It’s strange to find an old-fashioned antique store in the
middle of a modern indoor mall, but there it was. I’m physically incapable of
passing (in a vehicle or on foot) an antique store, a book store or a flea
market, without looking in – so I did.
As I approached the counter to pay for my purchases, an old
guy with more gaps than teeth suddenly appeared. “This is a good price”, he
said, thumbing through the pages of the book. “Look at those pictures – Norman
Rockwell. They’re hard to find.”
“It’s a gift for my wife – I’m taking it back to England.”
“She’ll love it … so what are you doing over here?”
I explained my curious lifestyle: 2 weeks in England, 3 weeks in Dallas, which has been going on for over
three years now.
“Does she miss you?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Do you miss her?”
“Yeah.”
He took my money, and walked round to my side of the
counter, where there was a bench seat. He sat down, and, looking up at me,
said, “So, you’re from England.
Tell me what you think of the war in Iraq, and then I’ll tell you what I
think.”
There was a time when this would have been a dangerous
question to answer – religion, politics, and all that. Everyone should respect
other people’s views, but not everyone does. It doesn’t seem to be so much a
problem any more. “I think Blair and Bush should be stood up against the wall
and shot.”
He smiled, and replied, “I saw a cartoon the other day of
Bush and Cheney behind prison bars – that’s where they belong. Do you know how
much money we’ve spent in Iraq?”
“Not exactly, but I know it’s a lot.”
“Enough to keep Social Security funded for the next 75
years. And we’ve killed more innocent men, women and children than Saddam ever
did. We should put him back in power, because he can control them, and we sure as
hell can’t!”
The conversation was actually much longer than this, but
I’ve edited out all but the highlights. His was an interesting suggestion that
hadn’t occurred to me before. It’s too outrageous to work – or is it? Before we
could explore the topic, another customer appeared at the counter.
“I’m sorry – money calls. Here our friendship must end. Nice
talking to ya.”
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| Garvin church |
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| Garvin cemetery |
At this point I felt tired of being in the city, surrounded
by noise and people all the time, and wanted to get out into the country. So I
bought a CD of “The Wailin’ Jennys” – a Canadian folk/country three-girl band
that I’d just heard on “A Prairie Home Companion” on the radio (still going,
and the way radio shows used to be) and headed out of town on Highway 114. As
soon as I had thrown off the shackles of suburban Fort
Worth, I turned off on a dirt track towards “Garvin United
Methodist Church”.
The congregation had long since disappeared, but I parked the car in the shade,
and sat under an old cedar tree (you can see it in the picture) in the middle
of the cemetery. It was warm and sunny, with a faint breeze on my face, and the
only sound was the rustling of the leaves in the nearby trees. Looking at faded
and crumbling tombstones of long-dead (and probably founders) of Garvin is a humbling
experience – “Dear Clarance (sic) you was always Loving and Faithful”. I don’t
know how people in these rural communities survive – where they work, what they
do, how they have fun – but one day maybe I’ll knock on a door and hope someone
friendly answers.
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| Decatur |
On the way back, I stopped at Decatur
– you know, “Historic Downtown Decatur”. Nothing much going on, nothing much to
see, other than an interesting (from an architectural viewpoint) City Hall, and
a few stalwarts still hoping that Walmart won’t completely destroy their
livelihood.
