Would you like a warm up? It’s one of the greatest questions posed by the dining service industry in this fine land of ours. If you look broadly across the blessing of the English language landscape, you may find it to be that, and so much more.
One of my fondest early memories in life is going to breakfast with my dad on Saturday mornings to a small diner in an even smaller town. Quinlan, Texas, won’t make the list of Every Point on the Map given it’s proximity south of the Red River, and its a shame in some ways, for Quinlan in the early 70’s was vintage “good people” country.
I have an old friend who likes to say “denial is more than a river in Egypt”. Amen to that, but I would add that the Red River, likewise, is more than just a boundary between Oklahoma and that neighbor to its south.
Which brings us to today’s topic. Where does any of this fit within the genre of “27 hats”, you might ask? Well, topper 12 of 27, save one, is from Red River, the resort town in New Mexico, not the tributary to our south. It has been the selected hat for this post for almost a month now, but as I told our friend RDK in an email after writing the similarly themed post on 11 of 27, I’ve been finding myself at a loss for words. And, likewise, this morning, I concur that it’s OK.
Red River, New Mexico, at least for me, for many years was a place of mythical legend. I had never been there. I had friends who talked of going there for the good skiing. I married into a family that travelled there for vacations almost annually. Our church group took a large retreat there shortly before we moved to OKC. And, in later years, my own parents began sojourning there with friends.
But, every time I heard the words “Red River”, all I could think about was large sand bars, careless weeds, and trace quantities of very murky water. The thought of it left me cold, until I experienced firsthand the Red River everyone else was speaking of. It was a nice warm up, to say the least.
So, where are all these ramblings leading us to today, you might ask? Denial is more than a river in Egypt, and Red River is more than just a boundary between Oklahoma and that neighbor to its south. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and sometimes you have to put yourself into a position to behold something, be it a place, a person, a time, or an experience, to truly appreciate it.
My father died this past week. It’s occurrence was no surprise to us, but the experience was not at all what I expected. Much like my previous misconceptions about Red River, New Mexico, my preconceived notions of what it would be like to be next to someone at the moment they crossed the river from life to death were incomplete, as well.
The experience left me far from cold. In fact, the morning after a long nine day stretch by our father’s side, both bedside and graveside, I sat with a friend that I now like to call “Iron Man”, and we shared some early morning breakfast and coffee, not too far from the previously mentioned town of Quinlan. As my cup began to run dry, my good friend uttered those precious words: “would you like a warm up?”. He could not have touched my soul any more in that moment, and he likely never knew.
In closing these thoughts today, I’d like to share a line or two from that famed Marty Robbins tune “Red River Valley”:
From this valley they say you are going
I shall miss your bright eyes and sweet smile
for they say you are taking the sunshine
That has brightened my pathway a while.
Come and sit by my side if you love me
Do not hasten to bid me a -dieu
Just remember the Red River valley
And the cowboy who loved you so true.