Strange isn't it, the things you remember from childhood? The Honorary General and I have spent the weekend visiting with James and Linda, friends from Carlsbad, New Mexico. Try as I may, I don't remember much about Carlsbad. During my childhood years, I went with my family or a church group at least three or four different times to tour Carlsbad Caverns. What I mostly remember about those experiences is that there was a lot of walking and at some point during the tour, they turned the lights off and it was absolutely pitch black inside the cavern. One can't even see the outline of their own hand three inches in front of their face.
I remember from my childhood that I was always fascinated with the tour. Every time I went, I tried to envision what it must have been like for the first explorers who discovered the cavern. Wow! You’d really have to be an adrenaline junkie to embark on that kind of adventure. I’d be reluctant to voluntarily walk into a black hole without having the vantage point of knowing what to anticipate or expect.
My next-door neighbor is one of those guys who’d welcome the opportunity to discover and explore a cave. He attended college in Alpine and spent most of his free time exploring the mountainous areas. Even today, at the age of fifty-something (I’m being generous. He sometimes reads my blog), he’d embark into a darkened cave without any guarantee he’d find a way out. It was and is simply part of the mystique associated with the rugged outdoors that he finds fascinating and irresistible. He also likes to interact with snakes, so based on my cautionary perspective; I think he needs to demonstrate more reserve.
At any rate, getting back to Carlsbad Caverns, it is now my understanding that the National Park Service no longer conducts guided tours of the caverns. The adventure (or lack thereof) is condensed to a self-paced walk through certain designated areas. I was saddened to hear that the venue I remember from childhood is not longer an option. From the vantage point of being a nine-year-old kid, touring the cavern was an exciting opportunity.
Apart from trips during childhood for the expressed purpose of visiting the caverns, the only other time I’ve been to Carlsbad was for the wedding of our friends. Today marks their 42nd wedding anniversary. Last night at dinner, I mentioned that I didn’t remember a lot about their wedding except that it started late. It started late because the bride was distraught with the way her hair looked. I guess that should offer ample warning to any would-be-bride to never let someone who has never done your hair before do so for your wedding. You, too, might get the same kind of surprise Linda experienced. I am hesitant to refer to it as high drama, but I remember thinking she looked great. There was nothing wrong with the way her hair looked. I didn’t understand why she was so distraught.
I attended a wedding once where the father of the bride cried like a baby, but I’ve never been to a wedding where the bride was teary eyed throughout the ceremony related to the way her hair looked. I guess, I operate on the notion that one’s hair isn’t that big of a deal, but I’ve been wrong before. From a guy’s perspective, I remember more than once thinking that the difference between a bad haircut and a good haircut is two weeks.
Our friends have been in Carlsbad for over a decade. When I asked about what they liked best about Carlsbad, I expected something more substantive than, “Not much.” They both went on to say, “We’d move back to Texas if we could”. I got the sense that they are being held hostage by his work and the sense of security associated to their longevity in that location.
Over the past four days, they’ve said enough about their Carlsbad experience that it sounds less than good. Perhaps that is one of the reasons that the last three letters of the town spells “bad”. For one thing, they both enjoy eating “Tex-Mex” food. Reportedly that kind of venue is not available in Carlsbad. I know what it is like to have a “Tex-Mex” addiction; so living in Carlsbad would be a stretch for me. I asked what they did to fulfill the craving?
You’re not going to believe the answer James provided. He said, “We’ve discovered a Mexican food restaurant in Lamesa that we really like.” Are you kidding me? It is a hundred and forty miles from Carlsbad to Lamesa. I don’t care how good the enchiladas were, I couldn’t do it and I drive all of the time. Later when I pressed James for more information, he said they've never actually just gone to Lamesa for lunch without having another objective for the trip.
Of course, I have a bias. I am familiar with Lamesa. I have friends who grew up in Lamesa. I’ve driven through Lamesa many times on my way from Midland to Lubbock. Maybe I’m simply uninformed, but I never saw a restaurant in Lamesa that looked like a drawing card for me. When it comes to that part of West Texas, unless I owned the land where the oil was being pumped, I’d opt to steer clear of the place. Give me liberty or give me death, but don't give me a restaurant in Lamesa and call it good.
During their visit, I saw the Honorary General and Linda looking at Linda’s new purse. Linda had received the purse as a gift from James for their wedding anniversary. I don’t know much about purses, but I could tell from the distance that it was a high dollar purchase. I asked, “What store carries that brand?” She replied, “You can get them at Dillard's.”
I fell into the trap. I asked, “Do you have a Dillard's in Carlsbad?” The answer was, “No”. The next logical question was, “How far do you have to go to find a Dillard’s? The options weren’t all that inviting. She replied, “Lubbock, El Paso or Abilene.” She went on to say, “They are all about the same distance.”
Maybe I’m impulsive, but without Tex-Mex and access to a Dillard’s Department store (that’s where I purchase my clothing), I’d do something more rash than buy my wife a new purse for our anniversary. I’d call Mayflower (oops – they probably aren’t available in Carlsbad)…I’d call “Two Man and A Truck” and make arrangements to haul our stuff back to Texas.
All My Best!
Don