Fruitvale

As I was leaving the hotel this morning, I shared the lift with an American soldier in Army Combat Uniform. I asked him what the insignia on his sleeve meant, and he told me he was part of the 95^th Infantry Division. At first, I thought the combined Arabic and Roman numerals a little precocious (much like my pet peeve – if you look at the rear of almost any car, you’ll see lettering in about 5 different fonts; I don’t suppose you’ve ever thought about it, but it always looks way too “busy” for me …). On further investigation, it seems that the “V” is for “Victory” – it would make some sense if the victory preceded the insignia, but it didn’t.

The war in Iraq is now almost universally condemned, although the troops are supported. I’m somewhat ambivalent about this. It’s true that the troops are only doing what they’re told, but it’s also true that, if they didn’t, we wouldn’t be in this situation. I know that’s an over-simplification, and that’s why I’m ambivalent. Only history can decide, I suppose.

But I digress. After visiting my “coin lady” in Garland to pick up some missing state quarters (and you’ll be pleased to hear that she has her last chemotherapy in a couple of weeks), I headed towards Caney Creek Cowboy Church, for no other reason than that it’s east along Route 80, and that’s a quick way into rural Texas from Dallas.

Fruit stand

A little friend

I stopped at a fruit stand along the way to pick up some fresh peaches, and also to ask how far it was to the church. She didn’t know, in spite of the fact that it was only a few miles down the road. Maybe she didn’t hold with these new-fangled churches. When I got to the church, there was nothing much happening. Because cowboy churches always have a rodeo arena out back, there were a few local horse trailers, and youngsters practicing their skills – but no major event.

So I turned back towards Dallas. Just along the road, before I got to the highway, I encountered a little friend – just had to help him/her to the other side before someone else came along.

Ray

Ray's yard

Back on Route 80, I pulled off the road at “Rays Home Hobby”, just outside Fruitvale. It looked too interesting to pass up. Ray was fascinating. 76 years old, and married three times. His first two wives had died of cancer, and 8 years ago he married a Mexican woman – I didn’t see her, so I have no idea how old she is, but it’s not uncommon here for an older man to marry a younger Mexican woman – he gets a companion, and she gets the stability of a life in America. He was stationed outside Oxford during the war, and retired from the Air Force as a Squadron Leader. Now he just pursues his hobby of collecting old tools. His pale blue eyes positively lit up when he talked about his time on the airbase in England, and in Germany when they discovered the concentration camps, and later in Korea. Whenever I travel around, it seems that people (especially older people) are only too happy to “shoot the breeze” – I guess the opportunities to reminisce dwindle as technology impinges more and more on our everyday lives.

It was hot today – 95F, or 35C – and we parted with a sweaty handshake.

On the way back, I stopped at several flea markets (or “trade days”, as they’re sometimes called). I didn’t buy anything (except for some fresh white corn – sweet enough to eat raw), but I did meet some interesting people. 

BBQ

I couldn’t resist a smoked brisket sandwich (sliced, not chopped) with onions and BBQ sauce, and a Dr Pepper (which is just about the only fizzy drink I like). Delicious.

And not bad for $5.