Rushing's Ramblings

It's 35 years later, and I'm sitting next to my daughter, Marcy, at a Willie Nelson concert. Bittersweet memories kept flooding into my consciousness, making me yearn to experience that time once more but happy at the same time for having had it at all. We had just bought a new tape of Willie Nelson all those years ago,  which contained "All of Me," a song made famous by Billie Holiday. We loved playing that song, over and over. Our three-year-old daughter, Marcy, started singing along, although the lyric "take these lips, I'll never use them" became "take these yips ."  We loved hearing her sing with Willie.   Willie didn't sing this particular song tonight. He is 84 years old at this point and only sang maybe five or six tunes at a concert primarily used to promote his two youngest sons, one of whom is well on his way to developing as a musician. It didn't matter, though. I was sitting alongside my daughter, who happ

Recently, I was out for a couple of hours running errands.  When I returned home, it was to a house without water.  I checked the water meter and discovered a PVC pipe leading to it had completely broken off.  For a moment, I thought it was a deliberate act, as I have been part of a small group of homeowners that were outraged by decisions made by the new president of our HOA (think LOTS of money out of our pockets!).  Passing thoughts sometimes get burned into your brain and either grow in intensity or remain dormant until something makes you realize that your gut was right all along. My brother had installed a rain barrel on my deck a few months ago. My back was aching after hauling what seemed like millions of buckets of water from the upstairs balcony to the master bathroom, then to the kitchen and bathroom downstairs.  I never knew that flushing used gallons of water each time! That lone rain barrel saved me for those 20 hours. When I discovered no water, I promptly contacted

Most people posting on social media want to project a perfect life with pretty pictures of smiling faces. Those pictures always remind me of the Willie Nelson song, "Pretty Paper"–– "Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue Wrap your presents to your darling from you Pretty pencils to write "I love you." Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue Crowded street, busy feet hustle by him Downtown shoppers, Christmas is nigh There he sits all alone on the sidewalk Hoping that you won't pass him by Should you stop, better not You're in a hurry, my how time does fly In the distance, the ringing of laughter And in the midst of laughter, he cries" Of course, we all know that what we're trying to project often hides what's happening just past the camera lens. None of us get out of this life without experiencing bumps in the road, whether self-imposed or done to us. It would be too depressing to only post the negative aspects of our lives, and no one wants to

We've been friends for sixty years, even though our only communication has been through comments made on FB to each other a couple of times this past year. To this day, she holds a special place in my heart. If it weren't for her and her family's home serving as a refuge from the turmoil in my house as a child, I really don't know if I would have made it. Linda was always there for me.  I would hurry to her home as soon as the dishes were done most nights.  We'd stay in her room for several hours while I decompressed.  I never once felt that I was unwelcome in her home.  I suspect Linda's parents knew what I had to endure in the house around the corner from them. I had few friends in school and was a loner for the most part.  She didn't run with the "in crowd" either, but she had a brilliant mind and a compassionate heart.  Her closest friend graduated first in our class, and she wasn't far behind.  Only a handful of us with advanced degree

We exchanged messages on an online dating site about 8 years ago. He described himself as age 55, in excellent shape, and famous. He had me at "famous." When I asked his name, he hedged and revealed that he was a former astronaut. Since I already knew his first name, it wasn't difficult to do an internet search on him before agreeing to meet. I discovered that he was a former astronaut and one of 12 men who had walked on the Moon. I find it ironic that this is now a notable feat, as one would have expected that we would have been on Mars for over 40 years since he walked on the Moon. As I entered the restaurant and saw him sitting at the bar, I couldn't help noticing that he looked more like 75. I asked why he felt compelled to lie about his age. He replied that he had yearly check-ups as a follow-up to his space travel. According to NASA, he had the health of someone 20 years younger. My response was that he should really work on telling the truth. He had a doctorate

I don't think I cried the day I learned he died, but I did in my dreams last night. I was weeping so hard that it awakened me. Oddly, 30 years could pass, and something triggers your memory to create an overwhelming sense of sadness that you were unaware of. He was a year younger than I was, but we would see each other in the hallways or share a rare class during our high school years. He was always happy, funny, and friendly. People with red hair and freckles are just naturally fun to be around! I was in my third semester at the local two-year college when he started attending the same college. We would usually gather several of us in one car on the weekends and ride around town, stopping at the three drive-ins to visit with friends or endlessly circle them for hours. Often, we would fill up a car with friends and head to the drive-in movies with one or two people hiding in the trunk. You had to be creative in a small town with limited opportunities and no funds. I moved away the

I recently attended a Christmas Party at a local ritzy resort. I don't have the funds to join such an exclusive club, but a friend, who lives with a member, asked me to go with her because her partner was not interested in attending. We hadn't been there long before a big guy with penetrating eyes bordering on flirtation sat at our table. His wife was visiting with other club members in the vast ballroom, with hundreds of people dressed to the nines. Everyone had a good time eating, drinking, and dancing to a live band. If you have the impression that a ritzy resort is a community full of wealthy, retired people sitting in rockers watching TV all day, you would be wrong. Most retirees play golf or tennis during the day and then dance the night away. You haven't lived until you see hundreds of elderly people dancing like they were in their 20s.  I'm glad for them and wanted to join in, but I didn't have the opportunity. Now, back to the big guy at our table––H

I attended the annual Christmas Party for members of a ritzy resort in Horseshoe Bay.  A member invited me, so off I went. The community's median household income is $76,000, which doesn't account for the money held in IRAs, retirement, offshore banks, etc.  It's a wealthy community with an average age of well over 65.  Most of the residents vote Republican and live in homes worth, on average, nearly $700,000.  Several famous people are living in the community. My friend loves discussing politics.  It doesn't matter if they don't agree with her or not.  She has the patience of Job and will try her best in a friendly, patient, and calm manner to listen to the opposition and try and convince them to see things her way.  I admire her for her approach. After a few drinks at our table, the discussion drifted to politics.  I dreaded it.  I knew the audience (wealthy Republicans) and didn't want to engage in anything less than pleasant on this night of dinner, da

I remain puzzled why the average American still supports Donald Trump.  I understand that many of them were "fed-up" with the same old establishment politicians running the government, and they were voting because Trump promised to "drain the swamp."  Even more, voted for Trump because he appealed to their racist and misogynistic views. White males in this country have enjoyed advantages and privileges from the moment they were born––due to their skin color and gender.  The fear of losing that advantage when Obama was elected morphed into a rage.  A rage that many are unable to understand or accept that it's based on losing white privilege, but it's still there, flashing in giant, neon lights.  Ask women, people of color, or people with sexual orientations other than heterosexuals.  We can spot them from a mile off. We're almost a year into his Presidency, yet many blindly follow him.  His frequent rallies are reminiscent of those old black-and-white

She had 4 children under 5 in a small grocery store in the middle of nowhere.  It was hard to miss her at over 300 pounds, and a voice carried out into the parking lot. She was either a young grandmother or an older mother, and she commanded those small children like a drill Sargeant. Her behavior enabled her to make it through the day.  I always thought having one child was a handful, and I'm confident two under three years old are too much.  I don't have to worry about that anymore, as I'm free of directing employees or children.  Thank God. I observed her from a distance while expecting any moment that she would physically abuse one of them and I would have to intervene.  Her version of parenting was to repeatedly shame and threaten each one with a beating. She never hit one of them, but you could see the terror in their eyes every time she directed her vitriol at one of the unfortunate victims.  One could only imagine what happened in her house when no one was aro