We each march to the sound of a different drummer; it may be an age thing, but for unknown reasons, I seem to be drawn more and more to the beat of the past. The rhythm goes on, but it’s slower. On a Danube River cruise my Jackson friends and I had disembarked from our ship, the Viking Jarl, and were now in Prague.
keeping up with lottie
There are some things that seem to be part and parcel of who we are, of whom we become. Memorial Day is one for me.
This is the time I make a sentimental trip out Clinton Boulevard to pay respect to the brother-in-law I never had the privilege of knowing.
“Your mother would have been dancing on the table,” a man said to me as my friends and I walked out of church.
“I was thinking the same thing,” I answered him, wondering how in the name of Tom Thunder this younger man could have known my mother that well.
My cruise-mate Edrie Royals and Jackson companions Margaret Vise, Ann Barksdale, Carole Kirkland and I were on a Danube River cruise and our boat had docked near Kalosca, Hungary.
The tour Edrie and I had picked out for this stop was the cowboy rodeo in Kalosca.
I can’t carry a tune in a lard bucket, but on this day I could almost hum, same song, second verse in perfect voice. A group of ladies from Jackson, Ann Barksdale, Margaret Vise, Carole Kirkland, cruisemate Edrie Royals and I were on a Danube River cruise. Our ship, the Viking Jarl had docked in Kalosca, we would be there until late evening.
I check my watch — 4:20 and almost time for my afternoon dog walk with Roo Roo.
Before I put my raincoat on, and command Roo to a sit position so I can hook her up, I open a scrapbook of my Sun articles, and turn to one written three years ago today.
January 17, 2016