Reminiscing About a Simpler Life

Life is not easy. The challenges and chores of daily living often leaves us longing for a simpler life. I remember growing up in a small town where hard work never got in the way of good ol' conversation and fellowship with your neighbors. Sometimes that was a bad thing because people knew too much about the goings on in your town, and everyone knew everyone and they all knew your business!

More often than not, neighbors could trust one another to have each other's backs. It was not uncommon for Sunday visits, game nights with families at one or the other's house, and music - lots of music - mostly gospel or country music.

Say what you will about the beer-drinkin', dog-dyin', wife leavin' heartache of a country song, but country music, like gospel, often told the story of our lives through music. The legendary ballads narrated the stories of so many people with shared experiences. Life wasn't easy, yet it was simpler.

Most of my family grew up for generations in a small mountain community in Colorado. Winters were harsh with several feet of snow blanketing the winter months and making it difficult to travel. We would often have to shovel ourselves a path to the school bus early in the morning (as we shoved a Pop-Tart in our mouths as we ran out the door), make an hour-long trek to school, twenty miles away, in order to make the 8:00 AM bell. At 4:00 PM, we made our journey home, arriving just in time for dinner. Today's kids have it easy. And we didn't have snow days. It didn't matter if it snowed twenty feet (not that far fetched), or one inch, we WENT TO SCHOOL!

In high school, we teenagers worked! I actually landed my first real paying job at around eleven, working for a resort hotel as a dishwasher. I hated every minute of it, and, honestly, I didn't get to enjoy the money because it often went to help my parents pay bills and keep a roof over our head. They had already worked two-three jobs each to make ends meet, so my added contribution helped eliminate one of their jobs. And I never regretted it for one moment! Life wasn't easy, but it was simpler.

My grandparents and aunt and uncle eventually moved from that mountain town to eastern Colorado near the Kansas border - farm country! And I used to love the 3 1/2 hour journey to go visit them. I hated the trip, but loved when we got there.

They each lived in two-story farm houses about a mile from each other. My grandparents had a larger plantation style home, a big red barn, and surrounded by wheat fields and sunflowers. My aunt and uncle lived in a smaller, farm house that had a huge front porch where we used to like to sit and enjoy each other's company. Although they were surrounded by fields, as well, they also had fields of loose-running cattle, pigs, sheep, and goats - all that would eventually make their way to the meat markets across America.

My dear aunt - she was a tough, rugged woman and one of my dearest friends from the time I was born. She recently passed last November, but we shared an incredible life together. Bless her heart, she wasn't afraid of butchering an animal, and often went to help out at the meat packing plant. One day she invited us to go watch how they castrate bulls and package their testicles for a common delicacy in Colorado, known as "Rocky Mountain Oysters." There you go. The secret is out! If you ever see them on a menu in Colorado or someone offers them to you, you now know what you are about to endure.

That's not the worst part. I have a tremendous weakness when it comes to blood. I can maintain my composure in the midst of crisis, but blood gets me every time. I will pass out, throw up, and be out of commission for at least an hour when blood is involved. I truly admire hunters and I wholeheartedly love my red meat (cooked medium well to well, of course), and I so greatly appreciate the amazing ranchers and farmers for providing my sirloin. But, I can't do slaughter houses or witness butchering anything. I have no problem shooting an animal for food or in defense. But, someone else is going to have to dress it. And the older I get the weaker my stomach gets. I simply cannot do it. Life is never easy. But, it was much simpler.

I remember early one morning, while staying at my grandparent's house, just as the sun broke over the horizon, a loud, roaring plane came flying over the roof. It awakened us out of a deep sleep! It was so low it vibrated the windows in the house! That was my first experience with a crop-duster - a small plane that flies low and "dusts" the crops with insecticides. It was often so hot in the heat of summer, we would sleep with the windows open at night, and we would often put a box fan in the window to try to circulate the air. That was our air conditioning. It didn't work well. If anything it just made if feel like you were sleeping in front of a hair or clothes dryer.

It was not easy to sleep because we were sweating and hot. So, by the time it actually cooled off enough to sleep, morning was breaking. And if it wasn't a crop-duster waking you up at the crack of dawn, it was the rooster! Little did he know how much we hated him. Yet, he was the protected bird of the chicken coop since he was one of two reasons we had fresh eggs in the morning breakfast and fried chicken on occasions.

The farmland is also where I fell in love with county fairs and rodeos. While we had both where I grew up in the mountains, they simply weren't the same. Of course, coming from a country-music loving family, many of the county fairs had concerts with some of the great names in the industry, and I always loved going out to visit my aunt or grandparents when the fair came to town. Oh the thrill of carnival rides, cotton candy and funnel cakes filling the air with sweetness, while chowing down on the finest popcorn, hot dogs, or corn dogs you'll ever taste! But, the concerts were the best. That's where my love for music grew deeper.

Although I'm dating myself, we met Randy Travis, John Schneider, Sylvia (Hutton), Janie Fricke, Alan Jackson, and so many others, and it was much simpler. In fact, as I went off to college, I had the distinct privilege of interviewing Mr. Irby Mandrell, the father and manager of the famous Mandrell Sisters - country legends in their own right. Irby and I hit if off, and although I was interviewing him for a college paper about the music industry, he was so kind and generous to me. He asked me to "work" for the Mandrells - not as a paid employee - but really as a volunteer promoter. He would notify me when one of the girls would be coming out with a new album and my job was to call the radio stations and concert promoters to "encourage" them to book concerts and play their music on the radio. I loved it!

Being an unpaid volunteer employee, I know he didn't really need me, but he knew how much I LOVED his daughter, Barbara's, music. I was her biggest fan, and still am to this day! But, one such great adventure came when he called me to ask me how far Colby, Kansas was from me. Colby was just about an hour away from where my grandparents lived, and it turned out his daughter, Louise, was playing the county fair, and he wanted me to promote it and sent me tickets to attend with my sister and grandparents. But, that's not the point of the story.

Louise's concert was scheduled after the sun went down. A good rainfall came through earlier that afternoon and soaked the clay dirt of the fairgrounds. Dressed to impress Ms. Mandrell after the show, I was trying everything to keep myself presentable to see her. Well, the wet clay became my nemesis and one wrong step knocked me on my butt and covered me in wet, filthy mud from head to toe. Needless to say, life wasn't easy, but it was still simpler then.

After trying to clean off in the portable bathroom, to no avail, I discovered mud wasn't my only problem. I had ripped the butt out of my pants from crotch to belt line, so my tidy-whities were handing out big time, and I did not have a change of clothes. Frantically, I called my grandmother over and showed her my problem. I couldn't meet Louise Mandrell with my butt hangin' out and covered in mud! It was a disaster!

As I continued to try to stay hidden, for obvious reasons, my grandmother and sister went on a search for some sort of change of clothes. Soon, they reappeared, and my grandmother was relieved she found something that might help. Somewhere in the midst of this county fair, she crossed the path of some vendor, selling baby items and maternity clothes. My precious, savior of a grandmother, bought me a pair of milk chocolate brown, polyester maternity pants because that's all she could find that would keep my derriere from exposure! "Lord, help me," I prayed, begging for mercy from the inflictions of my humiliation and complete shattering of any dignity or pride I might have had left.

Thankfully, God sent another savior. This time it was none other than one of Louise's dancers and backup singers, Pedro Tomas. Pedro didn't know me and he was completely unaware of my relationship with Irby, until after I briefly shared my role with him and my serious dilemma. I told him I couldn't meet Louise under these circumstances, so to please apologize as she was expecting me. He so graciously grabbed my arm and said, "Follow me. We may have something to help." Still trying to hide my massive split, Pedro so sweetly giggled and handed me a huge Louise Mandrell sweatshirt that would cover my cheeks. Mind you it was 150 degrees outside and I'm now wearing a long-sleeved sweatshirt with Louise's name across the chest.

After her concert ended, Pedro led me to Louise's bus, where she was so sweetly prepped and ready. As I walked onto the tour bus, she looked at me with a puzzled look. I'm not sure if she was thinking I was a hobo or some strange lunatic wearing a sweatshirt in the hot sun, but after Pedro shared my story with her and we all got a great laugh, I told her it was either the hot sweatshirt or brown maternity pants or white undies and butt cheeks hanging out, and she agreed the sweatshirt was worth the better option. My parting words were, "Well, let your daddy know I did my job. I was promoting you all night as I proudly, humbly, and thankfully wore your hot sweatshirt all night long."

It was a bit unorthodox, when marketing a country music superstar, but nonetheless, I have Pedro to thank for not being a bigger fool than I already felt. And yet, my biggest lesson is how life happens. It isn't always roses and cherries, sunshine and summertime, love and joy. Sometimes it is rainy, muddy, and split-your-crotch funny, but life doesn't always have to be hard.

Take time to remember those great memories of days gone by. Create new opportunities to sit and listen to the wind blowing through a wheat field as the sun rises and the birds begin to sing. Let Mr. Rooster have his morning crow, so to speak. While most of us may not be near a farm or field, mountain stream, or sunny beach somewhere, don't forsake the opportunities to just be.

Whatever that looks like, feels like, sounds like, or is for you, make those moments turn into more great memories, and go out of your way to make them, because at the end of the day - or even life's journey - memories matter, and the memories you make will be priceless. Life is hard, but you can make it simpler.