Home...eight days 'til Christmas

"Sanctuary," 5 x 7 watercolor Christmas card

"I'll be home for Christmas...if only in my dreams." 

That 1943 song recorded by Bing Crosby, written by lyricist Kim Gannon and composer Walter Kent, captured the emotion and hopes of all those American servicemen in the anger and violence of remote WWII, so far away from the warmth and safety of loved ones.

It still does for so many people, perhaps even more, scattered  around the world though the years, or threatened by danger and violence of war and homelessness.

Last week on a cold day, I saw a homeless person huddled in a sleeping bag at the corner of Penn and Memorial. Near downtown recently, we saw a homeless camp of tents not far from the sparkling lights of OKC's "Renaissance." In Ukrainians, their homes are being bombed. I wonder what their Christmas dreams are like, what kind of "Holy-day" they are having.

For me, with my children and grandchildren so far away, at least I can see and talk to them through modern technology, and enjoy the love of in-laws. Long ago, returning from a Culp cousin reunion in East Texas, I wrote a poem of my thoughts during this season that  includes these lines:

 "Driving in East Texas is like going back into the womb.

It's warm, and wet, and ... green.

Where families are born, and grow, and spread out like runners 

from the ivy growing up the trunks of the hardwoods, 

across miles and years."

So as we approach Christmas eight days from now, with our "decorations so bright," let us savor the sanctuary of "home," and be thankful and enjoy every second and loved ones, remembering those who can't. 

This card captures those emotions for me, the warmth and joy of adobe, red chilis and a Christmas wreath on a white Christmas.

A round oak table

"Stability," 5 x 7 watercolor, 140 lb Fabriano Artistico extra white cold press paper

Nothing symbolizes family and stability and kindness and love for me like a round oak table. 
They are the exact opposites of American life in these days of crazy pandemics viruses of COVID, racism, hatred and political chaos.
I obviously have many memories of sitting around such a table, where the entire fam says grace, dines, or plays games, or reads,  or works, or gathers just because, and where friends are welcome guests--there's a unity not disrupted by people's egos or prejudices. 
Today's WorldWatercolorMonth by Doodlewash  prompt was "Round," and it stumped me for a little, until I walked through the house and saw our round oak table.
Most round oak tables are solid, antique pieces of furniture that anchor a room, a family--a magnet of refuge from a busy, worrisome world. 
Wouldn't the entire country be better if we could just get everyone to sit down at a round oak table?

Family moments

Family Moments," 5 x 7

Today's #watercolor month daily challenge topic was "Family Moments."
Here it is, pretty rough, lots of texture, something I'm not happy with, but it fits the day.
But I can't help but think about those poor children locked up in Trumpfuhrer's concentration camps, without the families, and without freedom. Freedom to them is a tragic joke.

Retirement reverie--Part 2--The fam, & surprises

(Photos and stories on my colleagues, my students and the press coming next.)

Two family surprises awaited me at the retirement reception last week at UCO. 

I knew my daughter-in-law Kerin Clark and three granddaughters were driving up from San Antonio, since my oldest son, Vance,  was working in the U.K. And I hadn't heard from my son Travis, the Rock Mountain man. 

He walked in the door just as the reception was getting  underway. 

And then Kerin got Vance to greet me and the crowd by face time on the phone. My other two, daughter Dallas and son Derrick, simply couldn't get here because of conflicts and distance. 

Most of these photos need no cutlines. Photos by Lauren Bieri, Mark Zimmerman, Susan Clark, Dez Hill.

Alexx, me, Kerin, Susan, and Neysa, Sarah and Katherine

Tomorrow's pilgrimage toward a reunion

They're all gone now--Sissie, ET, Mom, Ima, Addy, Gladys

Francis Faye Culp Clark

June 15, 1909-

July 5, 1980

It's more than two hours southwest and 35 years back in time for me tomorrow. I go to plant real flowers at her grave, and think, remember, talk, and touch mortality. 
Tell your mother you love her.
Brother Jerry and I have mementos and photographs, and more. We have questions and wondering we'll never find out. We have cousins.

Mom with grandchildren Travis, Dallas, Becky, Derrick and Vance

We and our children and our grandchildren carry her genes, her grace and goodness--and her sense of humor.
Mom, you'd delight in our your grandchildren and great-grandchildren.  
I know it's a long way from humble East Texas, but we've all traveled miles and years, and can never thank you enough for your unselfishness, how you cared for and reared us. 

Retirement at MD Anderson

We wish we were as good as you, but any goodness we have we inherited and learned from being around you.   
We look forward to a big reunion. In the meantime, I'll see you tomorrow.

Front row, right corner, on a Ma Bell basketball team

Dad's portrait of his bride, 1943

Birthday thoughts and old photos

Finding another trove of old black and white photos yesterday in the garage brought back memories and questions as another year starts and another ends as a birthday approaches.

Never before seen--two small 1" by 2" photos of my dad Terrence Miller Clark as a junior in Comanche, OK high school, 1930-31.

 Then some of me through the years.

No caption necessary

With uncle Rex after the war, in Fort Worth

With Mom, Jerry and uncle Mike at Grand Canyon

On Sandia Base, Albuquerque, cloud covered Sandias in background

And some of the people responsible for it all, Mom, Francis Faye Culp Clark, and Dad

In Taos, 1950s

Erle Thweatt Clark,Comanche, OK

Dad, grandmother Cuba Jon Miller Clark Reasor, and husband Worden, New Mexico

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

Mothers and daughters..."Pages" in time

Dallas Page

 Going through old photos brings back memories and discoveries. I found this color photo of my daughter Dallas Page last week, and immediately thought my her daughter Abby Page. Remarkable. Don't know Dallas' age here, and this was Abby two years ago in our home, age nine.

Abby Page

Resurrection flowers-Day One

These Iris in our front yard are about to burst open, reminding me of death, and time and of the birth of new life. Years ago, they grew near my Dad's grave in Comanche, OK, around the base of a twisted  blackjack. 
I go there every year on Mother's Day, planting live flowers on my mother's grave 15 miles south in Waurika. Then on the way back, I stop at Comanche, and do the same for Dad.
One year, only the stump of the tree remained, but there were still the Iris, so I dug some up and brought them back.
Last year, for some reason these Iris  didn't bloom, and I missed them. And when I visited the Comanche grave, even those iris were gone.
So these are special flowers for me, because they remind me of life, death, family and the passing of years. Dad's been dead 41 years now. The iris bloom and then fade quickly compared to us, but they don't die even if there are some bad years. They remind me that our life also "is like a vapor."
I'll be glad when they bloom again, and in two weeks, I'll visit those graves again, thinking about these flowers. 

Gray Samsonite kind of guy

Jerry, Mom and I getting on train at
Albuquerque for trip to Texas
In the 50's, with baggage

"Everybody's got baggage," said a friend at lunch today.
"Yes," I said, "I think mine is old gray Samsonite."
"Yeah, you're sort of a gray Samsonite kind of guy," he said, laughing.
The other friend chimed in.
"Yes, and it's pretty beat up with lots of dents and scratches," she said.
In between laughing, we were talking about people getting older and getting along with others, finding people to live with.
We agreed it was important that people's baggage pretty well match, or at least go together, if it was going to work. (That said, Susan's baggage is a lot classier than mine.)
"Having baggage isn't bad," said one friend.
"Some people have more baggage than others," added the other.
I started thinking about my gray Samsonite life. Not only is it dented and scratched and scuffed, the latches barely work, the handles are flimsy, and the hinges are almost sprung, from being crammed too tight with clothes and stuff  I didn't really need over the years. It squeaks and groans every time it moves.
I usually need to have a rope, or a belt, or strap wrapped around it to hold all the heavy junk in. It's sure not packed neatly, stuff just thrown in, wrinkled at best.
Thinking back, I find it interesting that my parents and aunt gave me two pieces of really good luggage for high school graduation. They knew I was going to travel and needed good luggage to hold all the baggage I would accumulate. Those pieces are long gone now, of course. 
They weren't gray Samsonite, but that's the first image I thought of when we started talking about baggage. I remember bright smiling people in ads in the National Geographic, boarding trains with shiny, perfectly matched Samsonite luggage.
It's no wonder today that I like to travel really light. One small bag, with rollers on it, or a duffel bag is all I need for most trips...even a week long trip to Europe. I hate the weight and having to tote things around. It takes me five minutes to pack. I'm trying to get rid of baggage.
Of course, it takes longer to pack what used to be called an "overnight" bag, carrying medicines and toiletries. You can tell the age of people by what kinds of toiletries they carry. If you're young, you've got a toothbrush, tooth paste, deodorant, a comb and brush, a razor, and some shaving lotion and aftershave. That's all.
Now the container includes all kinds of salves and ointments for various aches and pains, anti-diarrhea medicine, pain killers, stuff for stomach upset, band aids, sore throat medicine, mouth wash, eye drops, hemorrhoid ointment, nail clippers, and much more. Of course now you have to have it in a clear plastic bag if you're traveling by air so everybody can see your personal problems.
Makes you wish for gray Samsonite.

A magic walk of Thanksgiving

Walking to the magic garden in November.

I went for a walk in a magic garden today, with a friend from long ago who lives there.
Every time I go there, I find him healthy and happy, and we have long talks.
Even though it seems I do most, if not all of the talking, he always seems to give me new perspectives and ideas and inspiration.
Today, I found him cooking breakfast on a Coleman stove, bacon sizzling in an iron skillet, coffee perking away, hot oatmeal ready to serve. 
Nearby a brook gurgled and I could see the movement of trout in the shadows. 
Ponderosa pine, fir and blackjack bordered most of the garden, which was alive with sunflowers, bumblebees buzzing, hummingbirds  and meadowlarks.
In the distance, blue mountains, dusted with snow, rose in the crisp autumn air, but the morning sun warmed the garden where we sat down to chat.
Hawks soared overhead, as grey clouds began changing the blue sky.
We sat on camp stools by the little morning campfire, savoring the smell of woodsmoke, bacon and coffee.
Sipping that coffee, I told him that tomorrow was Thanskgiving Day, and while it is a family day, it is also a day of memories for many, and of loneliness for others. The "holidays" are like that--a two sided coin...one side warm with comfort and joy, and the other cold to the touch.
Then he just looked around his magic garden, and I followed his gaze, drinking it in like another sip of coffee.
He didn't utter a word, but I know what he said.
Every day is a day of thanksgiving.

When the world was young, and so were we

Fifty years ago today...tread lightly

I can not watch any of the almost unending coverage this week on the 50th anniversary of Kennedy's assassination, especially the black and white TV footage, or the many old men talking about that day, and the historical events. It's too personal.

The day dawned bright at Oklahoma Christian College in Oklahoma City 50 years ago. It was homecoming, and I'd come with friends from Albuquerque to visit friends from a year ago, and to see a special person. I'd attended OCC the year before as a freshman, but went back home to a semester at UNM because of finances. But I never forgot this high school senior I'd met at church.

Snapshots by a friend in Dallas, Nov. 22, 1963

The day turned black. Many students were gathered in the student union that morning, when terrible news from Dallas changed the mood. The Young Republicans...of whom I'd been a member...immediately draped a wall with a photograph of President John F. Kennedy, assassinated a few hours earlier.

I remember little of the rest of that day, except for my date with the special person. Later than evening, outside her home in Bethany, Oklahoma, she accepted my marriage proposal. 
The day turned bright. I remember little, and when children were mentioned, she said "four." So it was over the following years.

When there was hope and joy, and Jackie

Back home in Albuquerque, while black and white TV droned on and on with the funeral, friends commented how great it was to hear my voice full of hope and joy. The next semester, I returned to Oklahoma, to Central State University, and marriage that summer.

The years were good, and not so good, as with wine, and some were bad, and there were also mistakes and sorrows. But thankfully, the four children are healthy, smart and terrific, and today there are eight grandchildren, two of them bearing their grandmother's name.

Thus it is, that every Nov. 22, in spite of forgetting other dates, I always remember--tragedies, hopes and joys, and sorrows. Journeys ended then, and also began.

America lost hope, and I found it. As with my country, there have been bright days, and fewer dark days. Today, I'm thankful for all the bright days, and the many lives and memories  that have followed.

When the world was young, and so were we.

Third time is a charm...42 years ago

"It will probably be a boy."
So said the doctor, before ultra sound let parents know the gender and health of a child. We already had two boys, and that was his advice, and what we expected. We had always said we didn't care, but prayed for healthy, normal children.
Sitting down the hall from the delivery room in the Clarinda, Iowa, hospital, those were my prayers 42 years ago today. For some reason, the door to the delivery room was open and when the doctor lifted the baby up, I knew immediately we had a daughter.
"Third time is a charm...a charming little girl," was the headline on the pink birth announcement we sent out. We've been charmed ever since. We named her Dallas Page...Page being an old family name, and we were in Page County, Iowa. I'd wanted to name her Clarinda, but was mocked and outvoted, and Dallas just so fits.

Dallas and Todd Bell

We soon moved back to Duncan, Oklahoma, where she developed an alarming reputation for independence--climbing on kitchen counters, or fences, or opening the door latch and wandering outside. If you didn't hear her in five minutes, you knew to panic, and indeed she scared us more than once. 
I even had to take her outside one night, and walk her around the block, trying to scare her with the dark shadows so she'd not wander. I'm not sure that worked. As far as I know, about the only thing she's afraid of are bugs. So it's fitting where she and her family now live in the country near Canyon, Texas, her house has seen centipedes, tarantulas and rattlesnakes.
One of my favorite photographs--one I can't find now--is of a smiling young daddy, short hair and big ears, on all fours on the floor at Duncan, with the two-year-old daughter clinging to his neck, riding horsey. Her brothers also learned quickly who was in charge, and while they might fuss or fight, it was always prudent to yield to her. "Big D, little D, what begins with 'D,' Dallas...." was heard often. And she always got in the last word.
Her independence grew--she seemed to need a brief spanking about once a month in the early years--which didn't seem to have much effect. She came to love cats and animals. She'd eventually become part of the high school flag team and excel at the piano. At OSU  she met her future husband in church, a smart Arkansas country boy in vet school, who later switched to med school. Dr. Todd Bell now teaches at the Texas Tech med school in Amarillo.
Today, they have three terrific children--Erin Ann, Abby Page and Max Samuel, and they are fortunate to have her as a full-time Mommy. When she was younger, she looked some like my mother, and now she looks much like her Mother. She has her Mother's strong character, genuine faith and goodness, and some of her Dad's sense of humor and determination.
We've been so blessed and charmed because the doctor was wrong. Happy birthday.

A Friday night, 44 years ago

It was a chilly November night in southwest Iowa 44 years ago tonight when I came  home to find a note on the door. I'd been out of town covering a football game between the Clarinda Cardinals and another team, for the Clarinda Herald-Journal, one of my many duties in my first newspaper job.
Our second child was due, but we thought we'd have a few more days. The child had already been nicknamed "Thumper" for a habit of kicking inside the womb.
When I pulled up at the house after 10 that night, a note from my wife Neysa said she'd gone to the hospital and our oldest son, Vance, then just over two, was at our friends the Negleys.
I sped down the street to check on him, before going to the hospital, and there, sitting around the table with smiles, were both my wife and our friends, enjoying the joke.

But the next day, our second son was born, given the name Travis Austin, the first for a cousin-in-law and the next because, because. 
When we brought him home a couple of days later, his brother burst into tears. By Thanksgiving, as we sat down to dinner around a round oak table, with him in a baby seat on another table, he loudly fussed away, until we put him on the main dinner table, meeting his demands to be included. My mother's sister and my favorite Aunt, Sissie, humorously nicknamed him "Lake  Travis," for his active bowels.His nephews and nieces call him "Uncle Ta-Ta."

He's always liked to take things apart, and enjoyed marching to his own tune, gaining a snarky and dry Culp sense of humor, and independent Clarkiness. He's come to love basketball, survived ups and downs, become a computer jock,  a passionate motorcycle owner and traveler, and a lover of music.
Tomorrow, he'll be 44 years old. It's  an always interesting journey.

Blog favorites on the birthday

At Black Mesa, March, 2012

Those of you who read this blog, which is now five years old, know I have some favorite topics.
Watercolors, art, traveling, New Mexico, books, family, trains, writing, a little religion. So as I started looking back over these 48 months of blogging, several articles and postings stood out. Here are my favorites.
My favorite--Best writing, humor, mingled with fun and tears--"Booth is a verb--A Love story," which stretched to more than 10,000 words in several posts over two months in August and September, 2009. Here's the link to the first episode, http://clarkcoffee.blogspot.com/2009/08/booth-is-verba-love-story-prologue.html
Travel--lots of these but three are my favorites. First was a tie-- several posts about the USS Abraham Lincoln sailing from San Diego to Everett Washington in April 2011, thanks to former student and officer Steve Curry. When I was summarizing travel since the blog started, I left this out, and should have listed "Pacific." Sorry Steve. Here's the link to the opening post of seven about that "Pirate Proof Cruise" as I called it. http://clarkcoffee.blogspot.com/2011/04/tiger-cruise-part-one.html.
I'd be hard up to rank it ahead of several posts a year ago this month, on our trip to Alaska...one of the items on my bucket list. Here's the first of 13  posts  in May and June with photos and video and writing. Here's the first link: http://clarkcoffee.blogspot.com/2012/05/alaska-itinerary.html
Also at the top of the list, or near it, was the flight I took on a WWII B-17 bomber on D-Day, 2010. Brother in law Jim Henry and I each paid $300 for the flight over Oklahoma City. They wouldn't let me bomb Republican headquarters, but the posting includes video as well as photos. What fun for a fan of WWII aircraft. Here's the link to one of about four related posts that month: http://clarkcoffee.blogspot.com/search/label/B-17
Other favorites in travel included the trip to India, in March 2011, and to hike Black Mesa in Oklahoma in March, 2012, each with several posts and photos.  http://clarkcoffee.blogspot.com/2011/03/flight-timeindia-journal-thoughts-i.html
http://clarkcoffee.blogspot.com/2012/03/to-top-of-oklahoma-and-back.html
Then there are other blog favorites, like humorous conversations with God on tenure, heaven's bar, and church services--check the months of Feb., 2010., Oct, 2011 and July, 2012.
Too many paintings, book reviews , photos and family history, and New Mexico to share. Yes, it's multimedia, but after all these years, it practices what I preach...you have to have good writing first. Thanks for reading. More to come.

Paintings for grandchildren

How do you tell grandchildren how much they mean to you?
Especially when you're miles apart, and they're grown up and may not remember you when you're gone and they're grown up.
I remember little of my grandparents, and my children have specific memories of their wonderful mother's mother who is still living and treasured by them all, and a few of those long passed, of their mother's father, and a few of my mother, and very few of my father. That's the way of the world and generations, spread across the miles. I have few memories of my grandparents.
I hope I live long enough for my grandchildren to have specific memories of me, and a few of them already do. But that is one reason I've decided that they should have some specific memory of me... I don't think of it as selfish, but as a connection, that who we are. That's why I've given paintings to five of the grandchildren this year, and why I will soon paint with another granddaughter, and give paintings to others, in Germany this spring.

Here are the  5" by 7" watercolor paintings my grandchildren, Erin, Abby and Max Bell, Liberty and Barrett Clark will have for the rest of  their lives. reminding them of a granddad who loved them and thought they were so special.