Drop into the 50's

Mission Beach, California

Drop into the 50s

My knees were bent, resting my legs a little as my Ford Pickup
ran hard though the last part of Colorado I would see before
turning west toward Lordsburg, New Mexico

I always spent the night in Lordsburg on this trip to San Diego.
Had my bright blue truck on cruise control and it was sitting right on 65.

These Colorado Troopers would nail you every time out here where
it was remote, not a town within 20 miles in any direction.
They seemed to come from out of nowhere. Better to leave it on Cruise
instead of slipping over that 65 I thought

From Lordsburg I always made it to Mission Beach by late the next
afternoon and had time to have a night of fun with my boy Bobby.

The cassette was playing my traveling music again, Willie Nelson and
“On The Road Again”. I think it had played a dozen or so times since
leaving Colorado Springs and maybe it was time to put another in.

Found an old Platters tape and on came “Only You”.
That song moved back decades all the way to those dances they had
for us kids in Lancaster, California.

Talk about remote, right out in the middle of the Mojave Desert and the
town I grew up in. Heck, this was Paradise Island compared to that Desert.
Left that place and it never seemed like I completely stopped moving.
Newspaper work took me all over the place and I tried hard to pick the
good ones after my friend Hank Freitas in San Francisco advised me to
always do so.

Ohh Yes I’m the “Great Pretender” started playing and another memory
surfaced.

I got in this fight with another guy in my class right there at one of those
dances over that song.
He kept changing it by pushing something in the back of the Jukebox and
I told him to stop. No need to go on from there, it was settled outside

Just look at me here, 58 years old and my memory trapped in the 50s.
I wondered is there something wrong with this, decided no, and stayed
right there.

Oh those 50s. What a wonderful time to grow up through.

I was waiting for one special night to come back.
It was stubborn but always came.

There she was, tall with dark hair standing with a blonde even taller.
God she was a pretty thing and I had never seen her before.
Her name was Joan, the blonde was her sister Judy and they had both
just moved into Palmdale, 8 miles from Lancaster.

Well I took Joan home that night and the rest is history.
Joan became my wife, Bobby the boy I’ll see tomorrow, was our first
child and as it usually was, this became another trip of memories.

Why this was the only trip that brought back that memory, I guess I’ll
never understand.

I had not seen Joan in 40 years but her memory was tucked away
and I suppose this mind of mine does that with most good experiences.

It is remarkable: keeping the good and discarding the bad but when
he made the plan , he made it with mercy and kindness.
We should all get down on our hands and knees and thank him everyday.

Bobby ©Copyright 2003

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