the best time of year for remembrance and reconnection, for family and friends to gather close once more, for sharing memories and stories and personal thoughts and perspectives ....

Nicki and I hope that in the spirit of the season you will join us here ... that those of you who have already "spoken" will continue to do so, and those who haven't yet will add your own unique voices. Inquiring minds want to know: What do you enjoy most about this season? What are your plans for the holidays? Describe your favorite holiday tradition(s). Tell us about some special gift(s) you have given or received. We really are interested and want to hear from you.

And speaking of unique voices, Guinevere the Druid Goddess is gleefully anticipating the Winter Solstice and scurrying madly hither and yon, gathering wood for a bit of nude dancing around the celebratory bonfire. Perhaps not as thrilling a sight as it might have been once upon a time ... but we won't tell her that ....

)O(

Well, Durn ... I'm Thankful ...

Taken from our small boat on Loch Lein, Killarney, County Kerry, Ireland

… said my Papa, W.C. Harp, when asked if he wanted to say grace before the last Thanksgiving meal I would ever share with him and my grandmother. That was the entirety of the thanks he offered, before beginning to eat. We didn’t generally say grace before meals, and I’m sure my grandmother’s somewhat anomalous, pro forma request caught him a bit off guard. Nevertheless, it is the “grace” I remember … simple, meaningful, and in essence, profound in the depth and breadth of meaning conveyed in those two words … a sweet coda to years of family Thanksgivings in my grandparents’ house.

Most of us are thankful, I hope, not only at Thanksgiving but all through the days and years, for some “universals“ … family, friends, our homes, health, the fact that life doesn’t “end” at high school (at least for most of us … ). But, as we approach another Thanksgiving and other end of year holidays, I want to share with you some "small moments" for which I am thankful, “grace notes” added as embellishment to the magnum opus of my life, across the trajectory of time. It may not surprise those who know me, or have read the blog, that many of my “grace notes” involve travel. I am hopeful that some of you will share your own small moments, of whatever type, those moments only incidental to the whole of your lives, yet cherished and returned to in memory, time after time, for a smile, or a laugh, a wry grin, or simply a fond reflection.

I am thankful that I very carefully and purposefully (and initially, with much dropped food) taught myself when I was nine years old to eat with chopsticks, because somehow I just knew in my soul that someday I would get to see Japan and China, and I didn’t want to be embarrassed by my inability (or lack of table manners) to use chopsticks when I got there. I have been complimented in those countries on how well I use them, so the effort was not wasted.

As much as I always knew that someday I would see Asian countries which have fascinated me from childhood (and still do), never in my wildest imaginings could I have conjured that one "enchanted" evening I would be sitting in the lounge of the Great Wall Sheraton in Beijing, China, sipping Irish coffee and listening to a Chinese string quartet play, lentissimo (very slowly), a familiar melody, which after careful listening, turned out to be “Turkey in the Straw.” Serendipity.

I was so thankful to spot a Shakey’s Pizza parlor (yes, Shakey’s, with all its quotidian drabness) on the Ginza in Tokyo, after the girls had become mutinous over eating nothing but Japanese food for the days we had been there. Of course, the pizzas on the buffet were topped with baby corn, shitake mushrooms, seaweed, octopus and other Japanese staples … but we did find one that had pepperoni, so the incipient crisis was averted.

I am thankful that when Yahn and I were in Venice, we arranged for a private gondola, with champagne included, to take us on the Grand Canal, under the Rialto Bridge, and then into smaller, more mysterious and romantic canals, as the sun was setting, and the songs of the gondoliers drifted on the air. Bellissimo! We still laugh about the couple that passed in their gondola, going the other way, and watching the woman crane her neck to look at us, and then hearing in shrill, nasal tones as the gondolas parted: “Milton, they have champagne, Mill-ton!” I suspect that Milton’s memory of his sunset gondola ride past that point is not nearly so wonderful as ours.

I am thankful that Yahn didn’t take the deal when he was offered five camels and multiple goats for me by a man who approached us as we walked through Khan el-Khalili bazaar in Cairo. Yahn said it was obvious that I was at least a seven-camel woman!!!

I am thankful that I was able to fulfill a dream (or at least a desire) to go whitewater rafting, on the Ayung River in Bali, for my 58th birthday. I was less thankful about having to walk 600 steps down to get to the raft, and then 600 steps back UP, to get back to Yahn. The hotel very kindly sent a massage therapist (gratis) to our room that evening … and yes, the experience was worth it!!!

I am thankful that we made our last trip to Paris over New Year, when the lights are at their loveliest and most profuse, and the excitement of that wonderful city is most electrifying. And it was pure loveliness, late that night, as we sipped champagne in our room and watched it begin to snow … huge, fat flakes of snow, falling in the streets of Paris, with the subdued lights on the side street glimmering a pale, soft yellow when we ran onto the balcony to see the wonder. Quelle romantique!!!!

I am thankful for the Christmas Eve we spent on the night train from Cairo to Luxor, much of it in the club car, with a large group of German and French tourists, with American oldies playing on tape, and the bartenders coming out to serve the ordered drinks somehow balanced on their heads on a wildly shaking and swerving train, pulling many of the travelers (including me) out of our chairs to engage in impromptu belly dancing, with those drinks balanced perfectly on their heads the whole time. I was not as thrilled with the dinner we were served in our sleeper, and think I may now know what happens to old camels when they are too decrepit to carry tourists for the obligatory photos at many sites.

I am thankful that I got to see the Pyramids at Giza, and Karnak Temple in Luxor, not only by daylight, but bathed in the silver light of a full, or nearly full, moon.

I am thankful that I got to see the Anne Frank House (and more specifically, the secret annex), where Anne and her family hid from the Nazis in Amsterdam before they were betrayed. I could see through the small window the chestnut tree that Anne saw as she wrote in her diary and dreamed of a world without war and hatred, before she died at Bergen-Belsen such an achingly short time before the camp was liberated. There was such a feeling of presence in that room, and I believe that it is the essence of Anne’s indomitable spirit which still pervades that place.

I am thankful that I once skied in Aspen, and Vail and other places, before my knees totally checked out, and I remember apres-ski in the lodges, with hot-buttered rum, and Irish coffee, and mulled wine, and huge fireplaces and music and laughter.

I am thankful that Franklin Martin magically appeared at Giuseppe’s in Colorado Springs at just the perfect time. (See “Close Encounters of the Bobcat Kind” further back on this blog.)

I am thankful to have seen the Acropolis in Athens by moonlight, and to have watched the sunset from our cruise ship in the caldera of the volcano at the beautiful Greek island of Santorini, and to have marveled at the "clothing optional" beaches on Mykonos and at Lindos (on Rhodes), and to have seen the ancient and colorful Minoan ruins on Crete.

I am thankful to have walked the ruins of Ephesus, and to have seen the Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque in Istanbul, and to have crossed from one continent to another (Europe/Asia) and back over the Bosporus.

I was sooo thankful in Ireland that Clarence Darter had taken so much time and patience with me, to teach the proper use of a clutch in a standard shift automobile. I had to figure out driving on the “wrong” side of the road, and stick-shifting with my left hand on my own. Lynn (Purcell Durham) and Yahn left the driving to me (the former hell-driver of the Childress Park lake), but I am sure they were uttering various prayers and incantations sotto voce the entire time.

I am thankful that Lynn went with us on that trip, where we ultimately “found” the Purcell castle in County Tipperary after our stays in Tralee, and Cashel, and “our” little cottage overlooking Bantry Bay in Glengarriff. The rental car was a challenge to drive, but it certainly facilitated our roaming all over the southwest of Ireland, dodging trucks and buses and other cars coming at us at breakneck speeds on the narrow Irish roads. We only blew three tires (two at once) as we desperately sought to hug the left side and had some close encounters of the large roadside rock kind. Fortunately we were smart (or prescient) enough to take full coverage on the car, so we didn’t have to pay for the tires, although I am sure Dan Dooley Car Rental began to rethink its package on “full coverage”.

I am thankful that when I was standing on the stage at Cirque du Soleil's Zumanity here in Las Vegas, with the MC Joey Arias and “Antonio the Gigolo”, and Antonio blurted out, “Why, Jen-ni-fer! You’re not wearing a bra!”, I had the presence of mind (and the lack of inhibition?) to answer into the microphone, “I burned it in the ‘60s!”, and brought down the house of about 1500 people. There were some other ad-libs I was proud of, but this is a family blog ….

There are more tales to share, of other adventures in other (and some of the same) places, but I sense your eyes beginning to glaze, if you have not already given up this rambling reminiscence. But I must also express thanks to our special teacher at CHS (you and we know who you are!), who helped me (and others of us) believe that wishes and dreams can and do come true, if we want them enough, and are willing to work to attain them.

Even though I usually enjoy preparing Thanksgiving dinner, whether or not our children and grandchildren are with us, I have rebelled this year, with dear Yahn’s acquiescence, and plan to celebrate the day by chowing down with him (just the two of us!) on the signature dishes at Joe's Seafood, Prime Steak and Stone Crab in the Forum Shops at Caesars. I wish you all a glorious and meaningful Thanksgiving.

)O(

Mike Spradley: Cheerleader ... I Thought You Wanted to be a Lumberjack!!!

Our friend Mike Spradley has (at last!) provided us with this long-promised story ... and I assure you it is worth the wait ....

This narrative is based on a true story..... including the bits I have grossly exaggerated.

Back in September 2007, my wife Ada and I traveled to Childress to visit her sister Fern. While there I asked Ada if she would like to go visit the Eternal Flame. She expressed surprise that Childress even had an Eternal Flame……but “Absolutely,” she says…….she sure did not want to come this far and miss seeing the Eternal Flame. So.…. off we go…..to the site that is forever embedded into my brain with billions and billions and billions of convolutions.

I drove right to it. If one is standing in the street looking at the exact center of old Childress High School…..and look to the right…..to the end of the building…..you can see “the Spot.” In front of the last window to the south is the sidewalk where it makes a 90 degree turn… four feet away from both legs of the sidewalk………is where I naturally assumed the Mayor of Childress would have placed the Eternal Flame.

But Jeeez……noting its absence…….I wondered where it was……had those pukes from Quanah stolen it?........had the gas company not received payment for the natural gas that fueled it?.....Had Hurricane Katrina extinguished it?......

Ada told me she was pretty sure there had never been an Eternal Flame there.

But how could that be?!!!!!……..that this place of our darkest hour would not be commemorated with some kinda monument that could be seen from outer space!!!............I mean……this was rat-down nary on the gol’ durned, dad-blamed SPOT where Don Seal talked two normal, levi-wear’n, boot-strapp’n, snuff dipp’n, snake-catch’n, frog-gig’n boys into trying out for Cheerleaders for Pete’s sake !!!!!!!......

This is like a Nam’ flashback…..just count backwards from 100…99…98….97…..calm….calm…..calm….chill….chill
…hmmmmm…hmmmm..hmmm…..chant …chant…

Jimmy Czewski and I had been great buds since the 1st grade. Don Seal had become the 3rd attachment in the 7th grade. Now……It was early September..1959….we were freshmen at CHS…….before the morning bell went off.

Czewski and I were standing at the SPOT…..watching all the freshmen girl babes drive by……..sitting right next to their Aliens-from-Mars Senior boyfriends…in their 1951 hot rod Fords………right after our Moms had dropped us off for school…….Alas…none of the Freshmen Babes returned our eager little geeky waves.

About that time Don Seal comes bounding up to us…….just a’ quiver’n with enthusiasm and excitement!!!...........little did I know……this moment was H hour and counting…..the day that will live in infamy…..yada yada yada….. He had just read on the bulletin board that there were to be tryouts for freshmen cheerleaders. Czewski and I looked at this nut….our buddy…our pal……shrugged our shoulders…..and asked him, “So?....whad tha heck does that have to do with us?”.......

So…..he tells us that his brothers, Darrell and David, had been CHS cheerleaders. And they had had more gals chasing them than Jerry Lee Lewis. And!!!.....he continued…….he thought that the 3 of us ought to go try out for cheerleaders..... Folks…..I am telling you…….that even today…..48 years later……as I am writing this narrative…….it still causes chills to flow up and down my spine…..just remembering that incredibly loony suggestion.

Our response was exactly what you would expect. Don had about as much chance of convincing Czewski and I of doing this as convincing us to slide down a 50 foot razor blade into a vat of alcohol. But Don was relentless. He begged and pleaded and argued and cajoled and threatened and promised and gestured and waved and waggled until he wore us down. So….we said……of course we would have several days to think about it, huh?…….hoping that Don would come to his senses over time…ya know?.......act in haste….repent at leisure kind of thing.

But……he says…….tis not the case……the dad-gumed tryouts are today. It’s now or never!!! ....pressure…pressure…pressure!!!!....gotta move….gotta act….

Aha!!!!....we responded……but we’ve got no routine…..we don’t even know a cheer….or a chant…….I mean…I don’t even know a poem clean enough to recite. Do you think that posed an obstacle to Don’s incessant argument?......Nope. He tells us not to worry. Czewski and I don’t have to do a thing. All we have to do is walk out onto the stage with him and do some whooping and hollering…..and he would do a cheer that his brother David had taught him.

Weeeeeeeeellllllllllllllll………I am starting to feel a little bit better now. I mean…..I know that Imogene Pannell is a serious minded person. She “jist hain’t” the kinda woman thaz gonna let 3 bozos come out and make a mockery of her tryouts by-golly by-jeez!! Imogene was all woman and she could whoop all three of us with one hand tied behind her back.

I am having trouble typing the words…..b b b b b’but….we…uh….kinda agreed to do it….just because we were the 3 musketeers…..and we couldn’t let our buddy down……and more importantly….Czewski and I knew there was not a snowball’s chance that we would be selected. So…….sometime in the afternoon…..off we go to the auditorium. I can’t remember how many…. but there was a ton of girls there and they all had great choreographed routines. Miss Pannell was sitting in the front row with the upper class cheerleaders. After each group of girls tried out….they sat down around Miss Pannell to watch the next group.

It was…gulp….our turn…

I want you to know…..in 1966….off Hainan Island….the Chinese shot a SAM missile at my patrol plane. It blew up just off our left wing. Of 12 people on board, I was by far, the calmest, coolest person on that airplane………How is that you ask?....how could that possibly be?

Because in 1959….at 14 years old……I walked out onto a stage with two other guys without a single thought of what I was a’gonna do in front of all those females…..girls who had spent their entire summer practicing their routines for this very event…..It would have taken a lot more than missiles to generate the same pressure that I faced that day……on that stage……………

Fear?.....After that tryout…..I spit in the face of fear !!

Don, Czewski and I proceeded to jump up and down and do some hollerin’……..then Don commenced his cheer. Paraphrased…as I remember it……..it went something like……

..”Bobcats…..Yea Bobcats!!!!”.......”we beseech you to transport the leather-covered air-pressurized oblong device across the line of demarcation that signifies the rendering of 6 points and grant us victory over the opposing forces!!!”…..”Yea Bobcats!”……..”Yea Bobcats!!!”

Now by golly…..that was funny!!!!....I blew out my lunch thru my nose!! Then the three of us whooped and hollered some more……..…an’ from the audience?…….there was no sound…….no movement……no sight of teeth enclosed within all those closed, down-turned lips…..

I have no memory of how we escaped. That had to be on Friday because we spent an exhilarating evening driving up and down the highway. Later I dropped off Don and Czewski and drove home. My parents were having a dinner party at our house that very night…..and one of the cars parked in front of my house was this great 1958 Ford Crown Victoria with a 351 cubic inch, 300 horsepower, police interceptor engine with a Holley four-barrel carburetor and dual pipes………I knew that car………I loved that car………..b-b-b-b but….Gasp!!... That’s Imogene Pannell’s car!!!…..at my house!!……She must be inside, explaining to my parents all the logical reasons why I should be sent to reform school.

When I walked into the house all the adults were just a laugh’n and a”gaggle’n. I tried to sneak back to my room but sho enuf”…….Miss Pannell stopped me. She told me our routine today was pretty silly………but…….she thought it would really be great to have 3 boys and 3 girls as cheerleaders……..and, she goes on…..she was selecting us because we were good on that trampoline…..and,…the three of us had better not let her down….she threatened…….

But I had only heard the 1st and 2nd sentence. I had been struck deaf, blind and speechless after the word “cheerleaders.” I was walking around in a daze…..bumping into the furniture…the walls….trying to conceive how many methods I could devise to strangle Don Seal….I did not want anything too quick.

All our Mothers were soooooooooooo happy. My brothers disowned me. Our Mothers actually drove to Wichita Falls to buy these white pants, white shoes and white turtleneck sweaters. The turtle necks were so thick they could close off your breathing passages till you became lightheaded. The 3 of us were so scrawny we looked like bulimic Pillsbury Doughboys whenever we were cocooned into them.

I really don't remember Czewski's reaction, but Don was happy as a lark. His primary motivation had been to get to ride around West Texas in Miss Pannell's hot rod Ford with some of the best looking gals in Childress...like that was gonna help us.

Besides the three of us guys…as I remember it…there was Pat Harmon, Pat Davenport and June Prince. The alternates were Raenell Wynn and Linda Kay Bridges. And I must say…..the girls were great. They seemed to accept us like normal people. We had great times practicing in front of Pat Harmon’s house. And the road trips were great fun.

But a long term future for me as a cheerleader was not in the cards. After a few games I just quit going and so did the other two. Without a word said……we guys were fired/retired/runoff and our places given to the alternates who really deserved to be cheerleaders. That was fine with me.

As a postscript, I will mention that my own daughter, Chalyse, became a cheerleader at Cy-Fair High School during the late '80s. Many times they practiced in our front yard in Cypress, Texas. One day I came home after having a client meeting. I was in a three piece suit and I was at least 25 pounds overweight. As I got out of my car…….all the Cy-Fair cheerleading squad was practicing in our front yard…..and they had a mini-trampoline in the middle of our yard.

For some reason, that mini-tramp triggered a dormant sense of mischief in me. I placed my briefcase onto the ground…..I ran across the yard in street shoes…..hit that trampoline perfectly….and did a forward flip!!!!!.......That cheerleading squad….including my daughter…..was stunned!!.......and impressed……WOW!!! They couldn’t believe their eyes!!!

High fives were forthcoming all around.

Then….without limping, I picked up my briefcase, walked into the house and secretly iced down my right knee that I had sprained during that ridiculous front flip.

Jim Spradley, Sr. and wife Lornadee, Mike's parents

We're Not Getting Older; We're Getting Better.

A sure cure for a bad day or a bad mood is to visit your nearest greeting card shop and spend time reading the cards. It is impossible to not find your spirits lifted a bit when most of the cards lend themselves to laughter. We often spend much of our time laughing at the cards that in some way deal with the subject of aging, after all many of our friends are now hitting 60 and above, and we want to find just the right card to emphasize that they will soon be the recipient of many of the "ravages of time." You know the ones I mean, loss of memory, loss of hair, loss of one's sexual urges, loss of energy, loss of one's teeth, loss of hearing and the list goes on. While we laugh, it is also hard to not feel a twinge or two when some cliche or another hits home. The truth is, as the bumper sticker says, "getting old is not for sissies." The expression carries more truth than fiction. In many ways aging does hurts. All of us carry with us more aches, more pains, more health conditions and more pills and medicines. Additionally, aging in our society often results in loss of self esteem and a loss of self worth brought on by among other things the media. If we are not seeking out nips and tucks for every part of our bodies, we are led to believe that there is no way we can ever be considered beautiful or desirable again.

Recently my son-in-law and daughter commented after a trip to St. Kitts that the people who seemed to be having the most fun were a large group of "blue hairs" who invaded the swimming pool with little or no regard as to how they looked in bathing suits (even bikinis). Apparently their raucous comments which included the word, Viagra, were accompanied by merriment and loud laughter! Obviously these people had found a way to live long enough to become an "embarrassment to their children" as they lived life to the fullest.

So where are you today my fellow aging classmates from the class of 1963? Are you going to take this aging thing lying down by giving in or giving up, or hiding your head in the sand hoping it will all go away. I say a resounding NO to that. It is time to take back our lives to assert ourselves as being vital, important , and fun. Will you say "bring it on" like Linda Kay and Jennifer? Will you adopt the philosophies of crabby, cranky,Maxine from those Hallmark Cards and join her in "snarkiness?" Will you spend your time wishing you were 16 or 20 again or will you admit that 60 is sexy and as some say now that 60 is the old 40?

As for myself, I am really really glad to be my age.
I would hate being young and naive, or facing life again without the experience and hindsight that I have today. I would hate not being a grandma.

Let me share with you my 10 commandments for the aging me!

1. I will never let my health issues and ailments be
my main topic of conversation, EVER!
2. I will be active everyday.
3. I will remember that I am not 30 or 40 anymore
so I won't hurt myself trying to act as if I am.
4. I will try not be become a burden to my children.
5. If I must become a burden to my children, I will do it with style and finesse.
6. I will learn to do something new everyday.
7. I will never lose my enthusiasm for experiencing new things
unless that new thing could put me in the hospital.
8. I will never use expressions like "in my day" or
"that's not the way we've always done it."
9. I will remember that wrinkles and lines really are a sign of experience and hopefully wisdom so I can be reminded to be grateful to be who I am, myself!
10. I will never let Jim wear black socks and dress shoes
with shorts and a tee shirt in public. (This commandment was initiated by Jim!)

Now in light of the above, it is my pleasure to share with you photos
that Darryl Morris has shared. While he is no longer the young man in the white jacket
that we see in our annuals, he definitely exemplifies the statement that "We are not getting older; We are getting better." Thank you Darryl for being brave enough to share with us in hopes that some of the others will do the same.

Here's "Papa" with granddaughter Louisa Claire Morris-Uebel. I'm wearing my typical "farmer's uniform." (I should get a big discount on haircuts, shouldn't I? )

And here's Sharon (on the right) with her sister and dearest friend Janell who died of cancer a year ago this past August.

The daughters of Darryl and Sharon.The three sisters during an amusing
moment: L-R: Debbie, Nicki, and Sharyl.
The reunion was held at the Wellington VFW hall, thus all the stars and stripes.

Darryl refers to their home as a Little Slice of Paradise

The Meadowlands

Seven acres that offer,among other things, wonderful peace of mind.

Darryl Morris: Musings and Memories ....

We received this missive to the blog from Darryl Morris, written before the "Noah" post, but only received afterward, and wanted to share it with all of you.

Dear Nicki,

Despite my very busy retirement life (Ha!), I’ve been checking your class blog occasionally and have thoroughly enjoyed reading all the posts and comments. You’ve done a really good thing by setting all this up to provide a venue for your classmates to relive fond memories and to keep in touch. I wish my own Quail High School Class of 1956 had done such a thing, but it’s too late for us to attempt it now. First of all, only a few of the remaining 17 members (from a class of 22) even have computers. Secondly, primarily due to health considerations, none would have the time or energy to maintain the project at the high level you’ve established in your own blog.

Although I am reluctant to “horn in” on the Class of 1963’s very special and very personal space, I have wanted for quite some time to express my gratitude for the nice remarks that you, Jennifer, Sheila Davis-Martinez, and Betty Smith Merritt have made about me. Despite my gratitude, however, I find it so very hard to believe that in my bumbling first efforts at teaching, I had the personal impact expressed in the aforementioned comments; and I find myself wondering what on earth I must have done to warrant such nice remarks. When I was teaching at CHS, I was, to tell the truth, very insecure about my qualifications; and I didn’t think I was doing anything out of the ordinary—I was just hoping I could find some way for my students to come to enjoy poetry, literature, and just learning things as much as I did. I generally went home every afternoon hoping I hadn’t made a fool of myself and hoping as well that I hadn’t somehow led some student astray. Regardless, I am most appreciative—and most humbled—by all that I have read.

Several names have come up in the various posts and comments that have triggered memories of my own, and I would like to touch upon them here. First, I saw the name of Bettye Shahan. During my senior year at Quail, we played baseball against Childress; and if I recall correctly, the Childress pitcher—and a good one he was—was named Bill Shahan. Is this her brother? I also remember that a fellow named F. A. Davis was a member of the Childress baseball team, but I think F. A. was probably in the class of ’56 or thereabouts.

I also noted Shirley Neel’s name. I remember that on one of my Army leaves, I visited my old high school buddy Dean Maxwell in Childress, and we had a night out at the Country Club. Two or three of my former students were there (I wish I could remember who they were), and we had a nice visit. One of them was Shirley Neel. And, if I remember correctly, someone talked Shirley into singing with the band that was playing that night. I think she sang a country song, although I can’t say for sure. What I do remember very clearly, however, is that I thought Shirley had a very, very good voice.

I’ve seen the names of Don Seal and Jimmy “Atlas” Czewski come up in the blog on a couple of occasions. I really enjoyed knowing those two characters. I remember that I used to pronounce Jimmy’s name as “C-zoosky” to see if I could get a rise out of him, but he took it very well. On one occasion he and Don Seal took me on a spelunking adventure through some gypsum caves in someone’s cow pasture. I thoroughly enjoyed the outing with those two fun-loving guys. I recalled the cave adventure when I was in Vietnam and performed one stint as a tunnel rat—which was not enjoyable.

I remember Barry Wakefield as an excellent speaker; and I also remember a couple of other “wild thangs” in my class: Chicken Mitchell and Doug Greer.

In his picture, Wayne Havens looks like he’s feeling great. Obviously he’s doing great as an educator. One of my graduating classmates from Quail was Bob Havens, who now lives in Clarendon. I wonder if they are relatives.

I’ve seen references to the Saieds in a couple of comments. Another group of the Saieds also lived in Wellington. Mack and Fred Saied owned and operated the Leader clothing store there in town. Mack has long been retired, but he and his wife Lam are both still very active in the community, with Mack being particularly active in the VFW. Fred Saied married Barbara Farha from Childress, and they moved to Kansas where Fred also had a clothing store until he passed away some years ago. Barbara went to North Texas State College, and I saw her quite often when I would travel from SMU to Denton to visit with a Wellington buddy named Don Rayburn. We spent a lot of time in the commons area of Barbara’s dormitory, just visiting and joking around with her and two or three of her college friends. I recently saw Barbara at a Wellington High School reunion, and she was still as lively and fun-loving as ever. I remember that I taught Barbara’s little sister (whose name I’m ashamed to say has just escaped me) during my last year at CHS.

I also coached the freshman boys basketball team during my last year there. I don’t think we won a game that season, but the blame rests on bad coaching alone since the young men on the team were definitely a talented bunch.

Congratulations to Jim on his induction into the Panhandle Sports Hall of Fame. One of our athletes from Quail High School is also a recent inductee. Her name is Jo Helen White Cabbell. She was an outstanding basketball player in high school, and she played with a team called Dowell’s Dolls when she was in college. Additionally, she was on the women’s basketball team which took gold in the 2^nd Pan American Games in 1955. I had the pleasure (and honor) of writing a letter of recommendation for her induction into the PSHF.

I’ve rambled on far too long, so I’ll bring this to a close. I just wanted to tell you how much I have enjoyed your blog and to congratulate you for the wonderful job you have done in setting it up and maintaining it. Jennifer’s posts and all other comments have also been a delight to read, and I hope that more and more members of your class will soon start making their own contributions.

Sincerely,

Darryl Morris

Monsters Among Us ....

For the past day or so, I have been using writing, both for the original Class of 1963 blog and the Las Vegas Reunion linked blog, to distract me, and my thoughts, from something terrible which happened over the weekend, and with which I am still trying to come to grips. I even alluded in a "Comment" yesterday to Nicki's "Traditions" post that as children, we were not aware that real monsters might lurk in the houses we visited to Trick or Treat so long ago. But my mind and my heart are unsettled, and torn, and I feel that there is a genuine warning, or at least a cautionary tale, to be rendered so that perhaps someone will not make the awful mistake that I recently made. What is upsetting me so is something that has happened to one of the innocents ... the sweet little dog Noah ... perpetrated by vile people ... "monsters" among us.

As some of you know, I made a recent trip to Clarendon; a few know that the trip was made to deliver Noah, a little shelter dog we had adopted, to my daughter Shannon, who had said she would take him when problems arose with Noah and our cats. We had become concerned because of the cats, who were afraid of him, and at whom he had begun to bark and charge. We think Noah just wanted to play with them, rather than hurt them, but we were not completely certain of that, and we felt a responsibility toward the cats as well as to him. So when Shannon said she would take him, we thought it was the best of all possible solutions. And so I went to Texas.

When I arrived after a two-day trip, Shannon told me that her friend and co-worker, Wes (cursed be his name!), really, really wanted to have a little house dog like Noah, and would I let Wes take him? Despite many misgivings, and with Shannon's assurances that he was a "good guy", I met with Wes and talked with him for a while about Noah and my concerns, and he assured me that he and his family would take wonderful care of Noah. I made him promise me, several times, that if for any reason it didn't work out, anything at all, he would return Noah to Shannon, who would try to integrate him with her dog ... but if that failed, for Shannon to call me and I would return for him. Wes agreed, as did Shannon, and Shannon confirmed to him that all he had to do was call her and she would take Noah ... and he agreed again ... and so, despite my misgivings, I left him in Wes' hands and returned here. But my mind remained uneasy about Noah, somehow, and I called Shannon every other day to ask her to call Wes and get a report about how Noah was doing. The word always came back that he was doing "GREAT!" And still I worried, although Yahn tried to tell me I was being silly.

Last Friday afternoon, I got a call from the Shelter Rescue group from whom I had adopted Noah, and had my heart nearly torn from my chest. Our sweet little Noah was in Phoenix (Phoenix, for god's sake, when I had left him two states away, in Clarendon, Texas) where he had apparently been abandoned, tied up outside an animal shelter that had been closed for four months. He was in kidney failure, obviously had not had enough to eat or enough water, and had sores on him because someone had shaved ALL the hair off him ... down to the skin, still raw and red in places ... even around his face and mouth!

I called Shannon to ask what the HELL had happened, particularly in light of the reports of how GREAT Noah was doing. She called Wes and then came back to me with some story about how the dog had run away and Wes didn't know what had happened to him. IF true, Wes apparently didn't care either. I asked why he hadn't called her, so they could go out driving and looking for him, maybe post fliers, and she apparently got the equivalent of a shrug from that s-o-b. I don't think Shannon really thought there was any problem and I do believe that she would never have been a participant in such an outrage.

I doubt that we will ever really know just what happened. Nevertheless, somehow Noah ended up in Phoenix ... someone had removed his collar and tags that I had left with him, probably to keep him from being identified. So there would have been NO tracing him at all if it had not been for the microchip implanted in his neck, which traced him back to the Rescue Shelter, which called me. We left for Phoenix early the next morning, and brought poor Noah back that same day, and every time I look at him, I start to cry.

Noah left here a happy, sweet, darling little thing who wanted nothing more than to love "his" people, and to be loved by them. He is now afraid, his eyes full of hurt and fear, even his dreams tormented by the terrible things that have happened to him. We are trying so hard to nurse and nurture him back to love and trust and health, but I fear it is going to be a while before he reaches that stage. He was happy to see me at the vet clinic in Phoenix, and he now sits again with me in my (our) chair at night ... but what has happened to him is unspeakable ... and I am just hoping so hard that he will recover and be a happy, loving little dog again. I feel so guilty for having left him in Clarendon ... I should have followed my heart and, if Shannon had changed her mind, brought him back with me. But I was misled by a glib young man who ... even if he or someone in his family didn't do such horrible damage (but I think they did) ... didn't think or care enough about an innocent soul to return him to good hands, and just drove (perhaps literally) Noah away.

I know some might say, "Well, jeez, it's only a dog" ... but it is the violation of trust and innocence as much as the actual things Noah may have suffered that is making me literally sick at my stomach and dark in my soul. I cannot imagine ... indeed to some degree I am pleased my imagination is not that depraved ... how anyone with a soul or a conscience could do such a thing to a helpless animal, or a helpless child, or anything or anyone who cannot defend itself. And I can't help thinking of Noah alone, in the dark, with no food or water, possibly with predators around him, unable to even flee if danger came. When we retrieved him and began the long drive back to Las Vegas, he was so afraid that he wouldn't lie down to rest, and would just fall asleep in the car, standing up. Yesterday he began lying down, although he sometimes thrashes and whimpers in his sleep. I don't know when (or if) Noah will recover fully ... and I don't know how long it will take before I am able to consign this event to a proper place ... in the past ... in my mind. And I don't know when my heart will stop breaking to think that I put him in such a situation.

Noah is "home" now, where I so wish he had never left ... and will stay with us ... and the cats. We will find some way, and I will not give in to any other entreaties to find him another home. I made a horrible mistake ... albeit with the best of intentions, but then you know where Good Intentions Road leads ... and Noah and Yahn (who also feels terribly guilty because he urged me to find another home for Noah) and I, and the cats, will have to deal with those repercussions for a long time to come.

If you haven't microchipped your beloved animals, I recommend doing so. We "did" the cats about a year ago, and it only cost $20 per cat. Our kitties are strictly "house cats", and our little Noah is a "house" dog, but there is the odd chance that one of them might escape through a door inadvertently left open. And as Noah has proved, the microchip can greatly facilitate the return of a lost and loved pet.

And I do so ask you to say a special prayer, or at least send a good thought (for that is a prayer, in essence) to little Noah, who SO did NOT deserve what has happened to him. And know that there are "monsters" all around us ... even in the guise of nice young men ... and be wary.

Perhaps this is not a proper story for a blog dedicated to the Class of 1963. But I thought that maybe if I could write about it, it might help ... even possibly help bring someone's cherished pet home someday. And maybe it will ... somehow, sometime .... And finally, when you consider donations to charities in the upcoming holiday season, or anytime, please think to give at least a small portion to the agencies who rescue the innocents, who surely must rely upon, and be lifted, and rest "in the arms of the angels ...."

Traditions

Yesterday morning I woke up after having spent a remarkable Halloween evening handing out candy to over a thousand little and not so little Trick or Treaters or in this case Trunk or Treaters. Jim and I had volunteered to be part of a group of over a hundred cars who would bring our vehicles to our church parking lot to give the little spooksters in our community an opportunity to have a safe Halloween. We decorated the bed of Jim's pickup with dancing ghosts and smiling jack o'lanterns, dressed all in black (Jim says we were having a Johnny Cash moment), and proceeded to take our place in the lines. For the next hour we had a steady stream of children and parents passing by. The fact that it was really really cold didn't seem to keep many at home! Happily our twelve year old grandson and his dad joined us and a good time was had by all. It was a treat for us to see all the cute costumes; however, as a grandma I had to cringe to see all the shivering children in flimsy outfits and no coats and the slightly dazed look in the eyes of all the tiny ones. Luckily we ran out of time and candy at about the same time.

I don't have to tell you that this experience was a far cry from what we as children experienced on those Halloween nights of long ago! We can all relate many stories of tricks and treats in that time of innocence and close communities.

When I did wake up the morning after, I was a bit shocked and a little dazed to realize that October, my favorite month, is over and November is here! Someone in the paper today related the astonishment that she felt when overnight, businessess had miraculously transformed from Halloween witches and pumpkins to turkeys and holiday glitter. That can only mean that Christmas shopping is imminent. As much as I love the holiday, I don't love Christmas shopping and that really puts a damper on my Christmas spirit, but somehow I always manage.

Thanksgiving remains one of my favorite times of the year--no shopping for gifts, just great food and good company. During the years that Jim coached basketball, it was traditional to have a basketball tournment during the Thanksgiving holidays, and the first games were held on Thanksgiving Day. Thanksgiving took on a whole new meaning that often did not include the wonderful dinners and family get togethers that we had enjoyed before. I rejoiced that with retirement we returned to a more traditional time. This year it will a little different as we head for Flower Mound to our daughter's house. We have observed that over the years, old traditions have been changed and new traditions have emerged allowing for the blending of multiple families.

Speaking of traditions, I would love to hear about holiday traditions that you and your families have shared over the years. Hearing these stories is a great way to keep up my flagging spirits as I become immersed in the holiday throngs. Over the next few weeks I am also going to try to share ideas that I have been given to keep the holidays less stressful and the focus on the true meaning of our celebrations. I hope you will share, too. This will also help me to re-focus when I forget that it isn't all about shopping!

I also enjoy hearing those memories of Halloween past.

One note, before I close. We have started a new blog for the purpose of sharing information about the upcoming class reunion in Las Vegas. On the right side of this post I have provided a link to the new reunion blog and I hope you will visit it often for new information. You can also check on the previous words "new reunion blog."

I look forward to your sharing of your family traditions and favorite memories.

Nicki