It’s that time of year, where we start looking to family get-togethers and feasts of epic proportions, the time when we all shamelessly loosen our belts a couple of notches until January. It’s also the time of year for a dramatic increase in stress for many people.
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This time of year is stressful for me. As the mom of adult children, so many responsibilities fall on my shoulders to make the holidays perfect. When they were little, they wouldn't notice if something slipped. Now it's like, "Why didn't you make the potato casserole?" and "Wow. I can't believe there are no outside lights." Throw in the fact that finals happen right in the middle of all this, along with a zillion essays to grade, and it's more of a recipe for burnout than peace on earth.
I sat in the shade of a deformed and dilapidated cedar tree and listened to the windmill pumping water into the cement trough. With each pull of the sucker rod, water gurgled and gushed, and the sound was soothing in a strange sort of way.
I have t o offer a few words about a friend of mine who died last week. I will miss Don Edwards. I met cowboy singer, Don Edwards, about twenty-plus years ago. I was having breakfast with several friends who had similar interests in Texana and Western history.
It’s the most wonderful time of the year, as the late, great Andy Williams used to sing. We had that dry, stifling hot summer with many of the weather forecasters predicting the heat to extend into autumn.
He sat, almost without fail, on a bench outside a little drug store in Dublin, Texas. He was an older man, and I would drive by, and he would wave, and I would wave back. I repeatedly thought I should stop and introduce myself or at least say hello but for some reason, and I have no excuse, I never did.
I’m at that lonely, awkward, in-between stage of life when my children have left me behind, and they haven’t yet replaced themselves with grandchildren. This is especially hard this time of year, because stores are jampacked with fun toys and adorable, tiny holiday clothing, and I have no one to buy for. It’s also hard when I go to the park and see families strolling along the pathways or sharing picnic lunches. If anyone wants to share their (well-behaved) small humans with me, I’m happy to babysit.
The Great Depression is now remembered by a precious few, and foggily if that. Still, it remains a ready backdrop in conversations when accounts of deprivation abound Born in 1937, I have memories back to the outbreak of World War II. I remember first-hand accounts of folks barely getting by during much of the fateful era commencing in 1929, when masses had little, but persevered. Doing without taught us much, including dependence on resourcefulness.
People that know me well, know that “Barney Fife” of the early 60’s “Andy Griffith TV Show” was one of my alltime favorite characters. So much so, that somehow along the way I developed a fairly good impersonation of ol’ Barn with his quirky mannerisms and high-pitched voice whenever he was in his element as Sheriff Andy’s deputy. I can take on Barn’s persona and not feel embarrassed at all. That was the thing about Emmy award-winning actor Don Knotts --- he didn’t mind playing the fool... looking especially awkward, naive or gullible for a laugh. That’s me too.