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Donna's Journal
February 21, 2005


    There were two levels in the little café and my friends had chosen to sit where the floor was raised about two feet above the other one. It wasn't much of an elevation but it did give just enough of a rise so that there was a vantage point of sorts. All the comings and going of the little room became more easily viewed. When first  walking into the building, I noticed a couple of cars parked in the lot from out of state;  a Texas tag was on one of them. There wasn't any need to guess which one was the Texan in the room. He was  lean looking,  well groomed and had white hair and mustache almost the color of his cowboy hat hanging on the rack behind him.

     Every once in a while his voice could be heard in the noisy room and he sounded like a recording of Sam Elliot, the movie star.  The drawl he used was even more drawn out and easy than my friend's husband who was now sitting directly across from me.

      “Ah shore 'em gliad you all come out to have lunch with us,” he spoke to me.

      “Purely all my pleasure,”  I told him. “Where is your lady?”

      “Oh alll, reckin she'll be along directly.”  His smooth slow talkin' ways reminded me of my Grand Dad and I always experienced a moment of nostalgia while he talked.

     “Ah've been a readin' you're ah...book, now.”  He had a pleasant expression on his face along with a slight smile and this told me he was enjoying it.

      And then our attention was caught away from conversation while his wife slipped into a chair beside him. The three of my friends were now engaged in their own exchanges and it gave me a chance to observe the tall good looking Texas at the table beside us. He never noticed me watching him because his concentration was totally tied up with observing the very pretty little waitress.

      The youthful woman looked to have stepped into the restaurant off her Daddy's farm. She was wholesome and healthy with a well-built, slim body in tight blue geans. Her reddish hair was pulled up into a bun on top of her head but small wisps of curls had slipped out and framed her face with a Celtic style. Her smile was broad and friendly as she zipped back and forth to carry delicious home cooked meals for a dining room packed with people enjoying their time in this country cafe.

      “So tell us about the next Chilocco meeting, and how your book sales are going?” I was pulled away from the pleasant scene of the cowboy from Texas enjoying the beauty from Oklahoma.

    “The next Chilocco meeting will be March 10 at Newkirk.   Right there  in front of the Main Street Heritage Center on Main street. We will meet at four a.m. and take a guided bus tour through the school. Better come on up. At seven o'clock we will meet back at the center for cookies, punch,  and a short program.  Bret Carter has a slide show prepared,  and a couple of speakers will talk about the old Indian boarding school. I will be one of the speakers.”

      We'll see when I get my first royalty check how the book sales are going, if I don't starve to death before then.”

      “Well, now Donna, don't want to make you mad, but you don't look like you are a starving'.  No, nope, not even a little bit.”  I had made a  loaded comment and, of course, my friends were not going to let it pass.

      “I've been handing them out to my friends. Everyone seems to enjoy reading. Every once in a while during my life time I've done something right.”  The friendly support of my friends and the sweet memories of my country childhood was poured over me and the day was one for writing about in my journal to keep for a memory.


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