The unusual name was actually that of a little girl who died in infancy. Her father was store owner W.W. Crockett and when he applied for a post office it was little Dimple's name he filled in on the application. The name was accepted, but Dimple's father moved on, perhaps thinking he wouldn't be constantly reminded of his daughter in a new town. The story comes from Clarksville Attorney Jack O. Herrington who sent the story into Little Towns of Texas* where it was published in 1981. The post office was open from 1901 to 1921. The population was listed as 25 from 1914 to 1986.

Somehow, from a population of 25 in the town, there were over 200 people at this reunion! Apparently they do the reunion every two years, and people come from far and wide. Some of the stories were simply amazing, the crowd was definitely older, and while there were some frail and infirm, mostly a very FIT group of seniors who grew up very very poor during the depression years, the same group that came of age during WWII. Roxie and her family left the farm suddenly, in December 1938, when her mother had a health crisis and the family had to go to Dallas to get her the care she needed. Roxie was 15.

Since she didn't graduate from the school, but rather a Dallas high school, followed by marriage, moving away during WWII, and finally her own family came along - and thus she hadn't been on the reunion lists, but her childhood chum tracked her down 2 years ago, and stayed in touch.

We found the reunion easily, thanks to a bunch of balloons tied to a sign, and were among the first to arrive. But Roxie immediately began to find MANY of her friends and relatives. It was really uncanny to see how friendship can endure a lapse of ... 64 years ...and how everything can just pop back into shape. Watching Roxie shed those 64 years, and become young Roxie Poteet, was simply magic.

I wore a nametag declaring me Roxie's neighbor, and was made very welcome as I sat in the sunshine, breathing country air. The weather could not have been nicer, and for lunch we had the usual and very tasty Texas barbequed brisket, with beans, potato salad, slaw, and all the fixings. For dessert, there was a potluck style table groaning under more pies, cakes and cookies than you could even imagine. After that feast I pulled the bike off the back of the car and took off down the gravel road. Goldenrod was in full bloom, and there were pastures full of cows, some people working on a new barn, no loose dogs, and a huge clearing that I feared was going to be some sort of industrial or housing development. Later, it turned out that during a particularly fierce storm, trees toppled over under a weight of ice and snow, apparently the winters in this part of the world are much more intense than what we jokingly call winter.

Now, to someone whose parents came from different ends of the country, who moved about in the vagabond style entitled "air force brat" and who NEVER lived in the same town as a relative - this deep roots and homeplace stuff was very foreign and fascinating.  Also, while I'd heard my folks stories about being a kid during the depression, the hardships of these farm children left me stunned.  Roxie said that the only things they ever bought at the store were flour, sugar, coffee, baking powder and soda. Period.  Everything else they grew or bartered for.  How they would play "beauty shop" with cornsilks on a cob and 4 bobby pins. How a doll was too precious to be played with. Mules and wagons were the way they got about, and indoor plumbing was simply a fantasy. It was also notable that hardly anyone stayed around after graduation. Just a very hard life, and WWII came along to offer jobs and travel and life really completely changed.

After people began disbursing, we loaded up and with a very hoarse and happy Roxie, I drove about under her direction, finding a pretty new Baptist church on the location of the old one (and getting an escorted tour through it by ______), an old fire tower (where a long ago boyfriend carved his and Roxie's initials in a step at the top), and even the road (really rutted tire tracks) where Roxie used to live.  We headed down the road/trail and then QUICKLY put the little red car in reverse, thanks to two large hounds that did not appear to want company. Finally, we headed back to Clarksville.

The B&B, the Courthouse Inn www.red-river.net/inn.htm  was a wonderful surprise.  I'd booked us into the Governors Suite, but had rather medium sized expectations. Boy was I wrong! The picture really doesn't do it justice, color is a little off. The trim that looks brown is actually a deep mauve and a lighter mauve, and matching pots of mums pranced right up the front staircase.  The gleaming floorboards of the Victorian Porch were graced with wicker furniture that simply begged me to collapse into it with a book - and YES! there was even an exceedingly friendly yellow kitty for cuddling. I didn't even care about the room, at that point, I was already in love! The house was beautifully appointed with period furnishing, aromatic dishes of pot pourri and glistening crystal pieces everywhere. A small baby grand in the front room tempted Roxie, and she promptly recalled a bit of music she'd memorized once. The Governors Suite was truly sumptuous, with a huge 4 poster bed, fireplace, a sitting room and a wonderful completely refitted huge bath, complete with jacuzzi tub and the most beautiful tiles.

Floors and furniture gleamed with polish and love, and muted oriental rugs and furnishing invited rather than overpowered. We were getting instructions on how to set the thermostat, and what time breakfast would be from our lovely hosts, Perry and Cheryl, when the doorbell rang.  The man at the door I remembered from the reunion, and quite amazingly I was the one he came to see.  He and his wife wanted to take Roxie off to see one of her/their kin (I'm still not sure, uncle? cousin?). Since they were in a pickup, he wanted to buy me gas to follow them. Roxie was THRILLED to be asked, and quickly collected her energy and we flew out the door. We unloaded our cooler into the bed of their pickup truck, and my new navigator took the front seat with me, the "girls in the back". I backed up and promptly banged my bumper into the bumper of his pickup, but happily didn't damage either vehicle. Don't you just hate it when you do that? So, with an excess of confidence in my driving abilities, we headed out for the deepest, darkest country roads.  I probably could have never found my way there or back without my navigator. The gravel was piled up so high in the middle of the road that my little car, loaded with 4 adults, dragged the gravel, so I lurched over to the very edge and cut a few new ruts. Roxie's relative and his wife were fascinating, both pretty well confined to their chairs, but mentally adept at 91 and 84 - married 68 years - and the storytelling began.  And I was in awe.  I think this also helped me (a tiny bit) understand my husband - and what very different backgrounds we come from.

Finally, the sun was setting, and I admit to being terrified of country roads after dark. We begged our leave and drove (slowly) back into town, where we had a fine dinner at the local Dairy Queen which seems to also be the community gathering place. Some old codger came in and flirted with us "girls" and we giggled appropriately. Isn't it grand to be a girl again? 

By the time we got back to the B&B, it was very dark and the yellow kitty was waiting. I slumped onto the porch with a book, a glass of wine and probably read an entire 20 pages, before I got too sleepy and moved inside. One more inspection of the lovely home, and we collapsed in the big bed.  And if either of us snored or even moved in the night, we were simply too tired to notice. At 4 a.m. the alarm in our room decided to sing of its own volition. With flashlight in hand, we quickly awoke and found the snooze button with no trouble, but finding the OFF switch took a little longer. At 6:15 we awoke on our own, Roxie had probably been awake a few minutes at least before I woke up.

Surprisingly, Roxies energy level was still high, and her voice well on the mend. After brewing a pot of coffee, and warming myself with a cup, I took off on a bike ride through the town.  Found a fascinatingly old cemetery, a Piggly Wiggly (we don't have those in Dallas!), kept an eye out for loose dogs and avoided them when I saw them, and was fascinated by the ups and downs of economy evident by the mixture of homes and businesses. Living in a small town has such appeal, but how realistic is it? And if you beautifully restore a vintage home, what is to keep someone from moving a trailer house into the lot next door?

I got back in time for the most elegant breakfast I think I've ever had. In the beautifully papered Victorian dining room, with a long table with a white brocade cloth and burgundy linen mats, and little crystal candle holders lined up down the center of the table, the two of us, plus Roxie's friend Hazel and her three sisters (+ one grumpy spouse) sat down to pears poached in red wine, served with a sprinkling of blueberries, a dab of marscapone like cheese, and a sprig of mint with juice and coffee. There was a little coffee bar where we'd gotten our coffee as we waited and classical piano music floated through the house. As we sat down, the grumpy spouse just sat down, made no effort to get himself coffee. I got up to fill mine up, and offered him one, which his wife accepted on his behalf. I "served" him and sat down and enjoyed my breakfast.  Then they brought out plates with heaped up with a baked egg and ham dish, a biscuit, a tiny bowl of salsa, a slice of honeydew melon and a fan of strawberry (can you see all the pretty colors)?  Perry filled up coffee cups (from the same pot I had used earlier) and old grumpy comments on the fact that this coffee was HOT and that he didn't want melon on his plate. At this point, I have to say I felt like Gary's evil twin had come along for the ride!

Later, as I settled our tab, I visited with the owners, who really did that house right. I saw the upstairs and can only tell you that I couldn't do justice in my description.  Completely elegant.  One of the upstairs bedrooms had a magnolia stencil all around the room on the hardwood floors that was TOO perfect. The right accessories, but not too many.  Claw foot tubs or jacuzzis and lavish towels.  A very comfortable place. Every room had a bath, some with claw foot tubs, some jacuzzis. The kitchen had one of those big stainless stoves that I covet, and then I glanced out the window, and there on top of the squirrel feeder mounted way up a tree, I see my orange kitty friend. Unfortunately, I wasn't fast enough to get a photograph. My point is, if you get a chance to go to Clarksville, Texas, DO look up this B&B. And tell `em Mamalinda sent you. I left a thank you missive in the Governor's Room journal that made Roxie cry, but it was just one of those times where something wrote itself and I think I said it pretty well. 

On the drive home, we stopped in Paris, and somehow (remember the blind leading the blind here) found the cemetery where Roxie's daddy was buried in 1966.  Wed blindly driven through town, and were giving up and heading out that there it was.  Truly divine intervention!  We even found the marker too.  Roxie's voice was getting hoarse again, and when I hit the Glenn Miller CD, her face lit right up. We followed that with Josh Groban (who she also loved), and a quick sandwich and suddenly - we were home.

I think Gary might have missed me. A little bit. He gets very chatty when I come home from an outing, which I am beginning to suspect is his way of saying he missed me. I whipped up a big pot of taco soup, the kind where you mostly open cans and dump them into a pot with a bit of ground beef I'd cooked and frozen last week, and he's now just satisfied as can be. Testy Teen just turned up, and he's thrilled with the soup too, and hopefully will clean up MY back porch, which is also equipped with the wicker rockers and lace tablecloth and geraniums. Southern Living stops there, however, because Bella Mia, naughty dog, has garnished my porch with bits of torn up newspaper and spilled the birdseed, and evidentially missed me also - in her own special way. We're expecting a cold front sometime today, and the air has just a hint of a nip to it. During the writing of this "note" (novel?) I've gotten Miss Sadie washed, made soup, unpacked and have the laundry going and am now ready to collapse in my own, almost as lovely, bed - with my very own orange kitty.

Sorry about the length of this, but I have TRIED to communicate what a magical time this weekend was. Maybe you're even as tired as I am
now?

Zzzzzz, Mamalinda