Reasons I love Texas--Part 3--a story of coincidences

Christy White, Cathy Wardlow, and "Shriek" inside The Roost at Shamrock, Texas.

Getting to the point: If you're traveling through the Texas panhandle around lunchtime, get off the Interstate at Shamrock, turn south, past fast "food" places, and drive toward the white water tower. When you get there, turn left on Railroad Avenue, and you'll encounter "The Roost." Don't miss it.
Why?
This is a story about coincidences, culminating this week in meeting a friend  for the first time and my scrumptious, made from scratch,  country chicken club salad.
A few years ago I started playing "Literati" on Yahoo, a scrabble type game, where you'd play other people around the world. It's addictive and eventually, after hours of wasting perfectly good time, you'd eventually begin to recognize and play the same people.
So it was that I "met" JCWardlow, and we were pretty evenly matched. I could tell from our occasional comments about weather and such that she lived in West Texas, and eventually figured out it was in Shamrock. As an oft traveler through there to New Mexico or to visit family, I know the terrain.
Then one day, looking at Facebook comments from former student and friend Richard Mize, I saw he had a friend named Jack Wardlow II from aptly named Levelland, Texas,  west of Lubbock. This old reporter couldn't ignore the coincidence, and contacted him about the possible relation who would play Literati. I found out that JCWardlow was his mother, probably using the initials of her husband and her first name, Catherine.
I surprised her with that knowledge during one game, and we  continued to play. Then Yahoo killed Literati, which is a blessing in saving hours that could be better spent--if I'd take advantage of them.
With the advent of Facebook, Cathy and I again became "friends," sometimes briefly commenting. That's where I learned that she worked in the Shamrock cafe, The Roost, owned by her daughter Christy White. 
I always meant to stop when passing through, but alas, every time we were in the panhandle, we were in a hurry to get somewhere, or it was the wrong time of day. After a couple of unsuccessful tries, I finally located  The Roost on one of my more leisurely back road trips, but it was closed.
Until this week.
Coming back from Lubbock and Canyon Thursday I pulled into Shamrock and headed for the restaurant. When I pulled up at 10:45, there were a couple of cars parked nearby, but it looked closed.
Still, on a whim, I walked up, tried the door and pulled it open.
"Hello, are you open?" I asked, not seeing anyone.
From the back in the kitchen area came the reply, "In 15 minutes."
I kept walking in, coming around the corner, and saw two women and a man working away. From a Facebook photo, I recognized the woman at the counter, and asked, "Are you Cathy Wardlow?"
"Yes I am," she said.
"I'm Terry Clark," I said, and got invited to stay for lunch, meet her daughter Christy White, trade  some stories, and have that great salad before heading back to I-40 and home.

In between, the place started filling up with regulars in hats and boots and other West Texas garb, all known by name. It's bright and clean, with wood tables, and all kinds of chicken kinds of things for decorations. I took two photos, and the one outside doesn't do the place justice. But inside? Larupin' good. The menu is terrific, all made from scratch, all under $10, I think. Look it up and click here on  Yelp, and you'll see photos and reviews. The Roost is also on Facebook.
I want us to go back in the winter when they've got stew and cornbread. And in the summer, with more time, for that peach cobbler.
Coincidences, and more reasons I love Texas.

Reasons I love Texas--part 2

Jerry and Cathrina Clark

Three years ago, or more, I think, my brother Jerry "commissioned" a watercolor painting of the Cathedral of St. Francis in Santa Fe. Since then he's given me snarky comments at reunions, etc., about not following through. 
Hey, it's his fault, he didn't give me a deadline. In fairness, I tried...multiple times...taking photos on site, studying other photos and paintings, and failing, time and again. And, in fairness, he made it difficult. He wanted it big, and he wanted a night scene, with snow. 
Jerry and his wife Cathrina live in Lubbock, where they've constructed this beautiful Santa Fe style adobe home that stands out from all the "Dallas style" cookie-cutter brick semi-mansions around it. It's beautiful. The decor is distinctly New Mexican.

Brothers

We grew up in New Mexico, and haven't figured out how to get back on a permanent basis. Families and careers are in West Texas and Oklahoma, thank you. We are distinctly New Mexican--the place is inside us.
That made painting El Catedral Basilica de San Francisco de Asis...the accomplishment of Archbishop Lamy--daunting. You can read a fictional account in Willa Cather's "Death Comes for the Archbishop."
But, I kept trying, and this week, after having it framed at The Great Frame Up in Oklahoma City, delivered--afraid they wouldn't like it. Sigh of relief, they love it, and we hung it. We love New Mexico, and Jerry and Cathrina are more reasons I love Texas.
And before and after, Jerry and I played Scrabble, just like our folks and uncles did long ago in Albuquerque. I think we split.

Old photos, cabins, art and genes

The table, with a "stump sock" just above my recent painting.

My brother Jerry and his wife Cathrina coming to town yesterday for a concert was a rare and welcome gathering for the two of us. They live in Lubbock and we're lucky to see each other once a year these days.
He reminded me that I need to send him some scanned photos of the cabin our folks owned in the 1950s in the Manzano mountains southeast of Albuquerque. So today I went through the old family album, digging out old black and white photos, and sending them to him. It reminded me why I have this attraction to cabins, to painting them and dreaming about them. But that's another post.

Jerry and I and the table, 1953

While doing it, I came across a lot of photos of he and I in those same years, which I also sent to him. But one really stood out to me. We were gathered at our dad's old oak art table.
That's where I paint today, 61 years later. So here is a photo of it today, including the last remnant I have of one of Dad's "stump socks" as a rag. Dad, as I've told you, had a wooden leg--his right leg a stump at mid calf--and he bought stump socks to make the leg comfortable. I use the rag as a sort of sponge for my painting, and I think Dad, the real artist, would approve, especially since he must have cut it up for that use years ago.

61 years later, last night, me, Susan, Cathrina and Jerry, OKC

Out here there's the sky

High Plains sunset, 8 by 8 watercolor, handmade Indian paper

"Out here there's the sky," wrote Willa Cather in Death Comes for the Archbishop, set in New Mexico. As a resident of the Great Plains in Nebraska, she knew.

So does my sister-in-law Cathrina Helms Clark, in Lubbock, where the only drama in landscape is overhead. Here's her photograph this evening, walking their dog Ranger. And my promised daily painting.