Another river scene - Micah, Denton and Bartlett watching The Idiot Box

The other night, Terry and I were talking about what a privilege it was, such a rare opportunity, that we could just jump in the car and be someplace as magical as The River in nine hours. Before our kids were born, we used to leave after a full day's work, in my 1983 Park Avenue, fueled by little cokes from a cooler in the back seat, and a Coal Miner's Daughter cassette tape, arriving about 3:00 a.m., to a key under the mat and cookies on the round yellow kitchen table. After David and Micah were born, we packed up that car a couple of times a year, until we gave the car away and bought Mary's van in 1997. The van sat higher up so we could get a better view of the Atachafalaya River from the long, long bridge on I10. We'd crane our necks trying to spot alligators, and once, it paid off. We knew that route so well - the cleanest bathrooms, the gas station with the tiger in a cage (we didn't stop to look - too sad,) competing to spell M-I-S-S-I-S-S-I-P-P-I the fastest as we crossed the tall, arched bridge spanning the river by that name, the billboards advertising the Louisiana casinos, the "counties" changing to "parishes" with French names... David's and Micah's childhoods absolutely wouldn't have been the same without the opportunities Mom and Dad afforded us. There was plenty of quiet time for Micah and David to talk to Mom and Dad and exciting times with their cousins, aunts and uncles. That always meant a lot to me because I have always yearned to spend more time with them, to live closer to them. There's not much water in this part of Texas so David and Micah wouldn't have learned to fish, to drive a boat, to hang on to a ski rope. There was a freedom at The River that we didn't appreciate enough, at the time. Terry didn't have to go to work and he threw himself into spending time with David and Micah. They wouldn't have ever gone to Baudein's or tasted Dad's fresh fish dredged in egg, milk and bread crumbs and pan broiled with lemon, soy, bread crumbs, worchester sauce , and a whole lot of butter, by Mom. Or fresh shrimp. Now I'm really beginning to miss it. And, remember the Mrs. Smith's biscuits? And broiled chicken, canned small peas, and salad, always "eat your salad." And, Dad sitting in the leather chair that Mom bought him when he returned from Vietnam, with an old-fashioned. Good times, those were. Thank goodness for the pictures and the memories they preserve.