Mind if I drag up a chair and sit with you, Jim? Since Wouter left, looks like you and I are the only customers here. That's one of my favorite Elvis tunes you've got playing on the jukebox, by the way. I can remember wandering through the woods by the light of the full moon when I was a kid, softly singing "Are You Lonesome tonight?" It was one of my faves.

I can't hear that song without being transported back in time, Suddenly, I am 10 years old again and carrying my loneliness around like a favorite toy. My childhood was not a happy one, so I cannot look back on most of it with any large degree of fondness. It was a good foundation for life, though, and for that I am thankful. One of the most treasured things the gods saw fit to bless me with during those years was the woman I called Mother. She did not bear me - I came from another's womb - but she loved me, fought for me, provided for me, and had faith in me when no one else did.

Eula was the main provider of solace, sanctuary and sanity in my life. She loved me and was proud of my accomplishments. She thought I was talented and smart. Yes, I was a handful, there was no doubt about it, and she went through the obligatory motions of scolding, chiding, and punishing even though sometimes it seemed to have no effect whatsoever. But Eula wasn't about to let that minor detail get in the way. So what if the kid was a little high-spirited and headstrong? She'd get over it. Even if there was nothing to be done about it now, Life would shape her up. In the meantime, there was talent to be nurtured, cows to be fed, and cotton to be picked; a garden to be hoed and hands to be hired and oh, yes, there were fish to be caught, just waiting down at the lake. Fishing was Eula's greatest passion. She was never happier than when she was sitting on the tank dam, cane pole in hand, bobber in the water. Fishing was the way she coped.

George and Eula met and married in Houston during the Roaring Twenties and lived there for many years, where he worked as an accounting clerk for the Railroad and she as a secretary for the Air Force. She even had her own pair of little golden wings. I will never forget those golden wings. She used to let me wear them every now and then. Anyway, in 1951, when my brother and I turned 6 and 4, respectively, George and Eula decided it would be in our best interests for us to grow up in a rural environment, a small town, where things moved a bit slower. So they bought a farm located twelve miles outside a tiny metropolis of 2,000 people, over 100 miles north of the city where we lived. It was definitely in the boonies.

The plan was that Eula and the kids would move to the country; Big George would work in the city five days a week and drive home to the farm on weekends. A simple, straightforward plan. Ha! I'm not 100% certain that Eula was totally aware of what her duties would entail when she agreed to this venture. I don't think, for instance, that she had taken George's New Farmer Enthusiasm into consideration. He was really into it. Within the first five years he bought a large herd of cattle; built a new barn; dug two fishing tanks and stocked them; planted and harvested fields of cotton, corn and alfalfa; developed an annual vegetable garden; started a clearing project on the 30 acres of thick woods in the north pasture, and finalized plans to build a new house.

He did all this in his two days a week, you ask?

Mainly George was the idea man and the strategist. He was working in Houston all week, wasn't he, and there was only so much he could do on the weekends. So it was up to Eula to rise to the challenge of seeing his ideas through to completion. Her day began before 0500, when she climbed out of bed to feed the cows, all 100 of whom would be patiently waiting near the barn. She'd drop bales of hay out the second story window and scatter it for them. Then she'd open the corn crib and shovel out ears of corn. Her favorite cows were always fed their corn by hand while she talked to them.

She'd take a good look at the herd, checking everyone for injuries or any sign of disease or infirmity. Then she'd feed all the other animals - cats, dogs, squirrels, birds, or whatever critter we were currently nursing back to health or raising as an FFA project. Finally she'd wake us, see that we dressed, feed us breakfast and ensure that we were waiting by the side of the road when the school bus arrived. All this took place before 0700. After 0700, she had the balance of the day to see to the thousands of other details one must address in order to run a 190-acre farm, build a new house, and raise two children single-handedly. So every day when we got home from school, if the weather was nice, there was almost sure to be a little note propped up on the kitchen table that said, "Gone Fishing."

I'd drop my books right there by the note, change my clothes and head for the lake. As my feet trod the cow path toward the fishing hole, every step brought me closer to the welcome sight I knew would await me there. Topping the dam, I'd always see her backside first. The large straw hat, the flowered blouse, the strong shoulders relaxed for once as she sat in perfect peace, beside the cool water, waiting for something to bite. When something finally did, she'd unhook 'em and throw 'em back in. It was like a game that she and the fish played.

I learned so much from this wonderful woman, so much that has served me well in my life, that I understand why the gods gave me to her. I needed her example of strength, independence, faith, and love. From her I learned that one must do what one feels is the right thing, even in the face of great opposition. She taught us by her unwavering loyalty that there is honor in service to those that you love, as well as to those you do not even know. And she ached for me, for the loneliness that encompassed me, because she knew there was something missing in my life that she could never provide no matter how hard she tried. It hurt her to watch me suffer.

I hope that as Eula sits beside that beautiful lake under her favorite shade tree, dipping her line in the water, she knows I finally overcame the sadness she saw so often in my eyes.

I am not lonesome any more, Mama. Only sometimes, when I am lonesome for you.