I Drive on Dusty Roads

"Sister Jill, you'll likely get as much out of your experience here in this congregation as you put into it."

I have heard my mother repeat these words from a wise clergyman back in 1969 many times throughout my life.

My father had been re-assigned from mountainous southern Arizona to the flat plains of the panhandle of Dumas, Texas. To be pulled away from her beloved pine trees, and astonishing rock formations and relocated to a tiny town, into a tiny house (ironically located on a street named "Pine", all to be made even worse, in her mind, by attending a church in which our family would be approximately a fourth of the congregation on an average Sunday's attendance. She was despondent. We children were now spanning ages ranging pre-school to High School. We now lived in the "Bible Belt". On the wrong side of the tracks. And we were Mormon (members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints).

My parents had already gone through difficult things. They'd buried a child. Lived across the ocean far from family and friends. My mother knew her attitude would determine how her family would react to this next chapter. If she knew one thing, she knew how to talk to people, and even more how to listen, which is of course the best way to make friends.

Over the last ten years since Dave and I have been married, he has heard me tell all my stories and memories of Texas. With my High School reunion coming up the middle of April, one day he asked "Hey, what if we drive over to Dumas on our way down to Arizona for your reunion?" We have a tendency to baby-step our trips with little side-jaunts. This seemed a bit of a giant-step. I hadn't been back since we moved when I was nine years old. "Let's do it!"

We'd be traveling over Easter Sunday. I love Easter. It's been a very long, cold, snowy winter. A few weeks ago when the snow just wouldn't seem to stop, I found myself browsing Easter/Spring dresses online. Bright colors. Flowy fabrics. Nothing with a hint of winter. I clicked the purchase button and waited all of two or three days for my lovely dress to arrive to my P.O. box. lickity split. Almost instant gratification. I couldn't wait to try it on. The fit was soft and hung just perfectly. I took it off and hung it on my one clothes rod, placing it at the front where I could easily see it when walking by. The newness wore off a few days later and soon my robe took it's place at the front.

As a five-year-old little girl, I remember seeing other little girl's Easter dresses, and wishing I had one fancy like theirs. Some of them even had matching parasols, little white gloves and shiny "buckle shoes" and I'd beg my mother for one or all of these things. I never got any of those things. What I did get was a trip to Sprouse Reitz Five and Dime store. There was a section of the store that had pattern books and bolts of fabric. She pulled out a couple of chairs for us and then plop a huge pattern book, usually the "Simplicity" book, in front of each of us. Flipping through the sections and finding the tab marked girl's dresses. "Look at each of the pictures and when you see one you like, show me and I'll see if we can make that for you." Any time I saw a little girl with long curly hair in beautiful bows I'd point to the photo and say, "This one mama! She's so pretty!" "Honey, you can't just look at the little girl, you have to look at the dress she's wearing."

After finally agreeing on a pattern that I liked well enough and that she thought she'd be able to sew, we'd pull the pattern envelope from the cabinet and read the back to see how much yardage we'd need, along with any "notions" (buttons, zipper, rik-rak, elastic etc.) Pattern in hand we then would walk along the bolts of fabric to see if it was something I liked and equally if not more important, something she felt comfortable sewing with. She was a fan of natural fabrics, cotton being her favorite. I was a fan of the wild prints that were becoming popular. The problem with those prints seemed to be that they were on polyester. She detested polyester. We compromised. If I would choose the green cotton with white daisy trim, she'd purchase the psychedelic polyester print and sew something from it later on. I took the deal.

Every day I'd come home from kindergarten to see how much progress she'd made. Finally, she had buttons sewn on and now all it needed was elastic in the sleeves. "This should be ready for Easter Sunday sweetie!"

Sunday morning, I put the dress on. The elastic on my arms was a little too snug. But it was cute. I didn't look like the girl in the Simplicity catalogue though. "Would you look at how the green matches your pretty green eyes!" Looking down the row of daisies that ran the length of my dress my eyes landed on my feet. I only had little red tennis shoes. No shiny buckle shoes. I frowned. "I wish I had buckle shoes like the other girls Mama." "Well honey, I'm sure we can find you some pretty soon! Let's go show Daddy how pretty you look in your new dress!"

Those years in Texas provided varied experiences for each member of our family. That is typical when the ages range from teen to toddler. Some of us may never want to go back to those places, even in our minds. My memories are only fond ones. My father found joy in his work at Lake Meredith. Driving a National park truck back and forth for his daily commute, and recently having quit smoking, he'd suck on hard candy or chew Wrigley's spearmint gum, his left arm resting on the rolled down window, singing his own made-up tune, "I drive on dusty roads....and....dusty roads I drive on..." Now and then he'd pick up some pit b-b-q from a gas station, and also collect glass bottles on the side of the road to redeem for coins.

Mama, sewed, took us to the public library weekly, she grocery shopped at the Piggly Wiggly, taught Sunday school, and volunteered at the small hospital down the road one night a week as a "Rose Lady". I was her little shadow; baking cookies with her, "writing letters" next to her as she'd write her parents updates on her life in a small Texas town. No food ever went to waste, and protein would often come from sort of canned meat. We collected S & H green stamps and had family nights gathered around the table a damp sponge in dish so we could wet the stamps en mass and fill the S & H books to redeem for rewards.

Mama made friends.

Mama's dearest Texan friend Pam Pratt

One day I overheard her tell a cashier at the Piggly Wiggly, "I can't wait for summer so I can play with my children all day!" I felt so glowy inside. I knew she wasn't just saying that. I knew it was true. It made me feel proud. It made me not care that she still hadn't made me a dress out of that crazy polyester print, nor that I still didn't own a pair of shiny buckle shoes. Something inside me knew that what I had was far more valuable.

Had to get the reenactment stand in front of the old house pic

Today was Easter Sunday. We were traveling and far from children and grand-children. There would be no ham and potatoes, or homemade rolls. No lemon meringue pie. No listening to the grand-children sing in their church meeting today. Today we'd go to my tiny church, in the tiny town of Dumas. We'd partake of the sacred emblems of the sacrament with just barely thirty other congregants. In a building that so long ago I sat with my family on metal folding chairs, my feet swinging back and forth....little red tennis shoes. Today as I sat on one of the few padded benches that now fill the tine chapel, I gazed down at my shiny buckle shoes. We sang hymns of Christ's life. His sacrifice and Atonement. His death and resurrection. A lump came to my throat. I imagined my father driving down those dusty roads. I then imagined Christ walking miles and miles of dusty roads. The perfect life he led. That he felt every single sorrow and pain any of us ever have or ever will feel. The he conquered death and the grave, so that we can also live again after this life. I know that I will be with my parents after this life is over. I really like hanging out with them.

For now, I have a lot to do. I think I might take up sewing again. I also think I'm going to research that fabric from the early 1970's. I have a suspicioun Mama didn't hang on to it. It was made out of polyester.