It has been a while since we have crossed paths on the dog runs of this fast paced life. The realities of present day living have gotten in the way of my occasional traipsing down Memory Lane, but I am back on that favorite street of mine.
If you have not heard, I am "on the road again" in that I'm moving from Russellville to Mountain Home, Arkansas to work in a community bank surrounded by the beauty of the Ozarks. Just fifteen short months ago I relocated to Russellville from Arkadelphia and I recounted for you my trips up Scenic Arkansas Highway 7 as well as the opportunities I had to peer into old cigar boxes filled with memories from days gone by in the midst of that move. You may recall that my wife Kathryn remained in Arkadelphia to fulfill her teaching contract at Henderson State University there while I settled us in a new home in Russellville. Well, to make a short story long, the week that Kathryn's school year finished in Arkadelphia earlier this month, I began a new job in Mountain Home. So ... she is moving from Arkadelphia to Russellville and I from Russellville to Mountain Home at the same time. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, so they say! We have spent the last few weeks moving the remaining of our belongings situated in our Arkadelphia house to Russellville in order to centralize such "things" and searching for me a temporary place to hang my hat in Mountain Home until Kathryn can join me there. Life is hectic! Change is good!!!
A few months back, one of my favorite and most reliable correspondents, Les Cooper (NHS Class of 1965) flattered me in sending me lyrics to a song he thinks "fits me." The song is one released in 1970 by the Grateful Dead just as my litter was exiting the kennel in Remmel Park affectionately known as Newport High School. It is entitled "Attics of My Life" which was first performed publicly by the Dead in May, 1970 and was featured on their American Beauty album released later that year. It happens to be the only Grateful Dead album I own. Now "Attics of My Life" is not a tune you would have heard on Top Forty radio. The lyrics are haunting and the music dirge like. But Les was correct in thinking that the song speaks to me.
"In the attics of my life
Full of cloudy dreams unreal
Full of tastes no tongue can know
And lights no eye can see
When there was no ear to hear
You sang to me"
In crawling through the attics of both our Arkadelphia and Russellville homes these past few weeks, Kathryn and I have uncovered artifacts reminding us of dreams unfulfilled and things taking us back to times when our tastes were not fully developed. Such times when we were trying to light up our lives with new experiences knowing that few others listened to our thoughts or shared our dreams. Over time we have boxed up dreams and stored them in the attic. When we have made moves, we have moved the boxes of dreams past with us. These are not Pandora's Boxes, nothing evil lurks within. They are simply boxes filled with mementoes of the past, gifts made by our children, evidence of former accomplishments, pictures of youth, reminders of old friends.
Kathryn lived in our Arkadelphia house for 24 years. I have moved around more frequently. Our lives merged six years ago. So did our respective attics. Just as we are living together apart these days during the current move from town to town, we lived together apart during our youth. Kathryn is also a member of the Class of 1970. She graduated from high school in San Marcos, Texas the very same day in May, 1970 as we did from Newport High School. When growing up we became aware of the affairs of the world at the same time, we listened to the same music, we dreamed similar dreams. Some of those dreams were a bit "cloudy" and "unreal," but we didn't see the clouds then or think for a minute that our dreams would go unrealized. The contents of the boxes in our attics remain somewhat beyond the clouds of life.
"I have spent my life
Seeking all that's still unsung
Bent my ear to hear the tune
And closed my eyes to see
When there were no strings to play
You played to me"
With each discovery of a decaying cardboard box in the attic, we open it. We see a Christmas ornament made of construction paper created by a child. Where is the artist? We see a an old clarinet tucked away in a dust covered case. Where is the musician? We see a yellowed term paper marked up by a well respected teacher now deceased. Where is the author? We see a baseball glove, leather cracked and too small for my hand. Where is the athlete? We see several tiny plastic figures in military garb. Where is the soldier? We see a sash covered in Boy Scout merit badges. Where is the leader? We see old photos of family and friends. Where are those friends?
With my eyes closed and my ear listening to tunes of the past I can see you, my friends. At times when I'm alone I can sense your presence. You look as if you are 18 even though you may be 50 (or 51). You may be hanging an ornament on a tree. You may be marching with the band. You may be sitting in Mrs. Carr's or Mrs. Umsted's English class. You may be kicking the dirt in the batter's box at Legion Field. You may be walking through the jungle in Vietnam. You may be in a tent camping near Blanchard Springs. You may be on my mind and in my heart.
"In the book of love's own dream
Where all the print is blood
Where all the pages are my days
And all my lights grow old
When I had no wings to fly
You flew to me"
Certainly our lives have taken different paths since we left the comfortable surroundings of Newport High School in the spring of 1970. While maturity may not always be keeping pace with age, we are growing older. We still have dreams! My dreams may be more modest today than they were when "I had no wings" for time is a factor. When young, there was all the time in the world. Such thought is tempered now with knowledge that some of our childhood pals are no longer with us. Just this week two of our littermates lost younger siblings to death. Mary Lynn Fortenberry's brother John passed away as did Dinny Bullard's sister Sharon. Both John (Stucky as he was often called) and Sharon were members of the NHS Class of 1973. Their memories live on. Each day of life is a page in the book. Turn the page.
In addition to the move from Russellville to Mountain Home, our life has been confronted with other challenges which have captured our attention. Both my mother and Kathryn's mother have experienced some health issues in recent months. From early March until mid April my mother spent time in Regional Healthcare in Newport. She was blessed with excellent and friendly caregivers there and is now back at home. Special attention is still coming her way with neighbors regularly looking in on her. Among those neighbors is my good friend and Class of '70 littermate Robert Lake and his wife Regina. I am forever grateful to the fine folks of Newport who continue to carry on with a loving spirit.
Our daughter, Lynli (Kathryn's daughter and my stepdaughter), has also been meeting the demands of a challenge to her well being. She is a diagnosed bulimic with addictions to alcohol, cocaine, and prescription drugs which have been threatening her very being. She is being cared for in an excellent rehabilitation setting for which we are genuinely grateful. Whether you have been aware or not of these life challenges in which we are engaged, your prayers are welcome and appreciated.
We know there are others who are faced with similar obstacles on the path of life. We empathize and share your heartache. Several of my littermates have lost parents in the last few months. Others are facing their own health issues. I ask for continued prayer for Sharon Stites, Diane Madison, Kathy Looney, Mary Wynne Parker, Rick Wiggins, and Kenny "Pablo" Taylor. Today I talked with Rick's daughter and understand he is recovering nicely from heart surgery a couple of weeks ago. Pablo will be undergoing surgery on June 17 for a recurrence of a sarcoma that I understand is not life threatening.
Accompanying the somewhat "sad" news there is "glad" news from the camp of the Class of '70. Many of our children have graduated from both high school and college in recent weeks. Among them was my daughter, Evelyn, who walked across the same stage at the University of Arkansas' College of Business graduation a couple of weeks ago with Laura (Benish) and Harry Goodyear's daughter and Lynn (Davis) and Louis Collier's son. But just as important as children graduating, our very own littermate Iva Lou Haynes Hall finished her PhD in nursing at Texas Women's University prompting me to yell a hearty congratulations to Dr. Hall.
Gene Bennett, Randy Moore, Coy Thompson, and Kathy Woodruff have all become grandparents in the past few weeks. I must reiterate that I am much too "young" to be a grandparent, but I take my hat off to all my former classmates who are.
Sad news and glad news - life's news. Details of such events in our lives can be retrieved in the future from boxes neatly stored away in our respective attics.
"In the secret space of dreams
Where I dreaming lay amazed
When the secrets all are told
And the petals all unfold
When there was no dream of mine
You dreamed of me"
There are times when the challenges of every day living become frustrating and the dreams are all but erased from life's canvas. But they are there in the "secret space" of our hearts. When I hear from you from time to time via email or phone call, the dreams reappear. They come alive. They stir my soul. They encourage me to take the next step. Such contact reminds me that I was once a part of your dreams (or it may have been a nightmare). Caring thought will whisk the clouds from our dreams. As a senior at Newport High School I was required by Mrs. Almarie Carr to write a term paper for English class. I chose to write about the life of Charles Lamb, an author of prose who wrote during the Romantic Period under the pen name of Elia. Lamb was a contemporary of the poets Shelley, Byron and Coleridge. He spent his life caring for a crazed sister who had murdered their mother in a fit of rage. Lamb once stated, "I love to lose myself in other men's minds." I think that way myself and truly appreciate knowing the thoughts of others. Periodic messages from you allow me to understand what is important to you and they let me "lose myself" in your thoughts. It is refreshing in that I don't just wallow around in my on ideas.
Many of you have sent good wishes my way in learning of my move to Mountain Home. I'm dreaming of a new home. I'm dreaming of our children paying us occasional visits. I'm dreaming of traveling to places I have not yet seen. I'm dreaming of you!
I am now routinely driving back and forth to Mountain Home from Russellville on weekends. Out of the river valley into the hills of northern Arkansas. The drive on up Arkansas Highway 7 from Russellville to Harrison then east on U.S. Highway 62 to Mountain Home is awesome. The landscape is truly gorgeous and it is easy to lose one's self in thought of distant times either past or future. I have found a good radio station out of Harrison that plays songs from the early '70s that keeps me grounded in thoughts of high school and college friendships.
The Mountain Home area brings back many memories of times long gone. I recall the only "family vacation" on which I went with my parents and sister was to Bull Shoals Lake around 1960. Wish I could find some old photos to see if I could identify the little motel in which in we stayed and then look around to see if it is still in existence today.
I took a drive down Highway 5 south of Mountain Home toward Mountain View the other day. That drive rekindled memories of Boy Scout camping trips to the Blanchard Springs area, Guion, Calico Rock and Sylamore Creek. Boys with dreams basking in the beauty of God's creation. Wonderful memories these are!
I have found a neat little place to live temporarily in Mountain Home. It is probably one of the oldest buildings in town and was once the girls' dormitory of the old Mountain Home College which was supported by the Baptist Church until it closed in the 1930s due to funding shortages. The building was constructed in 1893 and is of cut stone. It's a cool place drenched in historical significance. I'm not sure I would wish my circumstances on anyone else at this time. Kathryn and I have periodic phases of madness in trying to embrace the fact that we are living in three places at once (Arkadelphia, Russellville and Mountain Home). We keep dreaming that it will all fall together soon before it falls apart. I am reminded of another quotation attributed to Charles Lamb, "I'd like to grow very old as slowly as possible." Right now I'm just looking for the pace to slow a bit so I will be able to notice that I'm growing older.
I have missed "talking" to you over the past three months, but I do appreciate the cards and letters (and emails) that have come my way. In mentioning that "Attics of My Life" fit me, Les Cooper told me that the Miles' Files helped him to "soar into the past while keeping one foot in the present and my eyes on the future." Thank you Les! I am hopeful others feel the same.
Dreams link the future to our past. If you have forgotten where you put your dreams, you can rediscover them in the "attics" of your life. Moving has given me a good excuse to crawl up in my attic, but you don't need a convenient excuse to explore the attics in your heart. Now is a good time.
Until the next time, I am still Miles from Nowhere - - - Guess I'll take my time.
joe
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