Rushing's Ramblings

As we age, we look back on things that fill us with regret. We long for the days when our children were young. When we were busy parents, we weren't always the Norman Rockwell version of parenthood. Sometimes, we were tired or ill or impatient and didn't give our children the attention and love they needed when they needed it. We want to have a do-over for those times. My daughter, Marcy, has her hands full with a demanding job and two young children. The four-year-old requires more direction than most children his age. Overstimulation, hunger, and fatigue can be a tremendous challenge for him and those in his proximity. His parents are conscientious in arranging the support systems he needs to navigate this world more effectively. He is a little boy full of love, joy, and happiness most of the time. There are times, though, when he could try even Mother Teresa. We recently attended the Soap Box Derby in Marble Falls. Both children loved seeing the carts race down

Hiking in our late 60s is very different than when we were much younger. We go slower and know that our energy and balance are not as they used to be. I reach the mountaintop by trudging onward and upward with each careful step. I must admit that much of my self-talk during the first few steps and toward the end of the trail is about wondering what I’m doing in the world and questioning whether I’ll even complete the entire hike. The switchbacks begin to feel like they’ll never end, and the top of the mountain seems elusive. Still, I slowly and carefully put one foot in front of the other. As the ascent becomes steeper and more complex, I no longer care if I encounter a rattlesnake, a bear, or a mountain lion; my only thought is finishing the hike and ending my misery. Finally, all the effort in reaching the top is rewarded with awe-inspiring scenery. As I descend the mountain, the pauses on the trail become more frequent as my knees are weakened from the ascent. There’s an old trick a

                                                                                                                                                              I recently learned that my good friend, Cris, had suffered a series of strokes and is now receiving hospice care. Some might wonder why I'm grieving for someone over age 100, but they don't know the force of Cris and the impact she has made on others. A fter moving to South Florida to open and eventually manage a rehabilitation hospital, I met Cris. Cris was on the hospital board and a good friend of Ernestine's, the VP of Nursing for the umbrella healthcare organization. Ernestine took me under her wing since I was new to the area and knew no one. They were two extraordinary women with whom I had the pleasure of lunching, laughing, and playing golf 15 years ago.  Ernestine eventually left the healthcare organization to pursue other professional opportunities  and moved out of the area. Cris and I continu

My travel companion and I recently stayed at the Gage Hotel in Marathon on our way to Big Bend.  We were drawn to the old hotel because of its rich history.  Rancher Alfred Gage built the Gage Hotel in 1927 as an opulent place for those visiting the area. It fell into disrepair for a long time but was restored by J.P. Bryan in the late 1970s, then again in the 1990s. Bryan’s vision was to revitalize the town as a tourist attraction. The hotel features beautiful rooms, inviting outdoor areas, and an upscale restaurant. The Gage stays booked for months in advance. Couples wanting a romantic place to stay in a remote area of the state often choose The Gage. Backpackers, motorcyclists, and regular tourists on the way to Big Bend enjoy stopping at The Gage. After checking in, we headed for the hotel bar, where we joined two art dealers from Arkansas. They regaled us with stories of The Gage Hotel’s ghosts and spirits, particularly in rooms 10 and 39. They were convinced the rumor