Looking Back

Very recently on her blog, my mother posted remembrances of the first house she lived in back in Aubrey. The small details that she remembered jogged my memory and made me think of things long stored away in the recesses of my mind. I grew up in a brick, Ranch style house on the outskirts of Aubrey, AR. I could write at length regarding things that stand out in my mind from my child hood there, but there are a few things worthy of public dissemination. My carpet was lime green. It wasn't a terrible lime green, but it was pretty loud. I was forever attempting to load my BB gun in my bedroom. I never managed to get all the BBs into the gun. They invariably fell into the carpet causing my mother to go on at length about how tired she was at having to vaccum up BBs every time she cleaned. I remember the day my parents got new recliners. They old ones had lived long past their usefulness. Dad lectured us all about how we were to leave them alone and not tear them up. He was going to have this chair for a long time. The next night, Dad sat down in his new recliner, recline in it, and leaned back too far. The base split down the middle and he rolled over backwards in his brand new, useless recliner. I remember thinking how funny it was then that nothing at all was said. I still think my life may have ended had I done that to his new chair.

I remember playing in the rain outside the carport in the water puddles with my brother and sister and having a blast. I can remember Mom under the carport looking on in amusement and dad out in the rain with a shovel digging ditches trying to get the water out of the driveway while lamenting and ranting about the fact that he had built our house in a hole. I remember sitting around the dinner table on Sunday nights after church. Sometimes we would order pizza and Mom and Dad would tell stories about growing up. I heard the tales of their childhood friends, stories of the Poe brothers, the Leonard cousins, and different times my parents got into trouble. I enjoyed the nights when we watched America's Funniest Home Videos (back when Bob Saget hosted), but the nights around the table were best. I used to sit there and pray they wouldn't notice bed time had arrived so I could hear one more story. I would try so hard to remember them because I knew there was no way I could ever develop such a repertoire of fine stories.

I remember Mom leaving me a $5 bill on the counter with a note telling she loved me. She knew I didn't have the money for gas in college. The $5 was nice, but I still have the notes. They're still worth more than the money, even with inflation factored in.

I remember looking up at the stars with Dad at 2 a.m. after getting back from a horseshow. The sky was so clear at night that it felt like you could reach up and pull yourself into the Milky Way. I still think about him when the sky's clear and you can see every star in the sky.

The stories could go on and on. I could write about all the time I spent out in the barn having shootouts with John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, and all the villains of the American West, sitting on the couch with Mom talking about my latest teen disaster, or hiding in my closet after I heard Dad's truck pull into the driveway after Mom had said, "Wait until your father gets home."

The house is still there, but Mom and Dad don't live there. My grandparents moved in after we left and made it there own. It doesn't look like it did when we lived there. That's not a bad thing, it's there house and they live there now. Not everything changed though. When I go visit, I stay in the guest bedroom, my old room. The paint is different, and so is the furniture. The only remnant of the room I slept in for 20 years is the ceiling fan. I can lay down in that strange bed, turn off the lights and turn on the ceiling fan. It still clicks and moves like it did for 20 years. As I lay there in the dark with only a ceiling fan to remind me, those memories aren't as far away as I thought. Some make me laugh and some make me cry, but most make me do both at the same time, the latter a result of the former. All in all, an excellent childhood I do believe.

Relativity . . .

What can I say . . . time is relative. I have sat here in this very chair on numerous occasions and watched each minute pass in painstaking agony. I set here today, and I think that if I had a old clock on my desk right now the hands would be like an oscillating fan. 15 minutes left in a 4 year stint with Arkansas State Parks. Those bad days in the past where I could have quit and walked out the door never to look back again seem so far away. I remember the good times now. I know I have to go, but that doesn't make this any easier.

When I was a young boy, I always used to wonder why people would decide to move away and then cry about it before they left. It seemed so silly to me then. Just stay where you are. I can't say that I understand it any better now than I did when I watched my Mother cry as an old friend moved away, yet here I stand about to walk out the door, out of what is comfortable and into everything that is foreign. The past seems so clear and the future so murky.

I feel like Indiana Jones, poised above the precipice, holy grail within reach. I'm going to take the step . . .

Peanut butter pie and community tables

The simple pleasures in life often amaze me. Today I went to lunch at Renee's, a small diner in Black Rock, AR. In many ways it's the hub of the community. You can go in and sit alone in one of the old booths that line the walls of the diner if you wish, or you can be daring and choose to sit at one of the many community tables in the center of the room. You take a big chance when you choose to dine in one of these tables. In the center of the room, three mismatched kitchen tables rest in no particular position. At these tables you never know who may sit next to you. Today I just so happened to sit next to the Chief of Police and the Fire Chief. Tell me,
where in New York or San Francisco will you ever be able to accomplish a feat so grand as that?

Now if you sit at the community table you have to be prepared for the conversation that will accompany your decision. If you came prepared to discuss astrophysics or even exchange intelligent political banter you would find yourself ill prepared for the conversation that would ensue. Today's discussion revolved around the shocks located on the front of a Ford Crown Victoria and the little tool you need to remove the old shocks. Apparently no one at the table was aware of this little tool. For the next thirty minutes we all discussed, in great detail, this little tool and why Ford found it necessary to make the front shocks irremovable without it.

At the end of thirty minutes, I found myself looking at the dry erase board special and wondering what type of pie I should try. I didn't really need any pie. I did want it; however, so I went with my gut instinct. I forgot that I was sitting at the community table. As I placed my order one of the older ladies questioned my decision concerning pie. Slightly affronted, I defended my choice of pie (I could have chosen lemon ice box, coconut, chocolate, or peanut butter). It just so happened that I chose peanut butter. For the next few minutes we all discussed the various pies on the menu and which would be best. In the end, I stuck with my decision. I did realize, though, the importance of keeping everyone appeased at the community table.

If you ever drive through Black Rock, I highly suggest you give Renee's a shot for lunch. You can fall in with the safe thing to do and sit alone in one of the old booths along the wall. Or you can be daring and sit at one of the big kitchen tables in the center of the room. You never know with whom you will sit. You may learn more than you ever imagined. Venture out from the booth on the periphery and explore the area in the middle. I also suggest you try the peanut butter pie. Just be ready to justify your decision to everyone else.

Breaking the ice . . .

Well, here I sit writing the first entry to my new blog. It comes on an interesting day. On this day I turn in my resignation to the Arkansas State Park system and move into a new chapter of my life. I must confess my actions have been a long time coming, but very few know this. I will be moving 60 miles from my current location and living in a log cabin constructed circa 1850. No longer a park ranger, I will take up the mantle of a college history instructor while serving as the Cadet Battalion Commander for the ASU ROTC program. What a lifestyle switch! To think this all revolves around a decision I made just over a year ago.



While this will be a paycut, unusual living quarters, and a complete change of schedule and routine, I can barely contain my excitement and enthusiasm at this move. As you may have guessed, my new living quarters have inspired the name of this blog. I now nurse romantic ideas of sitting at a table near the fireplace in my 19th century living quarters, my laptop, a glaring anachronism in my new surroundings, on the table in front of me as I type away my thoughts and perspectives from my new vantage point in life. It may not be romantic for very long as hot as it is this time of year, but I will allow myself to dream for the moment.



As I wrap up my first post, I am steeling myself to walk next door and hand my resignation letter to my supervisor. I suppose that will constitute page one of this new chapter. I'm interested to see how my story unfolds.