Monday, April 24, 2006
Where There's a Will....
We called it the “white table”, the one that held the water bucket and wash pan in a corner of the kitchen. The top was white baked-on enamel, the color of piano keys, which we drew on and practiced just as though they could make real music. Sister had learned which keys were which from a friend who had a piano and took lessons. Mama had taught us the notes in the Broadman Hymnal, the only music that was available. We practiced and we dreamed of someday owning a piano.
In 1948, the cotton patches seemed solid with white fluff, a bumper crop like we had never seen. This was the first year we lived on Cousin Boots Gunn’s place, our first house with electricity. Daddy bought a small freezer for our home-grown beef, a washing machine, and butane stoves. But best of all was the old piano for which he paid the handsome sum of $50. Now we could really make some music!
At first we only played the soprano notes, then added alto as our proficiency expanded. From the shape of the do-re-mi notes, I figured out the bass clef, and soon was playing at church. Someone had taught me a little ditty with chords, which I played over and over until Walter finally protested. So I figured out how to use the chords with the hymns, and could also pick out some country songs by ear. One of the most popular tunes on the radio that year was Del Wood’s piano rendition of “Down Yonder”, which became my theme song.
Some of my friends became enamored with my new hobby and began taking piano lessons. I would watch them perform and steal some of their stuff. They complained about being forced to practice for a whole hour every day, and I felt sorry for them. I never thought of it as practice, banging away at the out-of-tune keys sometimes until I was exhausted, but never tired of “making music”. Some of those gals haven’t touched a piano keyboard in years.
Thank God for can-do parents who encouraged us to hone our skills with whatever tools were available!
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
In 1948, the cotton patches seemed solid with white fluff, a bumper crop like we had never seen. This was the first year we lived on Cousin Boots Gunn’s place, our first house with electricity. Daddy bought a small freezer for our home-grown beef, a washing machine, and butane stoves. But best of all was the old piano for which he paid the handsome sum of $50. Now we could really make some music!
At first we only played the soprano notes, then added alto as our proficiency expanded. From the shape of the do-re-mi notes, I figured out the bass clef, and soon was playing at church. Someone had taught me a little ditty with chords, which I played over and over until Walter finally protested. So I figured out how to use the chords with the hymns, and could also pick out some country songs by ear. One of the most popular tunes on the radio that year was Del Wood’s piano rendition of “Down Yonder”, which became my theme song.
Some of my friends became enamored with my new hobby and began taking piano lessons. I would watch them perform and steal some of their stuff. They complained about being forced to practice for a whole hour every day, and I felt sorry for them. I never thought of it as practice, banging away at the out-of-tune keys sometimes until I was exhausted, but never tired of “making music”. Some of those gals haven’t touched a piano keyboard in years.
Thank God for can-do parents who encouraged us to hone our skills with whatever tools were available!
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Sunday, April 23, 2006
The One Man Band
We had met The One Man Band recently at the senior center, and he invited us to come to the restaurant where he plays every Sunday. Today was the day, and we were not disappointed.
It is a restaurant dowtown, where we seldom travel, on Fourth Street south of I-40, probably a very old establisment named La Familiar. The flavor is definitely Mexican, (across the street from the Mexican Embassy) although American food is also served. The chicken enchiladas were excellent.
Horace Martinez has played guitar for most of his 70+ years, and first met Marty Robbins when they were both in the navy. Together, they made a lot of good music, and Horace still sings some of Marty Robbins' songs. He has also played with Glen Campbell and others, but found that keeping a band together was eventually more trouble than it was worth. Today he uses a synthesizer along with his guitars, producing the sounds of a band without all the hassle. His business card says simply "Music for All Occasions", and he stays busy with his special brand of entertainment.
The next step in Horace's show business career is working in a movie. He would like to have a part like Festus in Gunsmoke, and who knows what this dedicated dreamer may accomplish?
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
It is a restaurant dowtown, where we seldom travel, on Fourth Street south of I-40, probably a very old establisment named La Familiar. The flavor is definitely Mexican, (across the street from the Mexican Embassy) although American food is also served. The chicken enchiladas were excellent.
Horace Martinez has played guitar for most of his 70+ years, and first met Marty Robbins when they were both in the navy. Together, they made a lot of good music, and Horace still sings some of Marty Robbins' songs. He has also played with Glen Campbell and others, but found that keeping a band together was eventually more trouble than it was worth. Today he uses a synthesizer along with his guitars, producing the sounds of a band without all the hassle. His business card says simply "Music for All Occasions", and he stays busy with his special brand of entertainment.
The next step in Horace's show business career is working in a movie. He would like to have a part like Festus in Gunsmoke, and who knows what this dedicated dreamer may accomplish?
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Saturday, April 22, 2006
Taskmaster
Taskmaster
1940s - '50
It was always Walt who saved the cash to pay for all our fun.
When he bought the brand new basketball, a new phase had begun.
The bike he purchased with his sweat saw many useful miles,
shared equally by five of us, the source of many smiles.
You push it off a hill to start, excitement burning high.
Some wrecks are just expected, but don't you dare to cry!
He ordered spokes from Monkey-Ward, and patched a million flats.
We took his work for granted; he wore a dozen hats.
He was idol and encourager, the one we leaned upon.
He coached us all in every sport, then one day he was gone.
I never paid him back the loot he loaned me in a pinch
nor thanked him for the horse he bought and left for me and Dink.
The time we took his car apart sure wore his patience thin,
but nutty as we were those days, we'd do it all again.
His criticism spurred us on to master many skills
as years of destitution helped toughen up our wills.
Big brother was his role in life, taskmaster he became,
and most importantly, he taught that life is like a game.
You find the talents you possess and hone them razor fine
so everything is ready when it's your night to shine.
1940s - '50
It was always Walt who saved the cash to pay for all our fun.
When he bought the brand new basketball, a new phase had begun.
The bike he purchased with his sweat saw many useful miles,
shared equally by five of us, the source of many smiles.
You push it off a hill to start, excitement burning high.
Some wrecks are just expected, but don't you dare to cry!
He ordered spokes from Monkey-Ward, and patched a million flats.
We took his work for granted; he wore a dozen hats.
He was idol and encourager, the one we leaned upon.
He coached us all in every sport, then one day he was gone.
I never paid him back the loot he loaned me in a pinch
nor thanked him for the horse he bought and left for me and Dink.
The time we took his car apart sure wore his patience thin,
but nutty as we were those days, we'd do it all again.
His criticism spurred us on to master many skills
as years of destitution helped toughen up our wills.
Big brother was his role in life, taskmaster he became,
and most importantly, he taught that life is like a game.
You find the talents you possess and hone them razor fine
so everything is ready when it's your night to shine.
For some reason, we four younger siblings thought we had to do whatever Walter said, just because he was the oldest. He probably decreed that to be the law and we didn't know any better. He was always a sports fanatic, and we played the games that happened to be in season. I thought he was the inventor of such games, as we had never been anywhere to learn what was going on.
When he nailed an old bucket to the front of the porch at Skinners' Shack, I wondered why he didn't call it bucketball instead of basketball. We used Dink's little rubber red-white-and-blue ball, which was a wee bit smaller than the bottom of the bucket, and I was addicted with the first successful pitch. The yard was mostly rocks and goatheads (stickers), so that little ball wore out in no time. I kept plunking it at the bucket even after it was in shreds, playing until darkness drove me inside.
Soon Walter saved up some money to order a real basketball from the catalog. It was laced like a football, so the bladder could be removed and patched when it got full of goathead holes. With hoes, we cleared off a large area near the barn with fewer rocks, using an upside-down chair for a goal, and here Walter coached us into a small team of outstanding basketball players. We were also good at tackle football, high jump, baseball, horseback riding, swimming, boxing. You name it, we tried it.
A couple of years ago, after having a concrete patio poured the whole length of the house, I decided it was probably a sin to be wasting all that beautiful area with only patio furniture, so bought a basketball and goal, attaching it to the edge of the patio roof. People say, "For your grandkids?"
Nope, for Grandma. Exercise is now a lot more fun than walking on a treadmill or lifting weights. I can still pop the net on a regular basis, and I'm thankful to Walter for the early interest in sports that helps keep me in tip-top shape.
Cora Gail (Gunn Butt) Trent
www.cgtrent.com
When he nailed an old bucket to the front of the porch at Skinners' Shack, I wondered why he didn't call it bucketball instead of basketball. We used Dink's little rubber red-white-and-blue ball, which was a wee bit smaller than the bottom of the bucket, and I was addicted with the first successful pitch. The yard was mostly rocks and goatheads (stickers), so that little ball wore out in no time. I kept plunking it at the bucket even after it was in shreds, playing until darkness drove me inside.
Soon Walter saved up some money to order a real basketball from the catalog. It was laced like a football, so the bladder could be removed and patched when it got full of goathead holes. With hoes, we cleared off a large area near the barn with fewer rocks, using an upside-down chair for a goal, and here Walter coached us into a small team of outstanding basketball players. We were also good at tackle football, high jump, baseball, horseback riding, swimming, boxing. You name it, we tried it.
A couple of years ago, after having a concrete patio poured the whole length of the house, I decided it was probably a sin to be wasting all that beautiful area with only patio furniture, so bought a basketball and goal, attaching it to the edge of the patio roof. People say, "For your grandkids?"
Nope, for Grandma. Exercise is now a lot more fun than walking on a treadmill or lifting weights. I can still pop the net on a regular basis, and I'm thankful to Walter for the early interest in sports that helps keep me in tip-top shape.
Cora Gail (Gunn Butt) Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Friday, April 21, 2006
The Caring Neighbor
My next-door neighbor is Red, a woman in her late forties who is unlike anyone you have ever met. Our age difference seems insignificant, as we have a lot in common. We have spent a lot of time together for the last five years since she moved to the East Mountains from the university area in Albuquerque.
One of Red's neighbors in town was another young single lady who has muscular dystrophy. Red calls her Miss Ann, a title of much respect. She spends every Thursday afternoon with Ann, has helped landscape her back yard with raised flower beds that can be reached from her electric scooter so that she can dig, plant, water her little garden with hands that can barely function. Her positive attitude is such that she is a joy to be around.
All these years, Red kept hoping to win the lottery so she could afford to buy Ann a new scooter, as the old one was worn out and evidently unfixable. As soon as she received part of her inheritance after her dad died, the first thing she bought was the scooter. She collects everybody's old carpet scraps with which to cover the pathways between Ann's flower beds to make steering the scooter so much easier. Now the avid gardener practically lives in the yard when the weather cooperates, excited about every sprouting plant, so thankful for every tiny blessing.
Yesterday I accompanied Red to Miss Ann's in order to meet her grandmother "June Bug" and an aunt who are visiting from Pennsylvania. They cooked an awesome supper of waffles and chicken, a combination new to both of us and quite tasty, much like chicken and dumplings. June Bug sent us home with a supply of delicious sweet rolls for breakfast, which were gone before bedtime as we watched North Country, with our friend Charlie in several scenes as an extra. It was a good day.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
One of Red's neighbors in town was another young single lady who has muscular dystrophy. Red calls her Miss Ann, a title of much respect. She spends every Thursday afternoon with Ann, has helped landscape her back yard with raised flower beds that can be reached from her electric scooter so that she can dig, plant, water her little garden with hands that can barely function. Her positive attitude is such that she is a joy to be around.
All these years, Red kept hoping to win the lottery so she could afford to buy Ann a new scooter, as the old one was worn out and evidently unfixable. As soon as she received part of her inheritance after her dad died, the first thing she bought was the scooter. She collects everybody's old carpet scraps with which to cover the pathways between Ann's flower beds to make steering the scooter so much easier. Now the avid gardener practically lives in the yard when the weather cooperates, excited about every sprouting plant, so thankful for every tiny blessing.
Yesterday I accompanied Red to Miss Ann's in order to meet her grandmother "June Bug" and an aunt who are visiting from Pennsylvania. They cooked an awesome supper of waffles and chicken, a combination new to both of us and quite tasty, much like chicken and dumplings. June Bug sent us home with a supply of delicious sweet rolls for breakfast, which were gone before bedtime as we watched North Country, with our friend Charlie in several scenes as an extra. It was a good day.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Fate
When my friend, Floye, and I were appointed as librarians, we must have been in the eighth grade. In our little school, some things - including teachers - had to serve dual purposes, and this job was no exception. The tiny library was in the front part of the typing room where only juniors and seniors were ordinarily allowed. During the times that we were serving our fellow students with reading materials, the typewriters were usually sitting unattended, so of course we helped ourselves. I suppose the teachers knew we were trustworthy gals and would do no harm to their machines, so we had a ball playing with these new toys. I was addicted.
By my junior year, when I could officially learn the "touch typing" method, I was a speed demon at this challenging occupation, but knew I didn't want to be a secretary, mostly because of the cursed carbon paper that was a necessary part of the job. I was also exposed to the stencil machine, which was about as messy as carbon. So I chose to be a mother instead. No messes there.........
After the kids were grown and gone, I had tried my hand at a few physically demanding jobs, the type I liked best, but realized that sometime down the road I might need something a bit less strenuous. Computers were becoming the "in thing" by then, so I took a college course to learn how to use this contraption, eventually landing a job as secretary to the local highway patrol sergeant. For the first few months behind a desk, I had the feeling that eventually someone would discover I was a female impersonator and send me back to my tractor.
I was having a ball. On a computer I could type without worrying about having to erase mistakes, just backspace and fix any error before printing. The copy machine had done away with carbon paper. Ink cartridges replaced messy typewriter ribbon. The stencil machine went to a museum. Waiting for the "empty nest " time of life before becoming a secretary was one of the best decisions I ever made.
At that time I had no idea what the internet was, snail-mail was still the only way to correspond, "blog" was as foreign as the milky-way. Writing a book had never entered my mind, nor living in the mountains, nor being in movies. Which makes me wonder what in the world can happen next.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
By my junior year, when I could officially learn the "touch typing" method, I was a speed demon at this challenging occupation, but knew I didn't want to be a secretary, mostly because of the cursed carbon paper that was a necessary part of the job. I was also exposed to the stencil machine, which was about as messy as carbon. So I chose to be a mother instead. No messes there.........
After the kids were grown and gone, I had tried my hand at a few physically demanding jobs, the type I liked best, but realized that sometime down the road I might need something a bit less strenuous. Computers were becoming the "in thing" by then, so I took a college course to learn how to use this contraption, eventually landing a job as secretary to the local highway patrol sergeant. For the first few months behind a desk, I had the feeling that eventually someone would discover I was a female impersonator and send me back to my tractor.
I was having a ball. On a computer I could type without worrying about having to erase mistakes, just backspace and fix any error before printing. The copy machine had done away with carbon paper. Ink cartridges replaced messy typewriter ribbon. The stencil machine went to a museum. Waiting for the "empty nest " time of life before becoming a secretary was one of the best decisions I ever made.
At that time I had no idea what the internet was, snail-mail was still the only way to correspond, "blog" was as foreign as the milky-way. Writing a book had never entered my mind, nor living in the mountains, nor being in movies. Which makes me wonder what in the world can happen next.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Doctors
Having been served by doctors in general practice for most of my life, I was in for a rude awakening in the big city where "scratch my back and I'll scratch yours" seems to be the rule among health care professionals. Yes, we have had some good, caring doctors, but on the whole it has been a huge disappointment. So much so that now I just doctor myself and let come what may. I figure I'm less likely to die of cancer or a heart attack at home than in a car wreck traveling from doctor to specialist to lab in downtown Albuquerque.
My favorite doctor of all time once told me that I was "disgustingly healthy," and not much has changed in the intervening years except some high blood pressure that was caused by taking hormone therapy prescribed by several doctors. When the last one insisted that I have a pap smear ( my womb has been gone since 1975), I said, "Enough is enough!" and made my escape.
One example of what we've been through was when Harry needed a biopsy to determine what type of lung cancer he had. He was given an injection that was supposed to put him to sleep, but nothing happened. Next they dripped some sort of solution into his lungs for local anesthesia, which only made him cough, which made the doctor angry. Not wanting to go through this process all over again at a later date, Harry told him to just go ahead and get the tissue, gritted his teeth trying not to cough, and the deed was done. Doc came to me afterward complaining about this stubborn big man who wouldn't go to sleep.
A day or so later, we heard on the news that someone in this hospital had been stealing drugs and replacing them with water, which is probably what was being used that day for anesthesia. So, of course, we got profuse apologies from the doctor and hospital. Yeah, right! They're probably still wondering why we didn't sue. And that's just one!
Occasionally when I'm back in Texas, I visit Dr. Green in the Family Clinic at Childress. Last time, as I got ready to leave, he asked his usual question: "Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"Yes, you can go home with me!" Boy, don't I wish....
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
My favorite doctor of all time once told me that I was "disgustingly healthy," and not much has changed in the intervening years except some high blood pressure that was caused by taking hormone therapy prescribed by several doctors. When the last one insisted that I have a pap smear ( my womb has been gone since 1975), I said, "Enough is enough!" and made my escape.
One example of what we've been through was when Harry needed a biopsy to determine what type of lung cancer he had. He was given an injection that was supposed to put him to sleep, but nothing happened. Next they dripped some sort of solution into his lungs for local anesthesia, which only made him cough, which made the doctor angry. Not wanting to go through this process all over again at a later date, Harry told him to just go ahead and get the tissue, gritted his teeth trying not to cough, and the deed was done. Doc came to me afterward complaining about this stubborn big man who wouldn't go to sleep.
A day or so later, we heard on the news that someone in this hospital had been stealing drugs and replacing them with water, which is probably what was being used that day for anesthesia. So, of course, we got profuse apologies from the doctor and hospital. Yeah, right! They're probably still wondering why we didn't sue. And that's just one!
Occasionally when I'm back in Texas, I visit Dr. Green in the Family Clinic at Childress. Last time, as I got ready to leave, he asked his usual question: "Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"Yes, you can go home with me!" Boy, don't I wish....
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Israel's Fall
Israel's Fall
(Isaiah 1)
The book of Isaiah, the prophet, was written long ago,
seven hundred years before Christ came to earth,
called sometimes the “fifth Gospel” for the riches it contains,
so many prophecies about his birth.
The rebellious Hebrew nation, a brood of evildoers,
again and again had turned their backs on God.
Beaten and bloodied by discipline, yet refusing to surrender,
they scorned the lessons of the chastening rod.
But for the precious remnant still loyal to the Lord,
their nation would have rightly been destroyed.
Though they went through all the motions of sacrifice and worship,
with their evil attitudes God was annoyed.
Their meaningless rituals, beautiful prayers,
the incense they offered was vain.
God wearied of evil, detestable deeds,
their hypocrisy causing him pain.
He loved them because of their heritage,
their forefather Abraham,
and Isaac and Jacob, the faithful three,
but their religion now was a sham.
They were to influence their neighbors for God,
but the opposite happened, alas.
They worshiped the pagan idols,
relegated the Lord to the past.
Depending on their blood line
to save them in the end,
they pushed aside the Living God,
and lost their only friend.
The door to repentance was opened wide,
but the rebels preferred their own way.
Their idols required no righteousness.
Sad will be their judgment day!
The tribes of Judah and Benjamin
left the other rebellious ten,
who were captured to serve as common slaves
and were never heard from again.
(From a lesson by Lane Brown)
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
(Isaiah 1)
The book of Isaiah, the prophet, was written long ago,
seven hundred years before Christ came to earth,
called sometimes the “fifth Gospel” for the riches it contains,
so many prophecies about his birth.
The rebellious Hebrew nation, a brood of evildoers,
again and again had turned their backs on God.
Beaten and bloodied by discipline, yet refusing to surrender,
they scorned the lessons of the chastening rod.
But for the precious remnant still loyal to the Lord,
their nation would have rightly been destroyed.
Though they went through all the motions of sacrifice and worship,
with their evil attitudes God was annoyed.
Their meaningless rituals, beautiful prayers,
the incense they offered was vain.
God wearied of evil, detestable deeds,
their hypocrisy causing him pain.
He loved them because of their heritage,
their forefather Abraham,
and Isaac and Jacob, the faithful three,
but their religion now was a sham.
They were to influence their neighbors for God,
but the opposite happened, alas.
They worshiped the pagan idols,
relegated the Lord to the past.
Depending on their blood line
to save them in the end,
they pushed aside the Living God,
and lost their only friend.
The door to repentance was opened wide,
but the rebels preferred their own way.
Their idols required no righteousness.
Sad will be their judgment day!
The tribes of Judah and Benjamin
left the other rebellious ten,
who were captured to serve as common slaves
and were never heard from again.
(From a lesson by Lane Brown)
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Appreciating Good Health
Is it not amazing how the body recognizes spoiled food and ejects it so forcefully in both directions? We like to think that doctors keep us well, but without these God-given defense mechanisms, there would be no healing.
A doctor once told me potatoes are one of the worst offenders in food poisoning, and that seems to have been the case with my latest three-day episode of vomiting and diarrhea. When I finally had sense enough to read my medical books, they advised not eating anything until all symptoms had ceased. Simply add 1 teaspoon of salt and 4 teaspoons of sugar to a quart of water and drink a pint every hour to restore hydration. It tastes terrible, but the sugar helps the tissues absorb the water from the digestive tract. Immediate relief!
I remembered the time when Jay was a baby with a similar problem and we rushed him to a hospital in Amarillo. They fed him only very salty beef broth (perhaps containing sugar) and he was well in no time.
I also remember that during the time I was in the hospital after Vinita's birth, a baby died from dehydration due to uncontrolled vomiting and diarrhea. It can happen so fast in infants and the elderly.
Here's wishing you just enough misery to foster appreciation for your good health.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
A doctor once told me potatoes are one of the worst offenders in food poisoning, and that seems to have been the case with my latest three-day episode of vomiting and diarrhea. When I finally had sense enough to read my medical books, they advised not eating anything until all symptoms had ceased. Simply add 1 teaspoon of salt and 4 teaspoons of sugar to a quart of water and drink a pint every hour to restore hydration. It tastes terrible, but the sugar helps the tissues absorb the water from the digestive tract. Immediate relief!
I remembered the time when Jay was a baby with a similar problem and we rushed him to a hospital in Amarillo. They fed him only very salty beef broth (perhaps containing sugar) and he was well in no time.
I also remember that during the time I was in the hospital after Vinita's birth, a baby died from dehydration due to uncontrolled vomiting and diarrhea. It can happen so fast in infants and the elderly.
Here's wishing you just enough misery to foster appreciation for your good health.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Monday, April 10, 2006
Finding Memories
What is that tiny green spot on the concrete? Sure looks like the color of money. I pick up the object - maybe a half inch square - lying by the gas pump, and begin to unfold it. Yes, it is a greenback, a hundred dollar bill!
I'm reminded of the time Peggy found a muddy five-dollar bill at the car wash, with which she bought her first little bicycle from a second-hand shop. She already knew how to ride, and made sure this one was boy-style, after having the following experience with a girl's bike.
I'm reminded of the time Peggy found a muddy five-dollar bill at the car wash, with which she bought her first little bicycle from a second-hand shop. She already knew how to ride, and made sure this one was boy-style, after having the following experience with a girl's bike.
Plucky Peggy
Moving back to farm at Carey,
making that first bumper crop,
confidence was fast improving,
rising back up to the top.
After bombing out at Christmas
two or three years in a row,
we felt the kids deserved
a special present, don’t you know?
Three bicycles and two tractors
put some sparkle in their eyes,
made for lots of pedal action,
in the house and otherwise.
Red paint on the walls and door frames
marked the trail of busy tractors.
Soon this, too, would pass forever,
taking in the aging factors.
Peggy, looking for a challenge,
had to try a bike for size,
and, in time, her choice of model
almost brought on her demise.
Legs too short to reach the pedals
from the seat was problem one.
On the girl’s bike she could stand and
pump away to kingdom come.
I accompanied her westward
down the blacktop toward the lake
til her feet slipped off the pedals
and a raking she did take.
That old bike just kept on rolling,
dragging sandal-naked feet,
scraped the skin right off the top
before she landed in the street.
Plucky Peggy pushed that old bike,
walking home all bruised and sore
but she came back like a yo-yo,
daring fate forever more.
making that first bumper crop,
confidence was fast improving,
rising back up to the top.
After bombing out at Christmas
two or three years in a row,
we felt the kids deserved
a special present, don’t you know?
Three bicycles and two tractors
put some sparkle in their eyes,
made for lots of pedal action,
in the house and otherwise.
Red paint on the walls and door frames
marked the trail of busy tractors.
Soon this, too, would pass forever,
taking in the aging factors.
Peggy, looking for a challenge,
had to try a bike for size,
and, in time, her choice of model
almost brought on her demise.
Legs too short to reach the pedals
from the seat was problem one.
On the girl’s bike she could stand and
pump away to kingdom come.
I accompanied her westward
down the blacktop toward the lake
til her feet slipped off the pedals
and a raking she did take.
That old bike just kept on rolling,
dragging sandal-naked feet,
scraped the skin right off the top
before she landed in the street.
Plucky Peggy pushed that old bike,
walking home all bruised and sore
but she came back like a yo-yo,
daring fate forever more.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
www.cgtrent.com
Sunday, April 09, 2006
All is Well in Paradise
When we moved to this mountain paradise, away from tornado alley where damaging hail is also a constant threat, we knew nothing of the threat of wildfires in a forest. Many communities in this area only have one road leading in and out, always a concern if a fire starts between here and the highway. In Sandia Knolls we don't even have fire hydrants or a handy place to refill the pumpers.
The good news is that the fire departments, forestry service and other agencies are working together to improve the situation. They offer advice about making our homes as safe as possible, how to prepare to evacuate quickly, with plans already in place for temporary shelter for us and our animals. Newer communities are required to have two access roads and fire hydrants. One neighbor over the hill has taken it upon himself to make a road through his property to give us another way out.
As of today, all is well in paradise.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
The good news is that the fire departments, forestry service and other agencies are working together to improve the situation. They offer advice about making our homes as safe as possible, how to prepare to evacuate quickly, with plans already in place for temporary shelter for us and our animals. Newer communities are required to have two access roads and fire hydrants. One neighbor over the hill has taken it upon himself to make a road through his property to give us another way out.
As of today, all is well in paradise.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Friday, April 07, 2006
Elder Fun
Today was another first, two singing engagements in one day. The Highland Harmonizers filled in for another group this morning at a very nice retirement home. After getting our equipment set up, we still had time to kill, so I started plinking on the piano to bring in a bigger audience. On the third song, Charlie started warbling along with the tune, and suddenly we had a new act to add to the show. Although I messed up on the chords, we were asked to repeat it at the afternoon performance at another home.
Between performances, we had lunch at a senior center with a mutual friend, sitting at a table with another couple who thought Charlie looked familiar. We talked about movies and singing for awhile, and learned that the other guy is a one-man band, entertaining regularly around the area, and invited us to attend one of his shows. He says that doing it all himself is easier than keeping a band together. He has played guitar with Glen Campbell, Marty Robbins and others, sings mostly old time country music, a very interesting character. I suspect that he is also an outstanding musician.
We had a larger group of Harmonizers for the afternoon show, but a smaller audience. Some of them sang along with us, which always seems to be a good sign that they're enjoying themselves. With Charlie's warbling, Jeff's imitation of Maurice Chevalier, Shirley's rendition of "I Just Don't Look Good Naked Any More", two different songs that we do in Spanish, two Easter songs, several Jerome Kern tunes, some country, we old-timers put on a pretty good show. Our energetic director, Connie, is superb, with a great voice that can sing anything from soprano to bass.
This month we will have our belated Christmas party. Being so busy singing during the holiday season, we have no time for parties in December, so Christmas in April is a very special time. After a delicious pot luck lunch, we entertain each other with songs, skits, whatever suits our fancy, and Connie may pick the best acts for our nursing home repertoire. And a good time is had by all.
Don't you wish you were old and carefree?
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Between performances, we had lunch at a senior center with a mutual friend, sitting at a table with another couple who thought Charlie looked familiar. We talked about movies and singing for awhile, and learned that the other guy is a one-man band, entertaining regularly around the area, and invited us to attend one of his shows. He says that doing it all himself is easier than keeping a band together. He has played guitar with Glen Campbell, Marty Robbins and others, sings mostly old time country music, a very interesting character. I suspect that he is also an outstanding musician.
We had a larger group of Harmonizers for the afternoon show, but a smaller audience. Some of them sang along with us, which always seems to be a good sign that they're enjoying themselves. With Charlie's warbling, Jeff's imitation of Maurice Chevalier, Shirley's rendition of "I Just Don't Look Good Naked Any More", two different songs that we do in Spanish, two Easter songs, several Jerome Kern tunes, some country, we old-timers put on a pretty good show. Our energetic director, Connie, is superb, with a great voice that can sing anything from soprano to bass.
This month we will have our belated Christmas party. Being so busy singing during the holiday season, we have no time for parties in December, so Christmas in April is a very special time. After a delicious pot luck lunch, we entertain each other with songs, skits, whatever suits our fancy, and Connie may pick the best acts for our nursing home repertoire. And a good time is had by all.
Don't you wish you were old and carefree?
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Two Miles to Starkeys'
Two Miles To Starkeys'
1954
A stroll out in the pasture to catch the "Sugar" mare,
some tasty maize to guarantee she holds her station there.
A bridle for her head today, no saddle girded down.
She hopes our path leads somewhere else besides straight east to town.
Across Putt's cotton patch we see the shimmering waves of heat.
The Caprock's Sharp- and Flat-Top Peaks lay beauty at our feet.
We pass the long- abandoned shack where fondest memories dwell,
and the muddy tank where swimming is our passion, truth to tell.
There's Harley's windmill where the turnips grow so big and sweet,
the new house built with Uncle Lee in mind, and kept so neat.
We cross the blacktop leading only to the county line.
They're adding to it now to climb the Caprock for all time.
A mile of sandy road leads down to Starkeys' humble home
where Scout (the spotted horse) and rattlesnakes and bobcats roam.
There Charlie meets me at the door and, with his friendly grin,
says, "Lay your saddle in the shade, old girl, and come on in!"
1954
A stroll out in the pasture to catch the "Sugar" mare,
some tasty maize to guarantee she holds her station there.
A bridle for her head today, no saddle girded down.
She hopes our path leads somewhere else besides straight east to town.
Across Putt's cotton patch we see the shimmering waves of heat.
The Caprock's Sharp- and Flat-Top Peaks lay beauty at our feet.
We pass the long- abandoned shack where fondest memories dwell,
and the muddy tank where swimming is our passion, truth to tell.
There's Harley's windmill where the turnips grow so big and sweet,
the new house built with Uncle Lee in mind, and kept so neat.
We cross the blacktop leading only to the county line.
They're adding to it now to climb the Caprock for all time.
A mile of sandy road leads down to Starkeys' humble home
where Scout (the spotted horse) and rattlesnakes and bobcats roam.
There Charlie meets me at the door and, with his friendly grin,
says, "Lay your saddle in the shade, old girl, and come on in!"
Today I received an invitation to join the huge Starkey clan for their yearly family reunion and Easter egg hunt on that snaky hill where I spent many happy hours as a teenager. Charlie and Bessie had about a dozen kids, some of the best athletes in the Flomot school, and good as gold. Charlie suffered with debilitating arthritis for years before passing on to his reward. Bessie was nearing her hundredth birthday when she was injured in a fall, and no longer had the will to keep fighting. But what a legacy this tough, loving couple left the world! I'm sure that on Easter Sunday the hills will be alive with the sound of Starkeys.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
His Grace is Sufficient
His Grace is Sufficient
The pain was agonizing, almost more than I could bear,
but Christ said “I’m here with you, your misery to share.”
The circumstances in your life are only outward woes.
The inward nature of your soul can beat the worst of foes.
As with Joseph’s jealous brothers who meant him grievous harm,
Satan constantly is stalking with his beauty, wit and charm.
But God can turn such tragedy into a world of good,
which, with our earthly wisdom, cannot be understood.
The tougher our predicament, the greater the potential
to build up moral fiber that to Christians is essential.
If God doesn’t send a miracle to take away the pain,
perhaps your prayer is answered by the lessons you may gain.
For we know that pain is temporary; heaven is eternal,
and the character developed here is character supernal,
produced through trouble of all sorts, like Jesus suffered here
to toughen up his patience, so that death he need not fear.
“Rejoice,” he said, “in trials.” Focus on his loving care,
his wisdom, power, faithfulness. There’s plenty and to spare.
Ask, “What do you want me to learn?” instead of just “Why me?”
Build muscles of the spirit that all the world can see.
Be a reflector of the Light that leads to heaven above
where we will bask in glory, the essence of his love.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
The pain was agonizing, almost more than I could bear,
but Christ said “I’m here with you, your misery to share.”
The circumstances in your life are only outward woes.
The inward nature of your soul can beat the worst of foes.
As with Joseph’s jealous brothers who meant him grievous harm,
Satan constantly is stalking with his beauty, wit and charm.
But God can turn such tragedy into a world of good,
which, with our earthly wisdom, cannot be understood.
The tougher our predicament, the greater the potential
to build up moral fiber that to Christians is essential.
If God doesn’t send a miracle to take away the pain,
perhaps your prayer is answered by the lessons you may gain.
For we know that pain is temporary; heaven is eternal,
and the character developed here is character supernal,
produced through trouble of all sorts, like Jesus suffered here
to toughen up his patience, so that death he need not fear.
“Rejoice,” he said, “in trials.” Focus on his loving care,
his wisdom, power, faithfulness. There’s plenty and to spare.
Ask, “What do you want me to learn?” instead of just “Why me?”
Build muscles of the spirit that all the world can see.
Be a reflector of the Light that leads to heaven above
where we will bask in glory, the essence of his love.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Freedom is Not Free
Although you hear little about it in the major news media, our service men and women are making friends in the middle east one child at a time by doing what Americans do best, loving and giving of themselves. With school supplies, toys, clothes, food, gentle hands and big smiles, they are winning a war that no bomb can match. And part of this good news is that you can help. The greatest need of our people on foreign soil is loyal support from home, especially letters from family, friends, strangers to let them know they are not alone in this battle for freedom.
Just log onto www.anysoldier.com for a wealth of information: addresses, newsletters, general and specific needs. Some of the posts are in remote areas where obtaining such things as personal hygeine supplies is a big problem. Things we take for granted every day may be luxuries to these young people who are daily defending our very way of life. Either we do our part to help them do their job, or the war will eventually be fought on our own soil. Freedom is not free.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Just log onto www.anysoldier.com for a wealth of information: addresses, newsletters, general and specific needs. Some of the posts are in remote areas where obtaining such things as personal hygeine supplies is a big problem. Things we take for granted every day may be luxuries to these young people who are daily defending our very way of life. Either we do our part to help them do their job, or the war will eventually be fought on our own soil. Freedom is not free.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Monday, April 03, 2006
Quality of Life
Last spring my sister, Peg, had surgery for breast cancer. Tests showed that it had spread to her bones, and the oncologist predicted she would be dead in six months without treatment.
Now, Peg has seventy-one years of wisdom packed into a stubborn head. She scoured the internet for all the cancer info she could find, weighed longevity against quality of life, and decided against chemo that might make the rest of her days miserable.
Tonight I watched a show about a woman who had breast cancer, underwent all the advised treatments, lost her hair and wound up with congestive heart failure from the medications. The only way to save her life was to install a heart pump, major operation. Blood thinners caused bleeding in her brain, requiring another surgery. Then a quarter-size blood clot in her aorta called for more surgery. Soon she developed pneumonia, then kidney failure. For six months she battled bravely before death finally ended her misery. Quality of life?
Peg's cancer markers have been fewer with every test thus far, a year after her diagnosis. She is very active, swimming or golfing every day, scuba diving, working, teaching music to kids, enjoying time with grand and great-grandkids, making improvements on a house she donated to a children's program at church, adding to her cooking skills, and more.
This month we Gunn siblings plan to attend Bob Wills Day in Turkey, Texas for at least one more family fling, celebrating two birthdays and the positive attitude that keeps us young at heart.
May the Good Lord Bless and Keep You, Peg, my hero.
Now, Peg has seventy-one years of wisdom packed into a stubborn head. She scoured the internet for all the cancer info she could find, weighed longevity against quality of life, and decided against chemo that might make the rest of her days miserable.
Tonight I watched a show about a woman who had breast cancer, underwent all the advised treatments, lost her hair and wound up with congestive heart failure from the medications. The only way to save her life was to install a heart pump, major operation. Blood thinners caused bleeding in her brain, requiring another surgery. Then a quarter-size blood clot in her aorta called for more surgery. Soon she developed pneumonia, then kidney failure. For six months she battled bravely before death finally ended her misery. Quality of life?
Peg's cancer markers have been fewer with every test thus far, a year after her diagnosis. She is very active, swimming or golfing every day, scuba diving, working, teaching music to kids, enjoying time with grand and great-grandkids, making improvements on a house she donated to a children's program at church, adding to her cooking skills, and more.
This month we Gunn siblings plan to attend Bob Wills Day in Turkey, Texas for at least one more family fling, celebrating two birthdays and the positive attitude that keeps us young at heart.
May the Good Lord Bless and Keep You, Peg, my hero.
Peg, My Hero
She was everything I wanted to be: Beautiful, sexy, wild and free,
the ultimate female athlete with talent and brains that couldn't be beat.
Riding a horse was her natural bent, while I rode like a sack of wet cement.
At every sport she held the lead with grace and poise, style and speed.
The boys all flocked around her bod', waiting for her to give the nod.
Her charm I hoped to emulate when local boys I dared to date.
Learning seemed to come with ease, every course to her a breeze,
while I struggled with my lessons, cramming through the midnight sessions.
I felt like a cow compared to her size, gusto and confidence showed in her eyes.
Favored by Daddy because of her grit, their personalities somehow seemed to fit.
It was plain for all the world to see, whatever she did was fine with me.
And looking back, one thing I know: I could hardly have chosen a better hero.
She was everything I wanted to be: Beautiful, sexy, wild and free,
the ultimate female athlete with talent and brains that couldn't be beat.
Riding a horse was her natural bent, while I rode like a sack of wet cement.
At every sport she held the lead with grace and poise, style and speed.
The boys all flocked around her bod', waiting for her to give the nod.
Her charm I hoped to emulate when local boys I dared to date.
Learning seemed to come with ease, every course to her a breeze,
while I struggled with my lessons, cramming through the midnight sessions.
I felt like a cow compared to her size, gusto and confidence showed in her eyes.
Favored by Daddy because of her grit, their personalities somehow seemed to fit.
It was plain for all the world to see, whatever she did was fine with me.
And looking back, one thing I know: I could hardly have chosen a better hero.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
www.cgtrent.com
Sunday, April 02, 2006
Friends and Fun
Well, I didn't have to embarrass myself by falling off a horse today. They were only taking advanced riders, and I was stretching the truth a bit when I underlined "intermediate" on the casting form. Wearing Molly's Texas size cowboy hat to prove I own a sense of humor, I had my picture made and am hoping for the best. Since I could think of no special talents to offer, the chances may be pretty slim.
All is not lost, as I now know where a handy stable is located, and plan to do some riding there occasionally. After getting my body in good enough shape to last a few hours in the saddle, maybe I can join a trail ride up the mountain, something I've been wanting to do for years. Who knows, maybe by the time the next cowboy movie comes along, I can call myself an advanced rider. My life seems to hinge on ifs and maybes.
Charlie, in his mountain man garb, was still in the picture line when I left. He knows so many of the regular extras that he had a lot of visiting to do. If not for his friendship, I would never have got started in this new adventure. Ain't it funny how that works?
If not for a friend I would never have known about Southwest Writers and the writing class at Bear Canyon Senior Center. Who knows where that trail may lead?
Friend Mike pointed me toward Highland Harmonizers and a host of new friends there. Since we're busy with singing engagements around the Christmas holidays, we have a Christmas party in April (or whichever month works out best), with gifts and food and entertainment by anyone in the group daring enough to work up a song, skit or reading. Some acts may then be repeated at the nursing homes during the next season. It's a year-long blast.
One of my favorite songs is "Someone is Looking for Someone Like You" by Gail Davies. It encourages us to think about cheering up others instead of drowning in self-pity, the only path to real happiness. It would make a great theme song for old folks like me.
Tuesday's program includes some Easter songs. Seems like yesterday was Christmas. Where does the time go? I'm already closer to 70 than 69, but still feel like I'm in my prime. Come on, adventure!!
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
All is not lost, as I now know where a handy stable is located, and plan to do some riding there occasionally. After getting my body in good enough shape to last a few hours in the saddle, maybe I can join a trail ride up the mountain, something I've been wanting to do for years. Who knows, maybe by the time the next cowboy movie comes along, I can call myself an advanced rider. My life seems to hinge on ifs and maybes.
Charlie, in his mountain man garb, was still in the picture line when I left. He knows so many of the regular extras that he had a lot of visiting to do. If not for his friendship, I would never have got started in this new adventure. Ain't it funny how that works?
If not for a friend I would never have known about Southwest Writers and the writing class at Bear Canyon Senior Center. Who knows where that trail may lead?
Friend Mike pointed me toward Highland Harmonizers and a host of new friends there. Since we're busy with singing engagements around the Christmas holidays, we have a Christmas party in April (or whichever month works out best), with gifts and food and entertainment by anyone in the group daring enough to work up a song, skit or reading. Some acts may then be repeated at the nursing homes during the next season. It's a year-long blast.
One of my favorite songs is "Someone is Looking for Someone Like You" by Gail Davies. It encourages us to think about cheering up others instead of drowning in self-pity, the only path to real happiness. It would make a great theme song for old folks like me.
Tuesday's program includes some Easter songs. Seems like yesterday was Christmas. Where does the time go? I'm already closer to 70 than 69, but still feel like I'm in my prime. Come on, adventure!!
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Saturday, April 01, 2006
Southwest Writers
Years ago in an Ann Landers column, some gal was blaming all her problems on the fact that her mother didn't say "I Love You" often enough, and Ann agreed with her! So I wrote this poem.
She Never Said "I Love You"
"I love you" wasn't something Mama could say, but I felt it in the way she brushed my hair
and braided it into pigtails.
It was plain to see in the home-made valentine, the rag doll with embroidered face,
the coveted feed-sack dresses.
I could taste it in her red beans and cornbread, cold bread pudding,
and the world's best roast beef.
Her love was apparent in her dramatic rendition of Bre'r Rabbit and Treasure Island,
a pat on the rump, and "Don't ever let me catch you doing that again!"
It showed in her beaming smile when I did a job right,
brought home a good report card, made 30 points a game.
And when she could no longer speak, her twinkling brown eyes said "I love you"
better than any silver tongue.
Then I got to thinking this would make a good song, so I put in a few rhyming words, and this is how it turned out:
After lunch I borrowed come cowboy clothes from Molly, dropped by a riding stable and practiced getting on and off a horse, trotting around the arena awhile to see if I was fit to try out for a "extra" role in an upcoming movie, Comanche Moon by Larry McMurtry, a prequil to Lonesome Dove. I'll keep you posted.
The Texas Cowgirl
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Mama Never Said “I Love You”
“I love you” wasn’t something Mama could say,
but it was so easy to feel in the way
she brushed the hair of three lively girls
and primped us up in Shirley Temple curls.
Her love was in the taste of bread and beans
and in the feel of freshly ironed jeans.
It showed in the style of a homemade dress
no less than in the feel of a tender caress.
Mama’s smile said love thru the years
to lend me strength or ease pain and tears.
She gave me more love than words can say,
and I owe her a debt I can never repay.
When disease had claimed her brilliant mind,
when expressive words she could no longer find,
her bright brown eyes, forever young,
said “I love you” better than silver tongue.
(Has been set to music by Joe Trent)
This morning at the "open mike" meeting of Southwest Writers, I presented both versions, singing the last one a cappella , pitched a mite low, but well received.“I love you” wasn’t something Mama could say,
but it was so easy to feel in the way
she brushed the hair of three lively girls
and primped us up in Shirley Temple curls.
Her love was in the taste of bread and beans
and in the feel of freshly ironed jeans.
It showed in the style of a homemade dress
no less than in the feel of a tender caress.
Mama’s smile said love thru the years
to lend me strength or ease pain and tears.
She gave me more love than words can say,
and I owe her a debt I can never repay.
When disease had claimed her brilliant mind,
when expressive words she could no longer find,
her bright brown eyes, forever young,
said “I love you” better than silver tongue.
(Has been set to music by Joe Trent)
After lunch I borrowed come cowboy clothes from Molly, dropped by a riding stable and practiced getting on and off a horse, trotting around the arena awhile to see if I was fit to try out for a "extra" role in an upcoming movie, Comanche Moon by Larry McMurtry, a prequil to Lonesome Dove. I'll keep you posted.
The Texas Cowgirl
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
