Incident at Brushy Creek

My anticipation of turning thirteen the summer of 1968 in south Mississippi was only overshadowed by my excitement of being allowed to camp out on a supervised trip to Brushy Creek with my Boy Scout pack. Mr. Jim Taylor, our scout leader, was a man the whole community entrusted in teaching their boys right from wrong, instilling in them the meaning of being honest, loyal, and trustworthy. He had seen combat as a 1st Sergeant, and had been awarded a silver star for gallantry in action against an enemy during a campaign to rescue American POW’s inside North Vietnam. He was a local hometown hero of sorts. Mr. Taylor lived only a few doors down from my home, and it is there that I would find myself occasionally asking for help with my knot tying, or compass reading skills. Even though Mr. Taylor had a job and a family of his own, he was always willing to help me with my merit badges. He was a decent man, and a role model I looked up to.
This particular camping trip I would be tested on land navigation, knot tying, and swimming. I hoped I would be proficient enough in all three. I wanted to get these three merit badges like some of my friends had. I felt confident in what I had learned and practiced for months, and I was ready to be tested. I didn’t want to disappoint myself, and I didn’t want to disappoint Mr. Taylor. My success was his success in my way of thinking. He had invested a lot of time helping me.
The trip to Brushy Creek was scheduled for the third week of July. Brushy Creek was a little different than most creeks people would choose to come to. First it wasn’t a creek that could be accessed by car. To get to Brushy Creek meant a three mile walk through mainly piney woods. No road to speak of, just a winding narrow trail of underbrush at best. The walk, although difficult for us, would preclude anyone from accessing the creek unless they were in good physical condition. Its seclusion just meant there probably wouldn’t be others to spoil our camp out for the next three days in my mind.
The night before I left for the camp out I made sure I had studied my knot tying skills, and my land navigation skills. I knew that swimming wouldn’t be a problem as I had been a good swimmer since the age of six, learning to swim in a bayou near home. I made sure I packed up all the necessary items for a three day camp out. Sleeping bag, tent, lantern, flashlight, bug repellent, compass, knife, cooking utensils, rope, food, matches, extra clothes, all check. This was going to be fun, but quite cumbersome hiking this in to the camp site. I thought of leaving certain items behind, but then I thought all of it was necessary, so I crammed it all in my backpack and readied it for the morning.
The morning of the camp out we all packed up the truck that would leave us at the edge of the woods. This was where we would get started with our long walk to the creek. My best friend Ray was there. I was glad that Ray came along. Sometimes his parents wouldn’t let him participate with scouting events due to his list of chores to be done, or because of the grades he brought home from school, but this was the summer and they probably wanted him out of their hair for a few days. Anyway I was glad he was here. “Hey Ray, you know we have a three mile walk to the campsite right?” Ray looked a little confused, and replied, “Well if I knew that do you think I would have brought along this watermelon? Too late now, I’m not leaving it behind. We’re going to enjoy this once we get there.” “I’ll help you carry it Ray”, I said as we put on our packs and followed Mr. Taylor to the edge of the woods. The walk through narrow trails, and thick brush took about two hours, and as we approached the camp site we could see the clearing and the white sand banks that lined Brushy Creek. “You scouts find your numbered tent site and start pitching your tents and setting up camp. You never know when it might rain. After you finish, meet me here at the center of the camp and we’ll discuss our agenda for the next couple of days.” Ray and I teamed up and got the tent set up and our gear stored within twenty minutes. We then went and found a hiding place for our watermelon in a pool of cold water down by the creek. When we were done, we heard Mr. Taylor blowing his whistle that he carried with him in his shirt pocket. We knew whenever Mr. Taylor blew his whistle that we needed to come running.
“John Reinmiller, front and center, barked Mr. Taylor.” “Yes sir, Mr. Taylor”, I replied almost out of breath. “John, you want that land navigation merit badge real bad I know, that’s why I chose to let you have your chance at it first. Grab your compass and come with me.” With that Mr. Taylor gave me the coordinates to a location only he knew and we were off. 45 degrees Northwest for 500 yards, then back 45 degrees Northeast for 500 yards, then 180 degrees North for 2 miles. When we reached our objective Mr. Taylor said, “John, do you recognize where you are?” I looked around and it did seem familiar. “Yes, Mr. Taylor, this is the clearing that is just off the main highway that leads back to the campsite.” Mr. Taylor smiled and said “Good job John, now let’s follow the trail back to the creek and you can tell everyone you earned your merit badge!” When we got back to camp I was so tired, yet thrilled to let everyone know that I had passed my test. I felt proud to be a scout, and I had made Mr. Taylor proud too. “Recreation swim time guys”, Mr. Taylor shouted. Everyone grabbed their swim trunks and hit the water except Ray and Mr. Taylor. Mr. Taylor had promised Ray that he would help him with his knot tying skills.
We had been swimming for almost 15 minutes and then it happened. A gunshot! The distinct sound of a shotgun being fired from the direction of our tents echoed through the woods. Most of the guys quickly got out of the water and started running in the opposite direction of the camp. I thought for a moment to do the same, but I had to find out what was happening at the camp, and if Ray needed my help. He was my best friend, and I knew he would do the same for me. I ran back to the camp, and before reaching the clearing, I could see a man that I did not know holding a shotgun to the neck of Mr. Taylor. I knelt low behind a tree and overheard him shouting at our scout master. He was dressed in hunting camouflage, and appeared drunk. “Well, well, well, if it ain’t Jim Taylor our local war hero? Look at here what I captured…a real live war hero. What makes you think you are so special around here Taylor? I ought to kill you here and let your boys find your body, better yet I ought to have them watch as I blow your head off. . . you high and mighty war hero. To me you ain’t nothin’ but a piece of shit who stole my girlfriend back in high school. Then you went on to marry her and rub it in my face. Every time I saw you and her in town I wanted to kill you, and now I’m going to.”
My heart was racing, and I was shaking badly but I had to do something to stop this man. I looked around for Ray and saw him lying on his back and bleeding from his head. Ray was groaning so I knew he was alive. I worked my way over to my friend quietly as possible to see if I could help and that’s when the man with the gun heard me and turned and looked my way. As he swung around in my direction, Mr. Taylor grabbed the gun from his hands and hit the man with the stock of the weapon along the side of his head dropping him where he stood. Mr. Taylor shouted out to me, “John, grab some rope son. I’ll back this scoundrel up to a tree and you tie his hands around the tree and behind his back. Do you remember how I taught you to tie a square knot? Well tie the best one you have ever tied, and make it tight. Now listen closely, I’ll stay here and take care of Ray and make sure this man won’t get away, but you need to go for help. Do you remember how to find your way out of here and back to the highway? I’m counting on you John. Now go flag down help. You know what to do.”
I grabbed my compass, and took off as quickly as I could. Within an hour I was out of the woods and I had flagged down a passing motorist. We made a quick stop at the nearest gas station, and I told them what had happened. The town Sheriff, along with a medical unit met me at the store, and I lead them back to the campsite just before sundown. Ray had regained consciousness, and Mr. Taylor and the rest of the boys were guarding the prisoner, still tied to the tree. It seems the prisoner was a Mr. Jack Wade. The Sheriff knew him well as Mr. Wade had just been released from the county jail for spousal abuse, and public intoxication. As the Sheriff lead Mr. Wade away in handcuffs, he patted me on my shoulder and said “Good job, scout.” The remainder of our camp out was canceled. Ray was taken to the local hospital with a concussion from being struck by the felon, Mr. Wade. Even though our camp out didn’t go as planned, a lot of valuable lessons were learned.
Three weeks later at a Thursday night scout meeting I was called to stand front and center of the scout troop. I was awarded the Boy Scout land navigation merit badge. I also was awarded the Boy Scout knot tying merit badge even though I wasn’t formally tested.  Mr. Taylor said that I tied the best square knot he had ever seen, even better than his army buddies could have done. Then the door to the scout building opened and my Mom and Dad entered followed by the Mayor of our town, and the Sheriff. They came up and stood by my side. The scout troop was called to attention and then Mr. Taylor presented me with the Boy Scout Meritorious Lifesaving award, an honor not previously awarded to anyone in our troop's history.
Mr. Taylor came by the house the following day and thanked me for saving his life. “If you hadn’t been so brave and come to the aid of your friend Ray that day back at the creek, both Ray and I might have been killed. You were courageous." "But I was scared Mr. Taylor, I thought he might kill all of us." "John, courage is not a lack of fear, but the ability to act while facing fear." With that said, Mr. Taylor reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his Silver Star that he had received for gallantry in action in Vietnam. With tears of thanks, he pinned it upon my collar, then saluted me. It was at that moment I knew I was no longer a boy.
It’s been forty one years since that hot July day in Mississippi. Some things have changed and others have remained the same. I would like to think the important things remain.

The Looking Pool

One early morning I awoke
and walked down to the creek
and knelt down by the sandy banks
to see what I might see

Reflections of the sky and clouds
blue and white as I'd ever seen
then looking deep within the pool
I saw the strangest thing

An angel appeared and spoke to me
I listened to what she said
her every word was like the breeze
that blew above my head

She spoke of Mississippi
and the beauty of the land
She spoke of mother nature
and the brotherhood of man

And when she finished speaking
a tear rolled off her brow
I then awoke and stood up
and walked back in to town

I Dreamed of Cats and Papa

I got a book for my birthday this year. Hemingway’s Cats an illustrated biography of the life and loves of ‘Papa’ Ernest Hemingway. It’s a great read with many photos, especially of Papa and his cats. He was a cat fancier as were several of his wives, which made for interesting nicknames he would give to the women in his life. I felt a bond to Papa. We both wrote, both were named Papa, both made Florida our home at some stage in our lives, and we both enjoyed the company of felines. I could go on and on with more similarities, but I think you understand why I would feel a sort of kinship with one of the greatest writers of our day.

So I put the book away for the night, and readied for bed. Sleep came quickly, and dreams followed. I dreamed I was one of Hemingway’s cats. Papa gave me the nickname of 'F. Feather Puss'. I was a white, long-haired cat with glowing yellow-green eyes. F. Feather Puss. Honestly, as handsome a cat as one could wish for. I was a pleasing cat to Papa, and he loved me for my attentive nature. I would dine at the table with him, and Papa would make sure that I had my favorite meal available at all times. A daily cheeseburger was my reward for being such a trustworthy friend and companion. Papa suffered from manic depression, and I saw it as my job to make his life happier.
And when Papa would retreat to his upstairs studio after dinner to work on one of his novels, I would follow him inside and sit by his chair. He would peck out words on his typewriter, then alternately stroke my hair. My purr was all that Papa needed to smile.
Like all stories do, they end before we are ready to let them go. So, this morning I awoke and instead of my daily walk, I cooked myself a cheeseburger, opened a bottle of Dry Creek Valley Cabernet Sauvignon 2004, and took it all outside and had breakfast on the porch.
As I finished my meal, drank the last swallow of this wonderful wine, and stroked my cat Bubs on his head, I could hear Feather Puss purring deep within my being.

Como Un Buen Tequila

I've had the same dream every night for the past five days. I'm actually looking forward to sleep to see where this dream leads me tonight. Hopefully there will be a sixth night of this dream. There has to be a reason for the dream I thought as I finished the last bit of tequila I had been slowly sipping for the past hour. Jose Cuervo Gold. OK, so it wasn't one of the new top shelf tequilas that are in vogue, but I liked it and with the economy as it is, I felt I was doing my part. 

As I lay my head down this night and pulled up the covers I immediately went from wakefulness to that state of semi sleep, hypnagogia I think it's called, and with like any sleep, it blanketed me without my knowledge, and I was once again visited by Hypnos. On cue the same dream began evolving and I was cast as a player into the scene.

Looking around the tiny smoke filled cantina I could spot a few patrons in boots and cowboy hats playing pool. An attractive senorita was sitting alone at a table near the front door talking on her cell phone, and Jesus Christ was the bartender. "Uno Mas Tequila por favor," I called out as Jesus reached for the top shelf and took down a dust covered bottle of Jose Cuervo.  As he filled the shot glass to the rim he said, "This is your last call Cowboy." As I sipped the golden nectar from my glass I could hear Marty Robbins singing El Paso on the jukebox.  Damn, this is cool I thought as I slowly drank the last swallow of  tequila and lit a cigarette. As soon as I took my first drag of the unfiltered Lucky Strike, Jesus said, "It's closing time partner, you want me to call you a cab?" Before I could answer, the attractive senorita who was sitting by the door got up and offered me a ride home. "No thanks, I can drive", I said. "After all I'm immortal, right Jesus?"

"Yeah, you're immortal Cowboy, whatever you say.  Hey guys let's tie all these loose ends up.  I need to close this bar, if I don't my dad will be pissed almighty." "OK", I said. "I'll see you tomorrow same time, same place. Hey and if you don't mind, could you get rid of that cheap crap you pour and invest in a bottle of Patron?" Jesus smiled and said, "Hey cowboy, do you remember that story you wrote about me once, Dieu Est Un Poisson?" "Yeah, I remember, why do you ask?"  "My Dad thought it was freakin awesome," came Jesus’  reply.

I awoke that next morning with a realization that God has a wicked sense of humor.

On the seventh night, the dream was gone. I could finally rest. God rested just like the Bible said he did. 

The seventh day was made for rest.

Si, Jesus es mi mejor amigo...si.

The Porcine Principle

Slow roasted whole hog has to be one of my favorite good eats.  I have spent countless hours in search of this elusive holy grail of heavenly goodness.  Bare with me if you will, there's a lesson to be learned here.
A trifecta of divinity in each bite is how I sum it up.  On the outside resides the light airy crunchiness of the skin similar to a chicharron.  Next is the fat, the sweet succulent layer that overlays the meat.  Yes, the meat.  Substantial and tender.  Oh yes, it's the other white meat, so move over chicken.  I cannot decide which layer is my favorite.  Each one in itself is worthy of pig sainthood.
I've driven countless miles along dirt roads in the deep south, trekked through jungles and fields of tall sugar cane in Asia.  I've walked countless cobblestone streets in Spain searching for this wonderful dish.  I have found doing your homework before beginning your odyssey will help, and even with homework I sometimes find myself coming home with empty hands and a empty stomach from either arriving too late and it was sold out, or worse the merchant had already promised the pig to a loyal customer.  To bolster my chances in scoring a pound or two I have learned to place my order in the native language of the country I am in.  In Vietnam I'll order 'thit heo quay', in Japan it's 'buta niku', and in Spain it is 'cerdo asado'.  Having a little knowledge of the local language will usually increase my odds of a satisfying lunch.  Roasting a pig is a day long affair.  There's only so much to go around, and everyone wants their share.
All this talk about whole hog roast pork got me thinking about a trip I made a few years ago to Holly Hill, South Carolina.  A trip solely for the purpose of sampling what is considered to be the best whole hog roast pork in the country.  Sweatman's BBQ is located about an hours drive from Charleston, South Carolina.  It is truly the mecca of pigdom.  I once called it 'Hundred Mile Q' in a blog I published in 2009.  People will actually, and cheerfully I might add, drive one hundred miles to have lunch here.  Not surprisingly by the time I found this tiny wooden farm house in the middle of a cotton field, Anthony Bourdain had already come and gone.  He left his signature on the wall with his generous comments and best wishes for the owner and proprietor.  Bourdain said, "Barbeque with it's mixture of heart, science, and magic is a high calling in the south.  I couldn't agree more.  Whole hog barbeque is a different kind of animal any way you slice it.
That brings me to the heart of this story.  It's about compromising principles.  "What would I compromise in my life for a taste of roast pork?"
Today, as almost every day, my wife and I began our morning with a three mile walk around the neighborhood.  Wednesdays are a special day of walking because we play a game while we walk.  It's the same game each Wednesday.  The winner, if there is one, gets a payoff on Thursday.  You see, on Thursday, our local Vietnamese market roasts two pigs...and they are good at it.  Roast pork goes on sale at 11:30 am each Thursday.  First come, first served, and when it's gone, it's gone.  So getting back to Wednesday's game.  The rule is simple.  Find a penny on the road and you get to order one pound of roast pork the following day from the market.  No penny, no pork.  Don't get me wrong, my wife isn't controlling.  She would just rather me eat less pork, more veggies.  She wants me around a few more years.  It's all good.
So here's the dilemma.  I was caught last week carrying a penny in my walking shorts.  My wife caught me taking it out of my pocket and strategically placing in in my walking path.  When she caught me she said, "Where are your principles?"  I said, "Pigs don't care about principles!"  She looked at me and agreed.  We now have a rule to follow and an unspoken code of ethics.  We call it the porcine principle if you will.  No pocket change before walking on Wednesdays.  I'm going to need a new pair of eyeglasses if she wants to play fair.

We got a three legged pig, his name is Pink,

he loves to sleep and grunt.

He's a good pet to our family,

so we didn't want to eat him all at once.

Don't take yourself too seriously, no one else does.  

Tea One Eighty

Tea One Eighty

One hundred eighty I was reminded as I measured out the appropriate aliquot of water and placed it into the kettle.  It should be 500 mls I thought but I didn't measure.  I just knew it from the water level half way up the inside of the tetsubin.  I have prepared tea almost every night for the past thirty years.  That was enough of a measurement I told myself.
One hundred eighty it shall be I thought to myself.  One hundred eighty degrees.  But again I don't measure.  I know by the sound of the hyper- agitated water being heated on the stove top.  The restless sound it makes, a crescendo, then the decrescendo as water molecules begin to expand and then coalesce on the bottom of the kettle before boiling.  The water speaks to me in a language I understand for I have listened to it, and it to me.

And when the sound is perfect, that is my call to take down the tea from the cupboard.  A generous teaspoonful is quickly placed into the waiting pot.  Heat turned off then the water quietens as the scent of jasmine rises and fills the kitchen.

The tea...a Christmas gift from a friend in Japan.  I would have never considered buying it for myself.  I could have purchased ten canisters of quality tea for the price of this one canister, but oh how I enjoy this tea!  It comes from a tea farm near the home of my daughter in Okinawa.  The smell and taste immediately transports me there.  It's the earth and sea that I experience.  It's subtle, yet sublime.

Lastly, one hundred eighty seconds for the tea to brew before it is tasted.   Once again, nothing is monitored,  one hundred eighty seconds is all I need to recite a poem written by an anonymous writer 'The Nothingness of Tea'.

Now is all I have

as tea is in the making

unimportant past and future

leave me recalling Zen

Quietly exhaling the day in to air

no words need be spoken

between friends

who met by chance

The chawan offered

thick green froth

steaming hot

rejuvenating my soul

Bittersweet warmth

kindness between friends

I realize

now is all I have

As I poured the tea into my cup I recited the poem once again.  Then a prayer for family, and a lit incense stick for Buddha.  Now out to the porch to view this huge moon I have been hearing about.  

Thank you for reminding me of simple pleasures and kindness between friends Ten Ren.

En Pointe

I believe things happen in your life for a reason.  "From out of chaos comes order." Some credit Friedrich Nietzsche with that quote, others say that Mel Brooks wrote it for his movie Blazing Saddles.  It doesn't really matter, I'm a believer.  I mean, how do you know you don't like cauliflower if you've never tasted cauliflower?  I know I don't!  I'm sure of it because my wife made me eat it once.  That brings me to the concept of trying new things to see if they fit you personally.
I have a special someone who just doesn't know what she wants to be when she grows up, so this is for her.  A mommy, a teacher, or maybe even a rocket girl.
She still has plenty of time to decide, buy my advice will always be "do what makes you happy."  Seems like an answer that really wasn't thought out deeply, but to those I love, the words are from my heart.  As I would tell my granddaughter if she asked, "Paw Paw, what should I be when I grow up?"  I would simply tell her this, "I hope you dance."

A Year Has Passed

‎1 year ago, my wife and I flew out of Tokyo, Japan after living in country for three months.  Little did we know that 2 weeks later the country would essentially be at a standstill as it coped with the great earthquake and tsunami of 2011.  A year has passed but the memory of what Japan endured and still endures is firmly planted in my mind.

For those that don't know Japan as well as I do, please allow me to introduce you.  They are a blend of old and new.  Japanese are resilient.  They are team players.  Mostly a homogenous society, they pull together and if there is a theme that drives them it would be "the greatest good for the greatest number."  This isn't only a theme for the older generation, but it's seen in the youngest of the citizens of Japan.  A quality I respect and admire.

1 year ago, and within an hour, the loss in Japan was immeasureable, incomprehensible, and horrendous.  Yet, Japan has survived, and ulltimately Japan will prosper.  I only wish this for everyone.  My prayers are with us all as neighbors on this fragile planet we call home.

New Year's Cowboy

The last day of 2014 arrived with a brisk cold wind and bright azure skies.  The weather report said to expect an arctic blast sweeping down from Canada later in the evening.  As always the weather lady reminded us to observe the four P's.  Take precaution with your pipes, plants, pets, and people.  It was like a nursery rhyme in my head that I couldn't quite shake.  I found myself saying it even during the summer months.  Someday I'm going to write that weather lady and tell her to stop with the damn cute comments, but for now I had bigger plans to attend to.
You could say I'm in the golden years of my life.  I spent the last thirty years married to my job.  My business card read:
Jackson Hunt
Senior Petroleum Engineer/Technical Advisor
Gallant Oil Company
Houston, Texas
Working fifty to sixty hours each week as a petroleum engineer left me little time to become attached to anyone.  I had passed up the chance for any long term relationship in exchange for a demanding job.  Working my way up the ladder of success from the oil boom of the early 80's in the Texas panhandle to earn money for an engineering degree and finally retiring as senior engineer for a large oil company based out of Houston left me a single man.  I had done well, made incredible money, but here I am lying in bed on the last day of 2014, and not wanting to crawl out from under the blanket and open the curtains to let in the morning sun.  I realized soon after retirement that I wanted, actually needed someone to share my world.  I longed for someone to love.
I thought about the weather report and the cold blast of air coming down from Canada, and for an instant almost talked myself out of plans that I had begrudgingly made for later in the evening.  I really didn't like social gatherings, but I had promised Ray Porter, an old friend, that I would come to his New Year's party and stay over the night.  Ray had done very well for himself in real estate, and he and his wife Barb owned a beautiful oceanfront home in Galveston.  It would be nice I thought to celebrate the new year overlooking the Gulf of Mexico, albeit no love interest to share it with.  Well, enough with self pity I thought as I crawled out of bed and made my usual breakfast of coffee and cinnamon toast.  At that moment the telephone rang, and I could see from the caller ID that it was Ray, probably calling to remind me of the party tonight.  "Morning Jack, how are you this fine day?" "Ray, I was just thinking of you and Barb.  How is your beautiful wife?"  "Oh she is fine Jack, she just wanted me to remind you of the New Year's evening bash we are having for a few of our closest friends tonight.  You are coming aren't you?"  Now was my chance to back out, but I thought that the least I should do would be to show up  and greet the new year in style, so I replied, "I wouldn't miss it for the world Ray!  By the way, you mentioned there were going to be other closest friends invited, that doesn't mean you and I aren't best friends anymore , does it?"  "Oh, no Jack, it's Barb's friend from California.  She recently divorced and she and Barb have been emailing each other lately and reconnecting.  She was actually Barb's roommate for a couple of years when she attended the University of Texas in Austin.  I thought I had mentioned her to you before Jack.  Well it doesn't matter; you'll get to meet her tonight.  I'll see you at seven, and remember you are our guest to stay over for the night."  "OK Ray, I'll remember to bring my teddy bear and blanket, I'll see you at seven."
The drive from Houston to Galveston was quicker than usual.  Not much traffic I thought, most offices were closed, families at home with loved ones. There I go again feeling sorry for myself. Arriving at the residence of Ray and Barb's I was impressed with the elegance of the Spanish architecture all the way from the private gate past the carefully manicured landscape, and up to the veranda of the grand home.  Barbara met me at the door with a big hug and a kiss and called to her husband, "Raymond, some old cowboy dragged himself up to the door looking for a drink.  You better get down here quick because he looks awful thirsty!"  I couldn't recall the last time I had been kissed by a beautiful woman, and it reminded me of an empty space in my life.  No time for melancholy moods I thought as I saw Ray coming down the stairway.  "Hey Jack you old roustabout, come in and make yourself at home.  It's been a long time, too long.  Let me take you out to the back deck and show you a view of the Gulf that will leave you breathless.  Oh, and by the way, there's someone I want you to meet."  Barbara giggled with delight as she followed both of us outside.
"Jack, let me introduce you to Ms. Sophie Ribault.  Sophie is the owner and operator of her own French bakery in San Diego...what is the name of your bakery Sophie?  Oh yes, I remember now, 'La Patisserie'.  Sophie, this is Mr. Jackson Hunt, the infamous Jackson Hunt!"  Sophie took my hand and with a big grin said, "Jack, may I call  you Jack?  I have heard so many wonderful things about you from Barbara; I am so pleased to finally meet you."  Sophie looked like an angel, with an elegance and ease that endeared me to her from the moment she said my name.  All I could do now was not say anything stupid.  "Sophie, please do call me Jack, and I am honored to make your acquaintance. Barbara tells me how much you mean to her, and any friend of Barbara's is a friend of mine.  So tell me Sophie, what brings you to Texas if I may ask?"  Jack, it's a long story of me needing to be with those who care about me.  Barb and Ray always supported me emotionally and I need their support now.  You see, my husband decided he didn't want to be married any longer.  He found himself a young Spanish senorita and took off for Mexico.  I guess I saw it coming.  It hadn't been a good marriage for a very long time, but I was so busy with the bakery that his leaving kind of snuck up and bit me on the butt.  I take partial blame for it, but I do believe things will work out for the best.  I'm sorry for talking so much Jack."  Actually I was glad Sophie opened up to me, although I was so enamored with her appearance that I probably only heard every other word she said.  I'm sure she said something about a bakery.  "Ms. Ribault, if I may be so forward, I would be pleased to take you on a walk along the beach if you are interested."  "Mr. Hunt, I would be honored.  I'll be ready in five minutes, I'll just need to grab a sweater, it's cold out tonight."  I took the next five minutes grabbing a bottle of wine, a bottle opener, and a blanket.  By the time I had my essentials we were off to the beach.
Sophie and I walked and talked about silly things, and before I realized it, we had been walking and laughing for more than an hour.  "You know Jack, we must be three or four miles from the house, I think we should turn around.  We need to be back to usher in the New Year with our hosts."  As we headed back towards the house Sophie said, "So if I said I was cold now would you mind lending me that blanket you have been carrying around for the past hour?"  I laughed, wrapped the blanket over her shoulders, and casually put my arm around her waist.  "You know there is room enough in this blanket for even a big cowboy like yourself Jack, that is if you are interested."  I was a cowboy, but I wasn't stupid.  I could take a cue just like a city boy, and with that Sophie and I began to grow closer. We made it back to Ray's home just in time to welcome in 2015.  A champagne toast with good friends, and now a romantic interest made me feel like this was going to be a great year.
As we prepared to retire for the night, I kissed Sophie on the cheek.  We both knew it was too early in our relationship to take it to another level, although we both knew it would come. "I'll see you in the morning Sophie...sweet dreams."  With a smile as big as Texas Sophie replied, "I'll see you in the morning cowboy."
Lying alone in bed that night I recalled a quote from an old friend of mine, a real cowboy.  He told me when I was first getting involved in the oil business, "Don't be afraid to go after what you want, or what you want to be, but just be willing to pay the price for it all."  At that moment I told myself that Sophie was worth it before drifting off into sweet slumber.  That night I dreamed of Ms Ribault and cinnamon toast.


The night sky is filled with twinkling stars
all containing stories.
Loneliness is coming down
like dew drops on the flowers.

As I'm calling for someone
that left me in searching for stars.
The old memories come back
and linger.

The only face I can see is me
who is lost in the past.
Flow, flow, when time flows away
what will I become?

Do I have to go on
this long journey alone?
Will I become a memory
tomorrow and the day after tomorrow?