Rushing's Ramblings

Driving down the toll road from the Ft Lauderdale airport to my former next-door neighbor's house recently brought happy anticipation mixed with sadness. It had been almost 4 years since I drove in South Florida. It was my first time back since retiring and moving to another state. Each mile brought a particular memory of the 12 years I had spent in the area. I wanted to see dear friends I badly missed and one adored friend lying in a coma. Little did I know then that she would die shortly after I told her goodbye one last time. I thought about other friends I would not see because they had died in the past three years. Had I known that I would not be seeing them again in this lifetime, I would have hugged them a little tighter and expressed gratitude to them for being in my life. My former neighborhood is unchanged, but the surrounding area, once part of the Everglades decades ago, is filled with new housing developments, golf courses, and businesses. People have replaced al...

I was born with a healthy dose of wanderlust and have shaken off most of it in the past few years. Age has something to do with losing the drive to wander all over the planet, but it is more likely from being back in my home state of Texas after being gone for too many years.   I couldn't wait to leave my childhood home in the Texas Panhandle, as I was bored to tears. At the time, I didn't appreciate the beauty of the flat plains, the wide-open skies, and the friendliest and most honest people you'll ever meet.  I lived many years in Dallas, raised my daughter in the area, and had a challenging career and many friends. I spent a decade traveling the country on business and visited almost every nook and cranny in the United States. Most vacations were spent in Europe or South America with the airline miles I accumulated. As soon as my daughter left for college, I moved to South Africa for a year…just for the experience of living in a different country far from...

Every time I attend the Dallas Police Department's annual memorial service for officers killed in the line of duty, try as I may. I can't keep tears from falling down my cheeks at the first sound of bagpipes playing Amazing Grace, the final note of Taps after the service. Over 100 Dallas Police Officers stand at attention throughout most of the ceremony. Many of those officers are directly in front and facing family members of the fallen. I have to wonder if it crosses the police officers' minds o the possibility that their family might be part of the audience to honor them one day. Whether or not they can compartmentalize and carry on, they risk their lives each time they wear a uniform. My great-great-uncle, Officer John Crain, was killed in 1923 while investigating suspicious activity at a closed store. As he peered through the window, one of the burglars shot him in the head with a .38 caliber pistol. They had killed another officer with the same gun a month earl...

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 fo...

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 ...