Looks like summer’s here in Fort Stockton. It was inevitable, I guess, but spring seemed like just a hiccup between the bleak scenery of winter and the scorched earth of summer. A little depressing, but nothing a trip to The Grounds for Divorce can’t fix, so that’s where I headed. Plenty of other folks felt the same, apparently.

Brother Bob, Rex Hall, Sister Thelma, Chad, on break from the Piggly Wiggly, and all the regulars from BaT were circled around the middle table like the campfire scene from Blazing Saddles. And some new guy. I squeeze in between Hairless and Han2014. New Guy was asking Brother Bob about Second Baptist Church of Fort Stockton.

“I didn’t think Fort Stockton was big enough to have two of anything, much less Baptist churches,” he observed.  We all sit back and wait for Brother Bob’s reply, which we know pretty much by heart at this point.

“Did you ever hear about the guy that was stranded on a desert island by himself for over eleven long years before he was rescued?” New Guy shakes his head side to side in the negative. We all silently mouth the words to the rest of the story as Brother Bob tells it.

“He was finally rescued by the U.S. Navy one day. When the recovery team swam to shore to retrieve the poor castaway, they noticed three huts built about twenty yards off the beach, up amongst the coconut trees. They asked him what the three huts were for,” Brother Bob said.

“And?” New Guy replies.

“The one on the left is where I live.  The one on the right is where I go to church.  The one in the middle is where I used to go to church.” Brother Bob finishes.  We all laugh out of courtesy, but none louder than Brother Bob.

About then Pastor Peterson walks through the front door.  “Maybe now we can get some decent ecclesiastical humor,” Sister Thelma whispers as Lucinda refills the half-empty Captain My Captain mugs.

“Morning all!” he says as Rex slides over to make room.  “How’s the blog going, Captain?”

“Several thousand hits.  Lots of subscribers,” I tell him  “I’ve gone international! Have folks in Canada, Australia, and Ireland watching the blog. Lots of mugs going out the door, losing money on every one.  Guess I can’t ask for more.”

“Profit is overrated.  Have you ever heard the one about Jesus at the money changer’s table?” Pastor Peterson asks.  Luckily New Guy distracts him before he can launch into his routine.

“Read your views on air conditioning being the work of the devil as regards the ’49 Buick story the Captain did a couple weeks back.  Interesting theory,” New Guy says.

Turns out to be a hot topic.  Capt Nemo talks about ‘Good Ol’ Day Syndrome’ and not wanting to give up his A/C.  Bubba Roundheadlights makes reference to the Interstate Highway System being the root of all evil.  “It can all be traced back to the day they took prayer out of schools,” Sister Thelma pipes in.

“I heard that the government  was putting something in the vaccines.  Not just for the ‘VID, but every vaccine that’s come out since the fifties,” Chad contributed.

“Did your mama drop you on your head when she brung you home from the hospital?” Rusty asked. Tact and diplomacy were never at the top of the list of Rusty’s gifts.

Pastor Peterson chuckled. Chad bowed up, but was used to such criticisms. I pondered whether or not a cinnamon roll would be too much before lunch. 

“Here’s the thing,” he went on, “most of us around this table have more yesterdays than tomorrows. We tend to reflect more on the past than ponder the future, because one represents more time than the other. That’s the natural way of things. There are some things that are undeniably better about the past than the present, and vice versa.

“Damn sure couldn’t live without air conditioning,” Rusty said.  “It gets hotter than the hinges of Hell in that quonset hut behind the hardware store.”  He glanced over at Sister Thelma, “No disrespect.”

“None taken,” she responded.  “I remember being in that quonset hut back when we were in high school.  It was damn hot.  No disrespect.”  Hairless giggled and crossed himself.

“Given the choice, I don’t know many folks who would give up air conditioning.  We’ve gotten used to it.  Expect it.  Can’t live without it now.  Just like the internet.  Getting all your news on a tablet.  Heating your lunch in a microwave,” Pastor Peterson went on.  We can’t give up the conveniences we now depend on.”

“Damn right!” Rusty piped in.

“But,” Pastor Peterson continued, “the world was simpler when they didn’t exist. With each one comes a downside nobody envisioned when they were first introduced.”

“Unintended consequences,” Lucinda said as she walked by.  I swear she can hear from across the whole room.

“Case in point,” New Guy said holding up his iPhone, “another green Buick.  Have you guys seen this ’59 Buick Electra convertible?”

“Ah,” Pastor Peterson said, “another green Buick.”

“An all time favorite of mine,” I mention, not wanting New Guy to get all the attention.

“Damn sure is,” Rusty agreed.

“General Motors styling at its best.  The thing looks incredible from any angle you look at it,” Brother Bob noted.

“That thing is just sexy, I don’t care who you are,” Lucinda said.  “You show up to pick me up for a date in that thing and there’s a greater than zero chance we end up driving west on Highway 10, pulling over and whittling the love branch instead of going to dinner.”  Rusty and Sister Thelma both silently thought back about the quonset hut.

“Nobody can put it quite like Lucinda,” I snicker.

“And that’s my point,” Pastor Peterson said. “Not about Lucinda’s fetish for fins from the fifties, but about things from the past. We look back on them fondly for what they were, but more for what they represent. We detest the blobs of metal passing themselves off as cars today. We curse the fact they’re all black, white or silver. We hate that the two choices of interior colors are tan or darker tan. But when it’s time to get a new car, nobody considers grabbing a ’59 Electra.”

“Shame they can’t package today’s technology in yesterday’s styling,” New Guy says contemplatively.

“Of course,” Rex admits, “but it could never happen.  Safety requirements.  Regulations.  Government mandates.  Efficiencies.”

“And besides,” Sister Thelma adds, “the market for them would be just slightly larger than the number of guys around this table.”

“The days of a 401 Nailhead V8 powered, Glacier Green, Dynaflow Land Barges are gone for good,” New Guy says.  We all sigh comparatively.

“But what better way to gather and enjoy old cars, swap stories of our youth, have a cup of Folgers in a CMC souvenir mug?” Pastor Peterson says.

“And enjoy the sights as Lucinda walks back to the kitchen for a fresh pot,” Chad chimes in.

“We’re all going to have more tomorrows than you if Prudence comes in and catches you leering livaciously at Lucinda one more time,” I offer as a way of advice.  And then lean over to Hairless as discreetly as possible, “ Who’s the New Guy?”