Category: Road Trip

Posted on by Fern Brady - 2 Comments on Shifting Gears in the New Year

Shifting Gears in the New Year

Ellen’s world features grim reapers and the lore behind these fascinating characters.

Ellen and I met up to enjoy a lunch and talk shop. There are many fun projects we work together and so much to discuss for the coming new year. One of the topics was this blog. RoadBroads has had a journey of its own since its inception. Now, it may be time for it to take a new path once again.

This blog began with a trip Ellen and Melanie took to Boulder, Colorado for June Retreat. This was pre-pandemic and every year Max Regan of Hollowdeck Press hosted two 10-day sessions to get your project growing. Ellen and Melanie decided to drive up from Houston. The drive birthed the idea of a blog for traveling women — RoadBroads.

My stories are set in an intergalactic alliance of planets called Thyrein’s Galactic Wall.

During those first years, Ellen and Melanie wrote about an array of trips they took, some by car, others in various modes of transportation. They hosted guest bloggers, like me, to talk about their own trips. I remember writing up Rental Car Hell from my trip to Italy for the blog.

Then COVID struck. Ellen and Melanie decided that the focus of the blog should shift. They began writing about a creative woman’s life journey. When Melanie stepped away from the blog, Ellen brought me and Rachel on board. This created an interesting dynamic of the life of three female creatives at very different stages of life’s journey.

Now, as Rachel has stepped back, and life begins to shift once more, Ellen and I discussed the future of this blog and what we want it to be moving forward. One consideration we discussed is our desire to grow the blog’s audience. In researching blogging, we found that the strongest blogs have a narrow topic focus.

Both Ellen and I are speculative fiction authors with unique worlds that our characters live in. Ellen has her grim reapers. I have Thyrein’s Galactic Wall. We have both had short stories set in these worlds published as a result of contest wins and anthology submissions. While Ellen is still working on her first full novel in her world, I have two novels out for mine.

The world’s we create are a blend of fantasy and science fiction with tinges of horror and humor built in.

In view of this, we have decided that in 2025 this blog will focus on our worlds. Each post will discuss some element of our respective story universes. We might write about the setting of a particular scene or short story, or we might share tidbits of character’s backstory that can’t go into the book proper. In the midst of this, we will discuss our writing process as well as share insight into what makes our creative juices flow and why we work in these genres.

Of course, there will be blogs on creative life in general, such as when we do readings or enter contests, as well as conferences and retreats we attend. In fact, I’m writing this post from Galveston, Texas, where I’m on a short writing retreat with some friends now.

We hope that by sharing our writing, our worlds, and the journey of being a working author, you will enjoy and follow not only this blog, but our publications as well. And, maybe it will help us to grow the consistent audience of this blog. One thing is for sure, we enjoy collaborating and that’s not changing any time soon.

So be ready this year to learn all about Willow, the Paladium, Grim Reaper Headquarters, Dragonborn Kings, Intergalactic Alliances, Gortive Offensives, Rajin Masters, their Elmalin counterparts, and a whole host of other beings and places from the wild imaginations of Ellen Seaton and Fern Brady.

Ellen and I wish everyone a wonderful and prosperous new year and hope you enjoy the journey RoadBroads is about to take!
Posted on by Fern Brady - No Comments on Beach Time

Beach Time

There are moments in life when it becomes necessary to take yourself off somewhere and reflect. My trip to Brownsville proved an amazing time of refreshing. The last day I was there, I visited South Padre Island.

As a child, we would often go to S. Padre to hang out at the beach. It is barely twenty minutes from Brownsville and the sand is so beautiful. My godmother had a condo at the Bahia Mar. She put us as authorized users so we would go there and hang out for the day.

During my recent visit, I took a day to enjoy the time by the ocean. There’s something about water that brings on a deep sense of peace. Listening to the waves, feeling the salty breeze on your body, the kiss of the sun’s rays on your skin, all this makes for a great time of meditation.

There was a lot to process that weekend. The attack by a parent group that is pushing for puritanical cleansing of education was high among these. My name was smeared by them as if somehow my author persona made me unworthy of working with kids. After being a teacher for 23 years, my identity was called into question.

I won’t lie. It shook me deeply. But as I sat there, on the beach listening to the waves and praying, I felt God’s presence in my life. He is my vindicator. I felt sorrow for these people. Their lives are so full of hate and insecurity. They can’t stand seeing others living a full and happy life.

As kids, my brother and I would sword fight when we went to Blackbeard’s.

How dare I enjoy writing science fantasy romance? How dare I enjoy smoking my cigars? How dare I not conform to what the evangelical lifestyle says a woman should be?

Well, I won’t conform. I will continue to be me, unabashedly and unashamedly. I’ve worked too hard to like myself to allow small minded people to come in and try to stick me back in the box that never fit to begin with.

There’s an interesting verse int he bible: I’m making something new. A woman shall encompass a man.

Their seafood is delicious but I always order the avocado burger. To die for good.

God called me to do great things. He is the author of my faith and of my journey. He is well able to finish the work He began in me. So I will continue my journey and I will let go of the hurt these people caused. I hope He is merciful when he deals with them. But I know He will give me justice in the end, for He despises those that try to shed innocent blood — and the tongue is an instrument of death with these kind of people.

After the time by the sea, I went to my favorite eatery not he island: Blackbeards. As a kid, I always called it black birds. I think because it has birds not he sign. Whatever you call this spot, it has the best damn burgers anywhere in the world. I challenge anyone to find better burgers.

Me enjoying my last cigar of my personal retreat time.

If you go down to the Rio Grande Valley, be sure to check out S. Padre and Blackbeard’s. You won’t regret it.

Posted on by Fern Brady - No Comments on Glady’s Porter Zoo

Glady’s Porter Zoo

Giraffes are my favorite animals.

When I was a child, every summer my mother enrolled us in the Summer Safari program at Glady’s Porter Zoo. I loved going there and learning about the animals. We would do many different activities and walk the zoo. It was literally the best part of my childhood.

The Glady’s Porter Zoo is in Brownsville TX. It is considered one of the best zoos in the country. The zoo has a strong conservation program and they have seen the birth of many wonderful animals over the years, helping grow endangered species’s populations.

The aviary lets you walk among the birds. Scary.

One of the best parts of the zoo, is the way that the animals are housed. Unlike many zoos, Glady’s Porter designs the enclosures to mimic the animals’ natural habitat. The zoo has a large spread of land which it can use and has been given more by the city.

As a child, my favorite part of the zoo was the giraffes. I still love giraffes. I don’t know why they are my favorite animal, but they are. I love wolves and I love sharks and others as well, but the giraffe is the best. They are so peaceful and tall, and ungainly. You wouldn’t think they were beautiful when you look at the oddness of their body shape. Yet they have grace and poise and kind faces. Maybe, thinking about it now, that’s why I connected with them.

This is where we hosted one of my birthdays growing up.

Glady’s porter has an aviary. It’s kinda frightening going in there. All those birds, flying free, all around you. Very Hitchcockian. But it is also pretty cool. I don’t know how recent the changes have been, but they added a butterfly enclosure. Filled with flowers and free flying butterflies, it is kind of like a wonderland area. They also added a new activity center where they display some fossils that were excavated in the Rio Grande Valley area. It even hosts a playground zone now.

Since my birthday is in July, we had several parties at the zoo. As I walked it during my recent visit, I stopped at the area where we would have the celebration. It is still an eating spot.

I was sad to see that the polar bears are gone. I don’t know why. I remember one summer, as we walked past their enclosure, we caught them swimming. I have always been a fan of bears. Though they seem cuddly, they are actually very dangerous. The dichotomy of it appeals to me.

Glady’s Porter has a strong conservation program to help breed endangered species.

I didn’t see the elephants during this visit. I recall that the zoo had some issues when I was younger with the male elephant. He apparently had tried to kill the baby that was born to them. I remember seeing how they had built a wall to separate him and how the female and baby would come lean against it while he was leaning on the other side. There’s something about that which stirred me and even recalling it now gives rise to sadness.

My biggest regret is that my family moved to Houston during the summer of my sophomore year in high school. This meant no more summer safaris. But more than that, it meant not being able to be a part of the conservation side of the zoo. Only the junior and seniors who participated during the summer, and even during the school year, got to be in the baby zone and work with the staff on that part of the zoo’s program. Wish I had been able to stick around for that. But, I can enjoy going back and seeing all the work the zoo has done. If you are ever in the area., you definitely should visit the Glady’s Porter Zoo.

The zoo is spread out over a large area of land which allows it to form beautiful enclave habitats for the animals.
Posted on by Fern Brady - No Comments on Brownsville Trip #2

Brownsville Trip #2

During my last blog post, I wrote about the quick trip I took down to Brownsville with my parents. The weekend after that visit, I returned having booked a nice Airbnb to stay there for a long weekend. It was a time of refreshing, healing, and writing.

I headed out onto the highway on Thursday. Of course, I had all manner of snacks along with me. It isn’t a legitimate road trip unless you are eating a bunch of junk food along the way. At least, that’s my philosophy. I have a strong bladder from having been a teacher all my life, so I made only one pit stop at Refugio. I was met there by a seagull who was most upset when I told her I had nothing to offer her.

Back on the highway, I drove along singing loudly in my car. You absolutely must have a good playlist when on a road trip. I have one I labeled as Karaoke and it is great for in car singing. The trip from Houston to Brownsville takes almost six hours without stops.

Arriving at the little studio I rented, the first thing I did after lugging the five hundred suitcases and bags I brought with me — okay maybe it wasn’t THAT many but it sure felt like it — into the space was take in the view. In Brownsville, the Rio Grande river has left behind during its lifetime pockets of river that have been cut off from the main flow over the years. The locals call these resacas. One of the prime real estate assets for property down here is if it has a resaca in the backyard. This little studio did, and it makes for a fantastic view.

This church is on the edge of Refugio. As a child when we would drive by it, I always imagined I might get married here some day.

I spent the first day in the studio. I enjoyed morning reflection and coffee with my cigar outside with that relaxing scenery. I bathed, put on one facial mask and some strong conditioner on my hair. I spent time just reading and reflecting on the very hard situations I’ve been dealing with for the past 3 years. After some time, I took those products off and put on a renewing facial mask. I used the time while it worked on my skin to list out all the people and situations that have been hurtful these past few years and any that came up even from before.

Sometimes you think you’ve processed something but it pops back up, so you have to deal with whatever lingered. After my final bath, I was ready for my Friday night writing group. It was lovely to catch up with everyone and set some intentions for the writing I was planning to do that weekend. Most of it centered on getting out emotions and viewing situations so that I could make better sense of where I was and where I am going. But I didn’t plan to just stay in doors and process feelings the whole time.

The view from the studio of the resaca. Sitting out on the patio to smoke my cigars and take in this natural beauty was a major part of the refreshing effects of this trip.

I made my preparations to head to the zoo and to the beach while I was there. I’ve run out of words in this post to share those experiences, but you can come back when it’s my turn again to post and you’ll find out about my zoo and beach excursions and about the writing and resolutions I came to during that weekend. See you next time!

Posted on by Fern Brady - No Comments on Brownsville Trip Part 1

Brownsville Trip Part 1

Me as passenger enjoying not having to worry about anything.

This past weekend, my mother, dad, and I drove down to Brownsville, Texas. This little town on the very tip of the state, bordering with Matamoros, Mexico, is where I grew up. We moved here when I was five years old.

Growing up in a small town has a certain degree of charm. It can also be a nightmare. For me, it was more of the later. I was always a chubby little kid. Early on, I had to have glasses for my eyesight which I inherited from my father. And then we added braces to fix the bad teeth I inherited from my mother. All of this lead to an awful lot of bullying in my childhood.

It was generally there throughout my early years, but in fourth grade, it got intense thanks to a very bad teacher, Ms. Doyle. She was single you see and my mother befriended her and thought to pair her up with a gentleman friend of our family. Sadly, the match didn’t take. This created a tension in Ms. Doyle. I was too young to realize this was happening.

One afternoon, she asked me if I had completed my math homework as I and my mom walked past her during carpool. I told her yes, that it was in my notebook. AND I HAD. To this day , I can recall the page of carefully written math problems. But the next morning, it wasn’t there. Now, she had a habit of making us stand up if we didn’t do it, so I did ’cause I couldn’t find it. She came roaring around the desk, towered over me as I crumbled crying on the floor, telling me I was a liar and humiliating me in front of the whole class.

After that it was open season on me. If the teacher humiliated and ostracized me, then the other students felt justified in doing it too. In fact, when we were graduating form 5th grade and the school invited us to a pool party celebration, the bullying had become so intense I begged my parents to let me stay home. I felt that if I went, they would drown me.

The second placemat that has been used forever at this restaurant.

In the midst of all this, there was a solace. My family and I attended Pastor Gene Loya’s church, Centro Cristiano Shamma. Here I found God’s love and acceptance. Most importantly, the pastor’s mother, took me under her wing. Her advice and comfort was a part of my life that I will always cherish.

Mrs. Loya is 103 years old now. She is the most beautiful lady and her fire and love for God is still burning bright. Her mind is a s sharp as ever, though her body has become frail. We went to Brownsville to visit with her and to take a time with Pastor Loya, whose advice in the midst of so much going on was a balm to my spirit.

Thanks to its port, Brownsville offers the freshest seafood ever!

Of course, we went and had dinner at The Oyster Bar. One thing about small towns… they don’t change. The same place mats that have always been there are still being used. I put them here because they are really cool.

Posted on by Melanie Ormand - No Comments on When Weddings & Road Trips Morph into Anniversaries

When Weddings & Road Trips Morph into Anniversaries

I met DH on a road trip near my hometown 36 years ago.

That meeting, where I heard Carole King singing I Feel the Earth Move in my ear, led to my accepting a Houston job four months later.

I worked at the local all-news station. Chuck led the newsroom at the cross-town country music station.

First road trip, 1984: check out these youngsters!

Competitors, we began dating.  

Our first road trip took us to Galveston’s Flagship Hotel. 

Our romance made Houston’s newspaper gossip columns. The bosses, gratefully, didn’t mind our courtship. 

Thirty one years ago this week, we married and began traveling. I retired from radio, as DH later did. We began a crisis communications business that took us around the globe.

We overnighted in all 50 states plus 24 foreign countries and three continents. Those trips came many modes. On land, in air, and over water, here’s the (partial) exotic list: 

  • LAND: camel (Australia), funicular (Austria), Ice Explorer (Canada), dog sled (Alaska), horse-drawn carriage (New York), Segway (Colorado), pedicab (Illinois), moped (Bahamas), cable car (San Francisco), ice skating (Houston)
  • AIR: canoe (New Zealand), international flight (Italy), prop jet (Denali), helicopter (Florida), hot air balloon (New Mexico)
  • WATER: cruise ship (Mexico), glass-bottomed boat (Florida), catamaran (St. Thomas), tubing (Wyoming), ferry (Washington), riverboat (Louisiana),

But we haven’t traveled via these modes:

  • Parasail, parachute, zipline, and any activity that might break a bone or blow a body gasket

Aging brings wisdom and we’ve both got hearts, brains, and other body parts to protect these days.

Other wisdom I’ve gained with the years is that both marriage and travel involve journeys of a type. If you can open yourself fully to the possibilities of each, you’ll eventually experience the good, the bad, the ugly, the weird, and more. It’s all Life.

For instance, this month for me marks not only a sweet anniversary but also what I call the beginning of my Lost Decade. Eleven family funerals and 20 hospitalizations/surgeries. One day, I’ll tell that tale, an heartbreaking/heart-expanding journey through (seemingly) unending disease, death; loss, grief. 

But this week, I focus on a happy day and blessed memories. That’s a choice, something that awaits each of us.

Through it all, I also try to remember to lighten up. 

Only eleven years left and the real fun begins?

DH and I keep this plaque in our house, reminding us that when life gets intense, laughter lightens the load.

On some days, it’s the laughing that gets us through.

That’s as true in marriage as it is Every Single Day.

Posted on by Melanie Ormand - 2 Comments on Time to Change your Borders?

Time to Change your Borders?

We’d traveled into north Texas when the green mileage marker popped up.

“Oklahoma 8.”

The road trip that day promised a long journey, another seven hours. I turned to DH and teased, “You game?” He smiled, nodded.

A‑OK = another RoadBroad quick stop. Because, why not?

One left turn and eight miles later, we arrived at our new destination.

We eyeballed the terrain. Nothing: no cars, no animals, no buildings, no people.

To visitors, such a sight spooks.

To a native, it’s heaven, a reminder of similar landscapes, e.g., the Texas Panhandle where I grew up.

It saddens me that so many fail to see the beauty of these flatlands. Here, you can slow down and catch your breath. Tech devices don’t work well. Distraction dissolves.

What follows? A thanks offering for simplicity and clarity, for clean, pure lines where earth meets sky meets river. Hard to see it but there is water flowing in the Red River here:

Centered under a moon dot, the Texas-Oklahoma state line nestles mid-river between banks of scrub.

Look up, in the center of the blue sky, can you see the surprise?

The tiny circle of the moon snagged me, too. How many times have I missed such clear vision? 

The moon hovering sweetens the moment. Overwhelm descends. Earth’s only natural satellite transmutes a spontaneous side trip into holy encounter. Indeed. 

Wikipedia informs that we’re viewing what’s technically called the Red River of the South. One of the few American state borders so created, the waterway meanders across/around/through four states, feeding eventually into the mighty Mississippi.

We sigh, make a u‑turn, and head back toward home.

Texas awaits. So does a second gasp:

Sunlight morphs a new state line?

How did we miss this house? Abandoned or not, it’s the only structure around.

This sight at this moment? A two-fer?

We both do more than pause. We pull over and stop, both silent in a second holy encounter. I wonder: does this bustling city girl need more slow-down encounters like these? Is this pandemic self-care or something bigger?

Where the Lone Star state curves away from Boomer Sooner-land.

I swallow and look up.

Past the house, the land flattens to familiar terrain. Beyond the sign of my home state, I spot Home.

Over there. Around that curve. After a looong afternoon drive. Oddly grateful there’s no eerie ahead, I comprehend. Now I can breathe and drive. Easy.

The straight lines of the Texas state marker offer comfort. I know this place. It’s where I belong, for now.

The tight green rectangle screams precision. The two poles beneath radiate strength. Both offer comfort, valued in these times.

Translating, I understand these as guideposts, each offering a pathway to home. All roads do, but today’s messengers brought intensity in different form: two states, multiple shapes (circles, lines, borders), varying forms (earth, water, sky), and changing landscapes (flat versus rolling terrain).

Homeward bound.

Then I connect. These are messages from my recent existence.

I take the sights and their messages in hand — from this latest little diversion — and put my foot on the gas, heading south to home.

I’ll figure out — precisely — what it all means.

Later.

Posted on by Melanie Ormand - 2 Comments on Dia(s) de Las Muertas: Bringing Life to Death

Dia(s) de Las Muertas: Bringing Life to Death

Celebrating Mexico and Catholicism is not my usual modus operandi. Neither was losing a beloved sister suddenly.

In the 13 months since Mimi died, I’ve accepted there’s hole in my heart that will never heal. But there’s a peace offering in the ongoing celebration of Dia de Las Muertas, or Day of the Dead. 

Mexico’s biggest festival ends today, November 2nd, on what the country calls All Soul’s Day, a time to honor the newly, and long, departed. 

Thus I remember my sister Mimi today and recent rituals to honor her life’s impact and meaning in our lives.

On her birth day, we placed her ashes inside our home church’s columbarium. Mimi’s steel urn now hugs our mother’s brass one, placed there six years ago. All that separates the pair is a picture, seen below (far right).

This hand-carved columbarium holds cremated remains in perpetuity at our childhood church, St. Matthew’s Episcopal. The small spaces in the wall are called niches that hold urns of ashes. 

Unlike a cemetery, a columbarium is not built into the ground but rather inside a church wall or a similar structure. It’s also not a mausoleum, a building built for caskets, either buried or entombed.

As important: interment is burial in the ground; inurnment is when cremated ashes are placed in an urn followed by final location in a niche.

I didn’t want this education, either. 

In the church chapel, we gifted flowers overflowing with symbolism.

The single red rose honored our sister. Yellow flowers on the right recognized our parents and grandmother (our father and his mother rest in the niche’s back row). The varied floral spray on the left celebrates living family members.

On the one year anniversary of Mimi’s passing, my other sister and I remembered the eldest with a Jewish Yahrzeit observation. This annual rite commemorates a loved one’s death with rituals celebrated by Jewish faithful since the 14th century.

This observance was Merrilynn’s idea, mirroring a ritual she conducts after her own experiences of heartbreaking loss.

Together, we lit three white candles, read Yahrzeit meditations, prayed together, and said blessings to our departed sister. We even offered ring-topped cupcakes. Mimi smiled.

Now today, I’m honoring loss and grief again. Writing can be ritual, too.

And I finally understand. Without knowing it, I’ve been practicing Dias de Las Muertas since August. Three times.

Ancient archetypes awaken again.

The human condition: we’re not different from each other, are we?

Important perspective to remember with this thing we’ve got happening in America tomorrow.

So who are you remembering on this All Soul’s Day? 

Posted on by Melanie Ormand - No Comments on When Home Morphs into Hometown

When Home Morphs into Hometown

NOTE: This post concludes a four-part blog about a recent trip to the town where I was born: Pampa, Texas.

Roadway sights defined the long drive to my hometown. I should’ve paid more attention as clues announced themselves. It started with a first omen one hour in.

Thick smoke from a truck fire draped the highway. Later, I recognized the effect: clouds as funeral pall.

We made the trip to return my eldest sister to our mother’s side at our hometown church. The ironic presence of the smoke — in effect, color, and timing — screamed.

Another American city fades, its population less than half of 40 years ago.

Nine hours later, we spied the little green sign we’d anticipated all day.

Its sighting followed miles of non-stops through big cities, small towns, and farming villages. Scattered among the people, buildings, and roadways were landscapes ranging from summer green to drought yellow.

Surrounding the city limits sign, two elements stood out:

  1. A yellow-gold ring midway down the pole linked the green rectangle at its top, an unique marriage of city marker to high school colors of green and gold.
  2. Cloudy skies engulfed the entire sign. I gulped, remembering why I had come back home.

My mind began to race. It linked this moment to the morning’s roadway fire.

Aha! Is this another omen or has my mind shifted into overdrive? 

Driving toward our hotel, my mood shifted to near-mania. Storefronts I recognized. Bricked streets of downtown. High school hangouts. Childhood church.

Then, as I drove down the main street, the quick stop stores began to pop up like little Whack-a-Moles. They each demanded attention, their names worth the price and tears of driving to Pampa.

Only one of these stores existed during my childhood. I remember Toot ‘n Totum as Toot ‘n Totem. But why did today’s “u” in Totum replace yesterday’s “e” in Totem? No idea, but I remember the chain’s ad campaigns : you toot your horn; we’ll tote out to you. 

Amazing what the mind remembers after a half-century!

The next day, we breakfasted at another first.

United Supermarket offers what I dubbed the food quadrifecta (and yes, I made up that latter word: in my dictionary, it means “four of something”).

DH makes his photo debut on RoadBroads. That’s him on the far left, ordering breakfast.

In one building, United offers a stand-alone of these four: grocery store, delicatessen, dine-in restaurant, and a full-service Starbuck’s.

A lifetime traveling the globe and never has this Houstonian seen a combination quite like this.

Departing this place of quick stops and quadrifectas, I realized there’s something to learn in the laughter and the sadness discovered this trip.

It’s called the Circle of Life, when home morphs into hometown.

A place I used to know.

Posted on by Melanie Ormand - 3 Comments on Home: Ghosts Haunt but Woody Guthrie Sings

Home: Ghosts Haunt but Woody Guthrie Sings

NOTE: Part 3 of a 4‑part post about returning to my Pampa, Texas hometown.

I smiled as I turned onto downtown Cuyler Street, Pampa’s first paved road.

1926 & an oil boom led to the moniker "Town with Muddy Streets."
The moniker “Town with Muddiest Streets” followed a 1926 oil boom.

Red bricks, laid last century by “Indian Jim,” extended south as far as my eyes could see. Perfectly aligned rows and rectangles dissolved into muddy crimson, eventually to meet railroad tracks on the far end of the street.

Thank you Mike Cox for this "Texas Tale" excerpt.
Thank you, Mike Cox, for this excerpt from “Texas Tales.”

One thing about my hometown had not changed.

Black circles (for mourning, anyone?) mark the old night deposit dropoff, the 1940's bank name over the front door, and the eagles keeping watch over downtown.
Three black (cough) circles, from left to right, mark: the old night deposit slot (pre-ATM days), the bank’s name over the main entrance, and granite eagles that watch all.

Something across the street had.

“Resound” headlined the former First National Bank building.

How can a hometown survive without a ‘national bank’? 

Resound offers wireless internet. Good news for a rural town.

WiFi takes over The Bank? 

I remember opening my first bank account here with my father talking in the car about how the building was built during the Great Depression — “jobs for too many unemployed men.” 

I whisper now, “At least it’s been repurposed for good,” and drive away.

Next, it’s to the hospital where I survived double pneumonia.

Worley Hospital looked in bad shape the last time I saw it. No time to stop then. It was Mother’s day.

The black circle notes my ’62 hospital room.

Years before, owners had abandoned Worley Hospital. A newer hospital on the town’s north side drew more doctors and patients. 

I cringe at the building’s extreme deterioration. Then my eyes, unconsciously, flick upwards. To the window I can never forget.

For two mostly-black weeks at age five, I lived in that circled room. Life-threatening fever seizures led to pain-filled treatments. But the day before dismissal, Mother lifted me up to that window. I watched traffic on the street below and giggled. I looked over at her and didn’t understand why her eyes were wet.

Ah, a little girl’s scary experience transformed into a sweet memory.

A half century later, scary returned. Thank you, A&E Network.

The film crew profiled Worley Hospital and its new owners, youngsters who dreamed of a B&B. They began renovating. Hauntings began. “Ghost Hunters” came to visit. 

“Ghost Hunters” profile a haunted hospital.

So much stuns in this TV clip:

  • Ghostly entities sidling up walls
  • Green bars recording voice echoes
  • Ghastly state of hospital interior
  • A B&B? In this building?

Outside Worley, I don’t know whether to laugh, roll my eyes, or go inside.

“No Trespassing” signs stopped me.

I needed a happy close.

On its north side, Pampa hosts a one-of-a-kind “musical fence.” It ‘sings’ the opening bars of “This Land Is Your Land,” as composed by Pampa’s most famous citizen: Woody Guthrie.

If you can play an instrument, you can play the song by following the fence.

Pampa welder Rusty Neef created the art piece and its 12-foot treble clef to honor his father. And Woody Guthrie. At night, the fence illuminates in red, white, and blue lights.

Woody lived in Pampa throughout the 1930s. The folk singer dropped out of high school to self educate at the city library. In addition to songwriting, illustrating, and painting, he worked as a busker (musical street performer).

I wonder, “Did Woody busk on the downtown bricks?”

By the way, check out the final verse of “This Land Is Your Land.”

We need more Woody Guthries.