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In Memory of My Dad #10

written by Bob Briggs

I recently motored out to West Texas for the holidays.  I saw a bunch of old friends and made more than a few parties while visiting there on the Golden Spread.

One of the old friends I saw was Dave.  Dave was an old water well man and moon player, par excellence.  The only trouble was that you couldn’t tell which was his vocation and which was his avocation. 

I used to work for the guy, so I had more than a working relationship with the guy when he had a moon hand in front of him.  I think that Coy, a half mad guitar player is finally coming around to my way of thinking, after losing hundreds of dollars over the years to Dave.

When you live in West Texas, you’re a long way from big-city life.  If not in miles, then in a state of mind.  One day during a lull in the moon playing, Dave related this story to me.

It seems that years ago, when dinosaurs still ruled the earth, Dave was a pretty good cowboy.  But that was in the years when Dave was a lot younger.  Before he traded his string of rough stock for the spanner wrench and shop hammer. 

Old habits die hard, so when Dave gets all shined up to go somewhere, be it a country dance or a neighbor’s barbecue, he still dresses western.  Big Hat.  Lace up roper boot (cause they’re easier on the feet.)  Trophy buckle from one of those “punkin rollins”.  Like I say, Dave used to be a pretty classy cowboy.

Dave went to the Veterans Hospital in Albuquerque, New Mexico last summer to have RK surgery done on his good eye.  Dave only has one eye, so how he was going to get back to Pampa never entered his mind, seeing as how his roommate and best pal Nancy stayed home to work the first shift at Sandy’s Bar.

The first shift runs from around eight in the morning until one or two in the afternoon, due to the influx of shift workers that come in for an early morning beer.   Eight a.m. is early evening for many of the Celanese, Cabot, Ingersol Rand or MapCo workers there in the Panhandle of Texas.  Things tend to get pretty lively in the saloons about noon, especially if some fo the pulling unit hands are off that day and decide to spend the day shooting pool instead of mowing the lawn or some other honey-do chore.

Anyway Dave stayed there at the VA hospital for three days, when for lack of a better word, they unwrapped his eyeball.  Things were still pretty fuzzy from Dave’s side of the eyeball, so they decided that he should stay for the weekend.

Dave had a great-nephew stationed at Ft. Collins, Colorado.  So Dave got the doctor’s permission to fly up and see him that weekend.  “It was one of those little puddle jumpin’ airplanes,” recalled Dave.  So the first stop was in Colorado Springs, where the passengers had a twenty-minute layover.  So Dave got himself a carton of chocolate milk and a six-pack of Fig Newtons for a snack.

Dave then went to sit at a table already occupied by a businessman dressed just like Tom Bosley, reading a Wall Street Journal through a little pair of half glasses perched on the end of this nose.  Dave took little notice of the peculiar look that Tom gave him as he opened the Fig Newtons and scarfed one down.

Tom immediately reached over and got one of the cookies for himself.  Dave didn’t say anything, just thought, “strange custom” and went about eyeballing the fellow travelers as best that he could with the bum eye.

Dave then ate another Fig Newton this time noticing that Tom all but snarled as he quickly put another Fig Newton in his gaping maw.  “Must be some sort of practice that we don’t do down on the plains,” thought Dave eating the third of the Fig Newtons and pushing the remaining one across the table to Tom who was glaring openly at Dave now.  Tom took the third of the Fig Newtons and walked away all the time muttering to himself. 

“Well hell”, thought Dave, “no one in Pampa would think of eating one of your Fig Newtons without asking, and never without saying thanks.” 

Dave shrugged his shoulders and made his way to where they were boarding the plane. 

As he felt in his inner coat pocket for his ticket, Dave found an unopened six-pack of Fig Newtons.

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Author:

I’m Angel, a.k.a. Rocket Surgeon, and these are my chronicles. I love writing and I believe our stories should be shared, so here you’ll find anecdotes of my life, loves, worries, fears, joys, and experiences. I blog about my mishaps and adventures as a wife, mommy, auntie, wanna-be writer, teacher, Texan, country/city/mountain girl, cereal killer and Jesus-freak. A few things you might discover about me: •Jesus is my everything; without Him I am nothing, but with him I can do all things •My family makes this world a better place for me to live in •I adore chickens, the live ones, although the cooked ones aren’t too bad either •I have 2 dogs: Grace and Ozzie. And one cat: Rocky Muffin •My dream job would be to raise chickens and write best sellers Thanks for stopping by. Kick off your shoes and stay awhile. I know your time is valuable and I honor you for spending a few moments here with me. I hope you find something to brighten your day, lighten your load, make you chuckle and remind you of the good in the world. “When you look for the bad in mankind, expecting to find it, you surely will." Pollyanna I’m always eager to meet new online friends, so leave a comment and introduce yourself.

5 thoughts on “In Memory of My Dad #10

  1. Another Saturday, another gem!! What a character he must have been! And, I love the picture of the little ones sitting on his backside! (Is that Ashlyn at a younger age??) Oh hey, also as I looked at the photo I couldn’t help checking out that cool looking little table on the right. My mother had a really old one just like it and they called it a “fern stand” back in the day. I have it in my home now and it is one of my favorite pieces of furniture. I just finished making 135 May Day baskets for the retirement community my aunt and mother in law live in. They are so cute but I’m sooo glad they are done! We have to deliver them early tomorrow so will go to early service and then on to “make some old folks happy”! (and that’s the pot calling the kettle black, for sure). Wish I lived close enough to hang a May basket on your front door, but sending you my best May Day wishes anyway!! Until next time … Donna H.

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