Collectively Drifting

From time to time we have all been subjected to viewing or hearing about an incident in which someone has been injured or attacked while by-standers look the other way and ignore the incident, refusing to offer assistance to the injured person. Recently, an incident occurred where an older man crossing a busy city street was struck by an automobile. While he lay dying in the street, passersby on the sidewalk and in the street failed to offer aid or even call 911 until several minutes had passed, apparently afraid that they were being “punked”. Unfortunately this has not been an isolated incident and we continue to hear more stories similar to this. Of course, the person in the car which struck the man did not stop either. At the time the story was in the news someone commented that we as a society have lost our “moral compass.” Interestingly enough, when I Googled “moral compass”, I found that there are any number of quizzes online ready for anyone who wishes to test his/her moral compass. Also, interestingly enough, I found that many of the Google hits combined “moral compass” with politics, advertising, or sex, but for now those are other stories.

It would seem that most of us equate moral compass with a code of ethics, values, beliefs or faith which we use to formulate a code of conduct for ourselves and our expectations for the behavior of other people. When this code of conduct is violated there is an immediate reaction of feeling very uncomfortable and inevitably, there is a need to rectify any actions that have been taken by correcting our behavior and/or apologizing. When we find ourselves accepting the behavior of someone who breaks our personal codes, we have to wonder if we are losing our moral compass while at the same time we become fearful that we are being “judgmental” or “intolerant” which once again leads back to our code of conduct or moral compass for ourselves and expectations for others and society as a whole. Now if this sounds confusing, I expect that many of us struggle with accepting a world in which there seem to be fewer and fewer guidelines for what is considered “acceptable” values and “rules” for behavior. It is easy to remember a time when good manners and concern for others was the norm rather than rude behavior and lack of caring for fellow humans. It is easy to remember when violence and blatant sexual behavior was forbidden on television, the movies and in public. It is easy to yearn for the “good old days” when life was much simpler and almost everyone shared a common code of behavior.

Today the norm for one’s life or behavior would seem to somewhat emulate the behavior of an ostrich hiding its head in the sand so it can’t see or be seen. Some would say that we as individuals and as a society have become too complacent and apathetic about what we do or what we see. It is just so much easier to ignore the present and look to a less painful or stressful time in our lives –the past. This phenomenon is referred to as a “collective drift” and it can occur when focus becomes rooted in the past of what used to be. We become lost in our memories and in reflecting on our memories until the past over shadows and outweighs the present and the future. We began to drift away from the reference point or anchors that constitute our core values that make us who we are. Taking it a step further the term is loosely defined as “when our memories of what used to be, exceed and outweigh our dreams, the end is near.”

A collective drift can occur in any setting-the work place, a family, a church, as well as the greater society. The collective drift is likely to occur during a time when we are lost in our memories and are so focused on “the good old days” that phrases such as “that’s not the way we used to do it”, “life was much simpler back then”, and “in my day”, constantly occupy our speech and thoughts until we give up and retreat from the present and any dreams for the future.

Behaviors attributed to someone on the verge of a collective drift could include: skipping events that they once valued for trivial reasons such as “Everyone else plays golf on Sunday morning so I can too” or "Working out is no fun."until the habit is lost and attendance is no longer important or “It’s too much trouble to learn to do this so I am just going to do it the old way” until a new method for teaching or working is abandoned one person at a time; “No one else takes 'green bags' to the grocery story so I'm not going to either"; "It is too inconvenient”; “It is a waste of time to recycle so I’m just forgetting about it"; Once again a retreat to the past is preferable to dreams for a better future.

Additionally, when negative thinking becomes a habit, a collective drift might be close at hand especially when the negativity spreads from person to person. Examples of “stinking thinking” that result in poor attitudes include:

"This is too much trouble."
"What’s the use!"
"It doesn’t really matter anyway."
"I am just one person and I can’t do it all."
"Let someone else do it."
"That’s not my problem."
And, of course, “ I really don’t want to get involved.”

Any of these statements, attitudes or actions often lead to collective drift away from some established core value or reference point—one person at a time. Basically individuals have stopped sharing, have stopped dreaming and have begun to focus on what “I need” rather than what “others need”. The person involved has lost heart and has forgotten the possibilities and visions for the future that were once held.

It seems to be especially easy for those of us in a certain age group, to find ourselves on the verge of a collective drift so we have to be especially vigilant to keep our memories in the proper perspective. Memories are important and necessary for everyone, but we have to remember not to live in the past or to get lost in our memories. Even at our age, our focus belongs on the present and the future. Our memories only serve us well as we continue to dream.

So much of our desire for a wonderful present and future depends on factors such as cultivating an attitude of being grateful and counting our blessings; seeking out like minded people who promote health and happiness rather than discontent and negative attitudes, continuing an attitude of service to others rather than an attitude of what can others do for me; continuing to use our gifts in positive ways of service and for personal happiness; maintaining an attitude of encouragement to others and by reminding ourselves and others about what is important, and by looking forward to tomorrow and the future and continuing to dream.

Sometimes it is necessary to get creative about dreaming and maintaining a hold on the present. We are never too old to have fun, to learn new things, to make new friends, to contact old friends, to love, to become a part of something, or to forget what is important to us.

Never stop dreaming!


note: The term "collective drift" comes from a sermon by Pastor Tommy Politz at Hillside Christian Church in Amarillo, TX.

Betty's Story

The following post is published at the request of our former classmate, Betty Smith Merritt. Previously we published a short Show and Tell biography of Betty. Today it is my priviledge to share more of Betty's story with you as she relates two heartbreaking events in her life through poetry. Recently we have used a lot of our blog space to talk about aging and about death. These two experiences in Betty's life present a new perspective for us to consider from the stand point of a survivor--a daughter, and a mother. One of the goals that has been established for this blog is to get re-acquainted with each other, the Class of 1963, and to reach out and extend comfort, love, and support to one another, to share our experiences and our strengths. That having been said, I give you Betty's Story.

My Story

As long as I can remember, I’ve loved putting words on paper. I like the way they look and feel. They give me great pleasure when I read them.

So I set out to write the greatest love story of all time - in the form of a contemporary romance novel. There were thousands of words inside my head just waiting to be written.

Then my heart got involved. I had an aneurysm on my Aorta and according to a handful of doctors, my chances for survival were slim… but they didn’t consult with my Great Physician…I did!

While recuperating, I was dismayed to discover that all those lovely words were gone. I couldn’t concentrate long enough to make a plot thicken and jell.

So I ask the Master to give me back the words…And He did …just not in the form I expected! I’d never written poetry and quite frankly, don’t know how.
I just hold the pen and listen to His voice in my heart.

At first, I was very upset and full of regret because I had three novels in various stages of completion and a Harlequin contract waiting to be signed!

After a lot of mental anguish and prayer, the light bulb finally came on and I realized He’d given me exactly what I’d asked for…The words to write the greatest Love Story of all time! It’s His Story, not mine…


Betty Merritt
December 1995

"My Story" which is the last page of each book of poetry I've written. It's something I've shared consistently since 1995 because I'm convinced there's a reason God wasn't finished with me yet!

That Old Man Around Town

Betty Merritt

With an old black felt hat
Pulled low across his brow
No matter what the weather
He’d walk for hour after hour

Collecting bits and pieces
Searching for the unknown
Finding the unexpected
He’d take his treasures home

Sometimes he’d tap his forehead and say
His mind wasn’t what it used to be
Locked away in the world of Alzheimer’s
He knew neither you nor me

He had the understanding of a child
And a body grown fail and old
But God saw inside his heart and knew
All was well with his soul

"That Ole Man" and "The Strong One" are about my dad before his death on December 9, 2000 from Alzheimer's. There were so many times when I had to wonder exactly who the strong one really was during that time. Most of the time, I could tell he had no clue who I was; he actually called me the "VA Lady" because of all the paperwork I had to do, mostly concerning the VA. And then there were moments of complete clarity when I knew he understood exactly what was happening.

The Strong One

Betty Merritt

She took his frail, old hand
And led him down the long hallway
Both trembled as she said softly
“Daddy, this is where we want you to stay”

The time had come and gone for him to live alone
And it was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do
But she believed it was for the best as she said
“We’ve found someone to take good care of you”

He wiped a tear from his faded old blue eyes
And said they were bothering him some
But squeezed her hand when she said
“We’ve worked hard to find you a new home”

She tried to be brave
But it took every ounce of courage that she had
As she showed him around the room and asked
“You’ll be alright here, won’t you, Dad?”

For a moment, understanding glimmered in his eyes
As he said “Sometimes it’s hard to do what you have to do”
And before the glimmer faded, he smiled and said
“I’m mighty proud of you”

Then with the blink of a eye
Without a care in the world
He turned and walked away
Forgetting she was his little girl

One More Day With You…

Betty Merritt

O, precious child of mine
O, how I love you so
My prayers are so confused
As I watch you suffer
Yet pray that you won’t go

While with the next breath
I pray for death’s release
Because I know you’ll be better off
In God’s care than mine
Where you’ll know sweet relief

My heart aches for you
As you struggle to live
And I ask God time and again
If there’s any way, to spare you
For you have so much love left to give

In desperation, I fall to my knees
And pray that God’s will be done
Thankful for one more day with you
One more chance to see your smile
Regardless of the heartache yet to come

Today, you’re with me
You’ll know how much I love you
By the touch of your Mother’s hands
And I thank God sincerely for
One more day with you

The last two, "One More Day with You" and "The Lost Child" are about my oldest daughter, Andrea, written while I was her hospice care provider before her death from cancer on January 19, 2006. As you can imagine, those 75 days were both the biggest blessing of my life and the worst thing I've ever gone through. If ever I doubted God's Amazing Grace, Power and Love, those doubts were erased forever and I came away with the rock solid belief that "God's Will won't take you where His Grace can't keep you!"

The Lost Child

Betty Merritt

The most horrible feeling
For a mother is to lose a child
Even for a moment, while they
Innocently play hide and seek
She’s gripped by terror
As her imagination runs wild

Her instincts tell her
As long as they’re in sight
She can protect them from harm
But the second they disappear
Her heart is filled with fright

I lost my child today.
She left on a journey all her own,
Out of my sight forever when with a final breath
She released my hand and took God’s
To walk with Him toward home

As my mother’s heart screamed
No! Hold on to my hand, not His..
His gentle, loving spirit whispered:
How can you say you lost a child
When you know where she is?

Thanks so much for all you do, Nicki. I've discovered some wonderful people because you and Jennifer took the time and made the effort to provide all of us in the Class of '63 with a place to reconnect.

Fog ... Terra Incognita ... and Satori ....

Shinto "floating" Torii at Itsukushima, Miyajima Island, Japan

Sometimes it's hard to talk about significant, delicate issues. Sometimes it's hard to read about them. Sometimes it is hard to open (or carry on) a discussion of potentially touchy subjects many of us would prefer remain in abeyance. This is one of those times ... one of those subjects ... one of those posts ... and no, it's not about politics.... (grin)

Visualize (from memory or imagination): A nebular dreamscape ... a familiar, generic metaphor for our inescapable yet existential lifescape. We are alone in the scene, of course, conscious on some deeper level of the essentially solitary nature of our being, though we know there are others, kindred souls and spirits ... and perhaps others not so kindred ... out there somewhere. Imagine the landscape in chiaroscuro ... "the middle ground between light and shadow" (with a nod to Rod Serling) ... pallid sunlight giving way to shade, shadows fading to deepest ebony, bordered by gray moist curling tendrils of mist and fog ... not unlike the scene in Gone With the Wind when Scarlett realizes that she is really in love with ... has loved all along ... her long-suffering knight errant Rhett Butler ... and she runs to him through a clinging, clutching, grasping fog ... only to learn after her harrowing sprint that he really no longer gives a damn, and that her enlightening epiphany has come too late. But I digress....

Each of us has traversed such fog ... or experienced the sensation of being resident in a camera obscura ... alone and vulnerable, enveloped in suffocating darkness, the world tilted crazily ... flashing from light to dark, or dark to light, and back again. You look for familiar landmarks to show the way or mark the path. Behind you, a sound ... what???? You turn and look, but there is nothing there ... or at least your eyes fail to register another presence.... But...? You stop for a minute, listening, straining for any sound in the half-light ... but there is nothing.... Is it nothing?

You walk on, reluctantly but ineluctably quickening your pace, listening.... There ... again.... A quick succession of small sounds, stopping you in your tracks ... and freezing those echoing, trailing steps in the same moment. Something is there ... something is stalking you ... unknown but implacable. You resist the urge to call out "Hello?" because maybe it hasn't seen you, doesn't yet know that you are ahead. And if somehow you've escaped its notice, you don't want to draw its attention....

Rooted to the spot, you strain your eyes, your ears, all your senses ... something (what? what?) just outside your ken. Waiting.... You move, oh so slowly, cautiously, deliberately ... feel inside your pockets, your purse ... is there any small protection, some beneficent talisman, you might find there? Finally, whistling through the unseen graveyard, muttering incantations against the darkness, you casually saunter away ... then moving faster, faster.... And the sound ... now just behind you, so close ... your mind leaps, your heart pounds ... and your brain sends the message to your feet that they should be pounding too ... get away ... get away ... but you are transfixed ... and that sound, that thing, is coming closer. You don't know if it's something good or bad ... you just know that it's unknown ... and you must find safety, escape, surcease.... Where is home? Your car? Perhaps you can swiftly drive away before it catches you.... Where is safety? What is safe? Where ... and who ... are you???



Top of the Golden Gate Bridge, San Francisco, in the fog

There! At the signpost up ahead ('nother nod to Rod) ... that thing ... that stalker ... pursuing you so relentlessly through the fog.... You see it now ... in the mirror ... just over your shoulder ... under your eyes.... Agggghhhhh!

It's age!!!! And anyone reading this blog, this post, will have at least made its acquaintance, if not be (literally) old and comfortable friends with it by now.

Inescapable Truth: Age happens, people ... except to those who in the alternative die tragically young, perhaps leaving a beautiful corpse, but with so much of life and its promises unfulfilled. We can't change it, or bargain with it (Dorian Gray and his portrait notwithstanding), or finesse the game. It comes to (and for) all of us. The best we can do is make peace with it ... accept it as a gift that we have been given ... learn to laugh at the vicissitudes it unrelentingly visits upon us and the life lessons it insists we learn.

As I muse on these things (and play with the words), I wryly recall two specific times in my life when I was suddenly, without preface or real warning, confronted with the fact that I was actually getting older ... like my parents ... like my grandparents (eeeek!) ... that I would not somehow magically live forever, glowing with the light (and blissful ignorance) of youth. (Note: when I graduated from CHS, my grandparents were 63 years old, having been born in 1900. I will be 62 in October.)

I remember my first "awakening" so well. I was 24 years old, working at Crawford & Company in Dallas and three of us were "eating in" on that particular day. My co-worker Carolyn was two years older than I, but we had lived through adolescence during the same time and had much shared cultural experience. The other girl was Tracy, recently hired at the company just out of high school ... probably 18 years old. I can see us so clearly, sitting around the table eating our sandwiches, Carolyn and I dominating the conversation with a lot of "Do you remember...?" Poodle skirts ... Elvis Presley on Ed Sullivan's show (where he was cropped at the waist to keep our parents from getting All Shook Up) ... Chuck Berry and Buddy Holly and Jerry Lee Lewis and Little Richard and the Platters ... "Your Hit Parade" and the early days of "American Bandstand" with Justine and Bobby and Arlene and Kenny ... bobby socks ... saddle oxfords ... penny loafers ... rolled up blue jeans ... doing "The Stroll" and "The Twist" and "The Watusi" ... back-combed bubbles with velvet bows....

Dick Clark, American Bandstand

Carolyn and I were rapid-firing memories back and forth, laughing and having a great time ... and then I looked over at Tracy, and she was sitting there with her mouth open, eyes wide, looking at the two of us like we had just beamed down from the Starship Enterprise ... listening to us reminisce about things of which she had no knowledge and absolutely no frame of reference. And I remember thinking ... so distinctly ... "My God, I'm getting old!" Strange new thought.... Brave new world.... And then I put the idea out of my mind, as some anomalous and not very welcome spectral visitor ... and resumed the conversation.... And it was about four years before I revisited that terra incognita....

In October 1975, I had my 29th birthday ... I cannot say I celebrated it ... and it was the most depressing birthday I have ever had. I recall so clearly being morose for that entire year before I mercifully turned 30 and extricated myself from the grip of that wretched, stifling malaise. No matter how I tried to look at it ... no matter that I told myself I was being totally ridiculous and melodramatically melancholy ... no matter that I joked about "considering the alternative" ... and despite Yahn's bemused but unwavering, loving support ... I felt despondent every time I thought about the fact that I was 29!

Age 29 marked a fundamental shift in my vision of myself as a young person ... an immortal youth. After the 29th, reaching 30 was (for me) a piece of cake. And I have sailed through all of the other yearly milestones that resonate more deeply with others, or strike some with particular force and poignancy. I've heard from many people over the years that their 30th birthday was particularly difficult ... or their 40th ... or their 50th ... need I mention the 60th .. and beyond?

I know that many of you have your own stories to share, of your own intimations of mortality and maturity ... and we would love to hear from you about your own moments of truth and clarity ... the birthdays or other days that affected you in meaningful ways, that caused you to confront your advancing age ... whether those days were hard, or sobering, or funny ... the life lessons you learned, the insight you gained, and anything else about your significant days or moments in time.

As we racket noisily and sometimes bumptiously through the fog of life, we are blessed to find others who ease our passage, who care, who quiet our souls and soothe our minds with compassion and empathy ... "fellow travelers" to borrow a phrase which had an entirely different meaning in a very different time long, long ago. Many of us have (or had) supportive spouses or significant others, most of us have children, we all have friends ... but, but ... we also have each other.

We were classmates 45+ years ago at Childress High School ... diverse and distinct, yet bound then as now by commonalities of life experience and history. And we are still classmates in the science lab of life ... ... sometimes poking and dissecting and analyzing each other ... but also supporting and reaching out to each other as we together tend the Bunsen burner to light our way through the darkness. (I don't think until I wrote these lines that I ever imagined seeing life as analogous to dead and dismembered frogs in Richard Couch's Biology class ... but sometimes you just go where the metaphor leads you.)

When I think of the passing of time, and of life, of the days figuratively growing shorter in the "autumn of our years", I am reminded of Shakespeare's words (spoken by Lysander) in A Midsummer Night's Dream:

Swift as a shadow, short as any dream;
Brief as the lightning in the collied night.

Lysander was speaking of true love that "never did run smooth" ... but I believe the words are equally applicable to life itself. "Life is short" is more than just a cliche. It is a cautionary bedrock truth ... otherwise it would never have made it to the status of "cliche". We are all in transit on the journeys of our lives; we laugh, we love, we have days of unalloyed joy, and nights of peace and serenity, and times of trial and stabs of pain and sadness and regret. In other words ... we live ... and if we are aware, we learn to cherish our families and friends, and nurture and grow our knowledge for use in lives to come. And eventually ... through the years, through the lives, if we are lucky and introspective and wise, we reach the state the Japanese call satori ... enlightenment. Or, as Tan Twan Eng wrote in The Gift of Rain:

... for the briefest moment I saw how everything and everyone and every time was connected in some manner. A golden light brighter than the sun filled my room, and it was all so very clear, so lucid, that I let out a soft sigh and closed my eyes, hoping to capture it in the memory of my heart. I felt completely at peace, ascending higher and higher in an all-encompassing understanding. I saw it all, everything, from beginning to end and then to a new beginning again. And after a moment of eternity it was gone, that complete clarity and total contentment, and though I did not know it then, I would search for it for the rest of my life....

Endo-san stared at me with unmoving eyes. "Satori," he wispered.

Satori, indeed....

)O(

The Times of Our Lives: Dreams ... Audacity ... and Drive-Ins....

History was written this past week ... indeed, has been in continuous composition (and rewrite) since Senators Hillary Rodham Clinton and Barack Obama formally announced their candidacies for the Democratic Presidential nomination. For someone who graduated from a segregated high school 45 years ago, at a time when there were less than 500 licensed practicing female attorneys in the State of Texas (many of whom were actually prohibited by misogynistic judges from arguing their own cases in court), the milestones marked in this country, in this election season, have been almost mind-boggling and certainly transcendental, heralding a seismic shift in the zeitgeist and the prevailing demographic. Some would say such things are long past due ... and I am sure that there are many who thought that such things would not be possible during our lifetimes.

We've come a long way from Coach Joe Warren's history class, where it was posited casually by one classmate (and enthusiastically seconded by a couple of others) that "open season" should be declared if Childress High School were integrated ... and from a time when the apex of achievement for a woman was to be a wife and mother, or if one must work, a teacher or a nurse. This past week has been pregnant with history ... and as an unapologetic and unregenerate history junkie, I am giddily cognizant of the strides (and leaps and bounds) it has taken to reach this time and place, and the significance of the journey.

On August 28, 1963, soon after our graduation from CHS, at a time when interracial marriage was still illegal in many states, and when civil rights were not necessarily guaranteed for the poor, the female or the "different", Martin Luther King, Jr. delivered his amazing I Have a Dream speech at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C.:

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal." I have a dream that one day ... the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood. ... I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

King's speech, his eloquent, elegant words delivered with cadenced confidence as he articulated his dream ... stirred and inspired me even then, literally raising goose flesh on my arms as I listened. I still believe it is one of the finest speeches ever made in America, by an American ... right up there with Abraham Lincoln's Gettysburg Address ... and Franklin D. Roosevelt's "All we have to fear is fear itself" ... and John F. Kennedy's "Ask not what your country can do for you" ... and Robert F. Kennedy's "I dream things that never were, and ask 'Why not'?"

On Tuesday June 3, Senator Obama attained the number of delegates necessary to become the presumptive nominee of the Democratic Party in the November 4 Presidential election. He stands firmly and deservedly on history's stage, despite efforts by some of the savviest, slickest politicians in the business to knock him down, and in spite of spurious, scurrilous e-mail and Internet campaigns generated and kept alive by hate- and fear-mongers, attempting (and unfortunately sometimes, in some dark corners, succeeding) to sell the total hogwash that Senator Obama is a Muslim (he isn't), was schooled in a radical madrassa (he wasn't) and has the middle name "Hussein" (true, but completely irrelevant). One of the most unbelievably ignorant sound bites I heard after the West Virginia Democratic primary was a woman who said she'd voted for Hillary Clinton because Obama's middle name was "Hussein" and she'd had enough of "HOOO-sane" ... as if she would have been voting for Saddam Hussein. Jeez ... get a grip ... a clue ... maybe a book or two.... But I digress....

In the interests of full disclosure, it is incumbent upon me to tell you that I have been inspired by Senator Obama ever since I heard him give the keynote address at the Democratic Convention on July 27, 2004 in Boston. I was absolutely transfixed by his The Audacity of Hope speech:

Hope -- Hope in the face of difficulty. Hope in the face of uncertainty. The audacity of hope! In the end, that is God's greatest gift to us, the bedrock of this nation. A belief in things not seen. A belief that there are better days ahead. I believe that we can give our middle class relief and provide working families with a road to opportunity. I believe we can provide jobs to the jobless, homes to the homeless, and reclaim young people in cities across America from violence and despair. I believe that we have a righteous wind at our backs and that as we stand on the crossroads of history, we can make the right choices, and meet the challenges that face us.

Until July 2004 I had never heard of Barack Obama. But as I watched and listened to him, felt his almost tangible "connection" with his audience and drank in his soaring words and moving thoughts, a shiver ran through me. I turned to Yahn and announced: "You're going to think I'm crazy, but I believe I am looking at the next President of the United States." Yahn gave me one of his indulgent smiles (he is used to my enthusiasms as well as my prognostications), and opined that although it had been a wonderful speech, it was highly unlikely that an unknown biracial (black) man would rise from relative obscurity in four short years to become a serious contender for the Presidency ... particularly with Hillary Clinton already none too subtly warming up in the wings. I even conceded then that Yahn was probably right ... I had just taken a wild notion ... and yet I could not shake the intense feeling that had possessed me....

Fittingly and symmetrically, absent some unforeseen circumstance, Senator Obama will accept the nomination of his party on August 28, the 45th anniversary of King's speech....

It is also more than worthy of note that Senator Clinton came very close to becoming the first woman to be the Presidential nominee of a major political party, making the possibility of a female President within our lifetimes more than just wishful thinking.

Anniversaries were also marked this past week, three of them occurring on June 6:

★ 64 years from D-Day, the heroic invasion by U.S. and British troops of the beaches of Normandy, which with Russian advances on the Eastern Front ultimately sealed the fate of Nazi Germany and its deranged leader, Adolf Hitler (any mention of which was oddly absent from the national newscasts I watched);

★ 40 years since the death by assassination of Senator Robert F. Kennedy, who sought to bring an end to the controversial war in Vietnam; and

★ on a more whimsical note, the 75th anniversary of the opening of the first drive-in movie theater in Camden, New Jersey.

I haven't been to a drive-in for literally decades and in fact there are precious few remaining (although I understand the one in Clarendon is still open on weekends). But I have memories of the Drive-In outside Childress, which figured prominently in my childhood and adolescence. It was a treat almost every summer weekend to go to the Drive-In, either packing sandwiches and snacks, or indulging in the cholesterol-laden, greasy yet irresistible offerings from the concession stand. Sometimes we'd spread a quilt on the hood of the car, or on the ground, and watch the movie of the moment under those "Deep in the Heart of Texas" stars. The girls and I also roamed the "aisles" talking and gossiping, checking out the carloads of the guys cruising back and forth, checking us out in return.



The Drive-In double features served up horror films like Teenagers from Outer Space (featuring a dead lobster as the "monster" and taglines such as "Thrill-Crazed Space Kids on a Ray Gun Rampage!!!") ... and Gorgo (the mother-monster just wanted her baby back!) ... and Godzilla and Mothra and various combinations and permutations thereof ... including arguably the most egregiously awful movie of all time, 1958's Plan 9 From Outer Space. Conceived and directed by the notorious Edward D. Wood, Jr., featuring (among others) Maila "Vampira" Nurmi and Tor Johnson, the film gave star billing to Bela Lugosi, the "classic" Dracula before Christopher Lee (and later Frank Langella ... sigh) came along. Lugosi had fallen on really hard times when he agreed to do Plan 9, and gave up the ghost (literally) after filming one scene ... possibly after seeing the first rushes ... so the filmmakers improvised by having a stand-in skulk around behind a cloak for the rest of the movie, and by culling and interspersing shots from Lugosi's earlier films.

There was the usual line-up of teen-targeted hormonaganzas like Because They're Young (taken from John Farris' cheesy novel Harrison High, starring Dick Clark as a teacher and Michael Callan as the good-looking but severely troubled bad boy), High School Confidential with Russ Tamblyn and John Drew Barrymore (son of John, father of Drew), Drag Strip Girl with John Ashley (a perennial of the genre and briefly a husband of one of the Gidgets), and the testosterone-fueled Thunder Road, starring Robert Mitchum (who also sang the title song). I also remember seeing Alfred Hitchcock's controversial blockbuster Psycho there, since Phipps-Layton Theaters' managment considered it too risque (with Janet Leigh's putatively nude shower murder scene) to be screened at the downtown Palace. Like many people, it was years after that film before I was able to take a shower without locking and barricading the bathroom door.

The last drive-in I attended was the old three screen (!!!!) Jupiter in Dallas during the early years of Yahn's and my marriage. For the princely sum of $1.00 a carload on weekends, we could go and watch (mostly bad) movies all night long (the "From Dusk to Dawn" marathons that inspired Robert Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino to riff on the gimmick with their 1996 vampire flick starring George Clooney). We saw such memorable fare as Count Yorga, Vampire, and Night of the Living Dead, which scared the bejabbers out of me (something about those implacable, mindless, robotic, hungry zombies ... brrrrrr), Clint Eastwood spaghetti westerns, James Bond films, Avalon-Funicello Beach Party romps, and laughable "counter-cultural" fever-dream embarrassments like The Trip, starring Peter Fonda, concocted and produced by middle-aged, middle-brow film executives hoping to tap into the energy of the youthquake.

One Friday night in 1970, we headed for the Jupiter, having determined that the principal offerings presented separately but equally on each of the main screens were Beneath the Planet of the Apes, Two Mules for Sister Sara and Born Losers. As we turned onto the property, we saw the separate marquees for the diverse screens ... offering the (one word) designation with directional arrows pointing the way for ... Apes ... Mules ... or Losers.... We fell out laughing ... but I still haven't decided whether the marquees were just signs ... or some sort of weird, cosmic Dostoyevskian judgment....

)O(

A Taste of Summer

I was absolutely stunned when I realized that June had arrived. I mean really, in my mind we still have not closed May so how can it be June? Perhaps it all has to do with the fact that we did not have those April or May showers so the flowers are already looking sad and tired. Of course the fact that we have “enjoyed” three days of temperatures of over 100 degrees accompanied by searing hot winds and dirt could have something to do with it. I believe that it was 108 in Childress yesterday.

Both of our grandsons are out of school now and they are looking forward to a wonderful summer. Jordie and Jim have hit the golf course despite the weather, and Cole has just returned from a trip to Orlando where he enjoyed the hotel’s lazy river and trips to Disney World. Next week he is off to Cancun with his parents. When he is home, he has a great pool in the backyard. Jordie is still playing baseball and Cole is going to experience his first time in track. Despite all of this activity both boys are prone to becoming “bored” very easily when not engaged in something that they enjoy so we plan swimming trips, science camps and other activities designed to keep them entertained.

Cole's pizza shaped veggie and herb garden

I think back to my summers when I was in school and I remember so may lazy times spent reading while lying on my bed with the windows open and a cool breeze blowing through, and though I am sure on occasion my brothers and I were bored, we dared not express that feeling or we might find ourselves in the field chopping weeds in the cotton. Keeping us entertained had a far different connotation then!

When we were younger and still living on the farm in Muleshoe, I can still remember our Dad coming in from the fields at noon and dropping a watermelon from the garden in the irrigation ditch which was filled with icy water. Later in the afternoon he came home for a break. Out came the watermelon and we spent time in the shade of a big tree in the front yard enjoying this sweet treat and spitting seeds across the lawn. Most days he would also bring a large burlap sack of freshly picked corn and dump it on the lawn where we would all gather to shuck the ears and Mother would cook it for our dinner that night. By the way at that time it was supper because at noon we had a huge meal (dinner) that my mother spent hours cooking for the family and the “hands” in the fields. Rarely did a week pass without our dad pulling out the ice cream freezer (the kind you had to turn the crank) and treating everyone to homemade ice cream.

I realize now that summers were really hard on Mother. Cooking on a farm for multiple people, keeping house (I helped in the summers), ironing clothes for everyone, (remember starch not in a can), and in addition we always had a big vegetable garden which led to canning and freezing. To this day, I feel guilty if I don’t grow something edible in our garden. I have six tomato plants in the alley along with the flowers.

In the evenings we often spread a big blanket on the lawn and we would lie on our backs and watch the stars. I was awestruck at the sight of the Milky Way. Okay, you have to remember that we didn’t have television or a computer at that time, but it must have made a big impression on me as I still remember those moments very vividly.

There is no doubt that summer was a much less organized time with plenty of opportunities for us to just be kids free to roam and play. We lived way out in the country until I was a freshman in high school so a social life was not in the cards for us until we moved to town.

As we got older, I remember lots of summer evenings spent with friends dragging main and sitting at the Dairy Mart both in Muleshoe and in Childress. Sadly, I also remember the hours and hours spent lying out at the pool or in the backyard slathered in tanning lotion and at times baby oil and iodine so I could get a good tan. Needless to say those of us who engaged in this practice have paid a high price for vanity. On the other hand, I also remember that on those times that Mother took us to Clovis to swim, I always got to have a Snickers bar when it was time to go home.

Even now, with retirement, summer is still something to be savored for us. We do look forward to grilling the hamburgers, steaks, chicken and veggies. Well, actually we look forward to eating! There is always the ongoing debate about whether things taste better barbequed on a charcoal grill or grilled on a propane grill. However, it doesn’t seem to matter when it is time to eat. It is so great to gather in the backyard and on the deck when it is possible to avoid flies and mosquitoes.

With all this reflection on summers past and the great things we look forward to in our backyard in the summer, it occurs to me that perhaps we have a great recipe for taking a backyard vacation. Gas prices are high and the cost of everything has skyrocketed beyond reason. Maybe we can borrow some of the things that we loved most about summer and have a spectacular time for much less. Bring out the mosquito spray, the sunscreen, and the ice cream freezer (electric please). Fire up the grill, throw on the hot dogs and invite your favorite people. Don’t forget the blanket for star gazing. Perhaps a hammock for Jim for Father’s Day is in order. Of course, it has to be big enough for Jim, me and the 3 cats.

By the time summer is a reality, I hope that the weather will be much calmer and that we have been blessed with soaking rain to perk up the lawns and the gardens. Most of all I hope that we all take the time to remember and to share the joys and the taste of summers past, today!

Take me out to the ballgame. Jordie at bat