Just a thought....Part Two

I was so sad to hear that Larry Clifton had died. I didn’t know Larry very well at all, but with his death comes the realization that the opportunity to reconnect with him will never happen and we have all missed out on a chance to really know him and his life since we left Childress High School. It is obvious from his obituary and from Jennifer’s conversation with his wife and daughter that Larry was well loved and he will be missed by his family.

I join Jennifer in expressing my sympathy to everyone concerned. I am grateful that as two of his old classmates Jennifer and I are able to share this small tribute to him on the blog.

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It seems that no matter how much time passes or how far away we have gone, most of us are always happy to hear news about Childress. Jim and I still take the Childress Index and check it out each time it arrives to see what is taking place in the “city” where we spent much of our young lives. We are both so grateful that there are still young and older leaders in the community who continue to step up in order to ensure that Childress remains a viable place for families to live and raise their children. In the Lifestyles section of the Sunday, April 27 Amarillo Globe-News, Childress is featured for a couple of reasons. One article is entitled Childress looks to future, and can be read online at the Globe-News website. The article takes a look at the ways the Childress County Heritage Museum is working to preserve the history of Childress.

The other article concerns the search by the Childress Chamber of Commerce for a new slogan to replace the current slogan “Gateway to the Panhandle” in an effort to update the community image. There is a contest which will last to the middle of May to solicit suggestions for the new slogan. Interestingly enough many want to really promote Childress as a great place for hunting.

Additionally a bright red restored 1957 Chevrolet 210 coupe is being raffled off to raise money for the Renovations for the Palace Theater. 1,200 raffle tickets will be sold for $100 each. I have posted a picture and more information at Classic 1957 Chevy 210
in Short Notes.

From what we can gather from the good folks in Childress, the Childress Index, and the Amarillo Globe News, these are just a few examples of efforts to keep Childress growing and going! Kudos and a heart felt thanks to everyone. The Class of 1963 is grateful to still have a proud community to come home to.

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Many of you, especially the guys, probably remember Dick Risenhoover who coached many of your sports teams when you were just little guys. One of his legacies was to establish Kids Inc in Childress. Over the years, Jim has told me many Dick Risenhoover stories, and it is obvious that he is very grateful to have had someone so special as a role model. A website has been created to share stories, information and photos of Coach Risenhoover. Many of you will enjoy a visit to the site. I am grateful to Shelia Davis Martinez and Harold Simmons for sending the information to us. The tributes to Coach R. are multiplying on the ciculating emails.

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I am so grateful that we are having a gorgeous spring here in Amarillo. Despite the wind, the trees are sprouting leaves once more, the grass is green again, and the spring flowers have brought me so much pleasure this year. As I have mentioned in previous posts, we, for the first time planted bulbs and I have not been disappointed. It is so much fun to look outside every day to see what is new in the yard. We have seen red, yellow, purple, and pink tulips as well as many other colors and varieties of flowers. I am only sad that they don’t last longer. Jim couldn’t resist digging another flower bed for “me” so tomorrow we are off to have a great adventure selecting just the right plants. As always it is a challenge to make sure that the sun lovers are happy and the shade lovers are protected and so on. I am, also, grateful that both Jim and I enjoy our yard and that it is something we can still do for and with one another.

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For a few days the blog was awfully quiet. As we on occasion have been reminded, most everyone is too busy living life to have much time to look back. The greatest benefit for me of the Class of 1963 blogs has been the joy of hearing from so many people from our class. I love exchanging email with everyone and I love the anticipation of meeting face to face either in Las Vegas or at one of the mini-reunion dinners we would like to plan. To me this isn’t a matter of looking back, but rather looking forward to new or renewed friendships. Our lives can only be enriched by making the effort to reach out to old and new friends. Over the last few days we have heard from Patsy Poling Sledge and Sharon Malloy Smotherman Kelly. I am so grateful that they have taken the time read the blog and make comments. Both have promised to send bios to share with us and both are eager to reconnect with old friends.

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Today when I googled the phrase “being grateful” there were 3,150,000 results. Because I had a hard time selecting my final thought for this post, I have chosen three that I love:

"When a person doesn't have gratitude, something is missing in his or her humanity. A person can almost be defined by his or her attitude toward gratitude."-- Elie Wiesel

"Try leaving a friendly trail of little sparks of gratitude on your daily trips. You will be surprised how they will set small flames of friendship that will be rose beacons on your next visit."-- Dale Carnegie: How to Win Friends and Influence People

"Give thanks for a little and you will find a lot."-- Hausa proverb (Nigeria)

Just a thought

Yahn Smith: Razor Shards of Rat Puke ... Ho, Ho, Ho ....

Yahn Smith, Bossier High School 1964

As I read through the blog, I am constantly struck by the depth of friendship all of you share. As a "City Boy" I really liked the fact that my father moved around the country with the Civil Service. I was born in 1946 in Greenville, Texas but we moved every few years to another assignment. In 1951, when I was five, we moved to Galveston, where I went to elementary and junior high school. I grew up there on the beach. That was cool. The two friends that I was closest to in Galveston are now both dead.

We moved in 1960 to Bossier City, Louisiana when my father was attached to Barksdale Air Force Base. Bossier High School was primarily an Air Force school. We were not only segregated by race then, but by our father's rank as well. My father's civil service rank consigned me to the group of officers' kids, and officers' kids just didn't run around with NCO or enlisted men's kids. Families were transferring in and out all the time. I had a group that I hung out with in our subdivision, and I often crossed the "invisible line" and had friends in both groups. These kids were a pretty worldly bunch of teenagers, used to being uprooted with little notice and sent off to Japan or Germany or any other base where their father's services were needed. I think to some degree we all knew that it wasn't a real good idea to get too close to each other. None of us were ever as close as I think you guys were and are.

When I read about you guys knowing each other from pre-school and earlier, it's a bond that goes beyond simple friendship. You were part of a community, your parents knew each other, you all had certain shared experiences, and now even those of you who did not know each other very well way back then have a common bond. I cannot help but be a little envious.

In 1974, Jennifer and I were living in Dallas and we drove over to Bossier City to attend my ten year high school reunion. Even though Jennifer and I are the same age, I didn't get to skip grades as Jennifer did. I graduated in 1964. It was interesting to see some of the people. Mostly I went to see if any of the bad things I had wished on some of the "A Group" had come true. High school had not been one of the better experiences in my life, and many of my wishes actually had come true. The star football player, BMOC, was already a fat, balding used car salesman. The snobby cheerleader/homecoming queen had married badly, seemed to drink quite a lot, and was aging rapidly. Almost none of the people I had run around with were there. I've never tried to get in contact with any of them since. I guess I was sort of a loner and I knew that all any of us really had in common was a short lived physical proximity to each other.

That I was an artist (see above picture) also seemed to set me apart from a lot of people. I was unhappy and, within certain limits, rebellious in high school, so I was never going to be voted "Most Popular" or "Best Team Spirit". If you've ever seen the Kathleen Turner movie Peggy Sue Got Married, I was the teenage biker poet writing truly awful poetry: "Razor shards of rat puke raining down ...", etc. By 16, I thought that I was a "serious" beatnik. I went to Fellini films and stage productions of Shakespeare and Shaw over at Centenary College. Some of my friends and I staged spontaneous "Happenings" that maybe ten people would show up for. I ached to dress all in black (black turtleneck and black jeans, like "real" beatniks on TV and in the movies ... see picture below ... with goatee ... under "Season's Greetings from Glitter City") ... except my parents would never have permitted me to dress like that. Imagine a time when teenagers actually answered to their parents' wishes!

Oh, but I so wanted to be "cool". If we'd only had a coffee house in Bossier City for bad poetry readings and bongo rhythms. Not that I was "affected" or anything like that. I remember that I tore a picture of Lawrence Olivier as Hamlet out of TV Guide and took it to my barber. I wanted my hair cut just like his. I was already blond ... just short, little bangs, nothing over the ears or collar or, you know "weird" like that. I was 16 or 17 and he told me I would need a written note from my parents before he would cut anything as extreme as that. Remember, this was still pre-Beatles.

Your group's recollections seem so "American Graffiti" to me. Even though I was "the bad boy" that nice girls were forbidden to invite to their parties (they had to sneak me in the back door or hide me in a closet), we probably didn't get into any worse trouble than you guys did. A little beer, a little kissy-face, cruising around the Kokomo Drive-In (read your Dairy Mart) and up and down the Bossier City Strip which was lined with a pretty mean group of neon-covered nightclubs for the servicemen from Barksdale. We listened to KOMA out of OK City just like you guys, but somehow the atmosphere was very different. There was a security to Childress that was absent in my world. Jennifer had some less than wonderful memories of Childress ... I guess everyone had a lot to deal with growing up ... but she has come to appreciate growing up where she did. The Good,The Bad, and The Ugly ( I think there is a movie in there somewhere) ... it is still one of the things all of you should probably be grateful for, even if it wasn't always sunshine and roses.

Happy Holidays (again) to all ....

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(

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.