Personal Banking

texastwangdebi

Let’s take “personal banking” to a whole new level……let’s take it to 1954, when a routing number, account number and personal information wasn’t needed on your check, because your bank knew you by name and reputation.

In small towns across America, you could walk into almost any shop, pick up a “counter check” at the cash register/checkout from your particular bank, buy your merchandise and write out a check for the amount, and probably were never asked for ANY form of identification!

In 1954, a man’s word, they said, was his bond. One of the reasons my daddy was always telling my only brother that he had worked hard all of his life, building a good name for himself, and my brother better be careful and not ruin that good name! Fortunately my brother became a good man in his own right…….and even more fortunately, my sister and I married…

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Valentine’s Day Memories

I remember the excitement in grade school, when the teacher announced that we needed to bring a shoe box to school, to decorate for the BIG Valentine’s Day party. Red construction paper, whit…

Source: Valentine’s Day Memories

A Still Life Obsession

Since I took up photography as a hobby 4 years ago, I have tried my hand at almost every type of photography, trying to find my *niche*. I have done landscapes, but I don’t like to travel too far from home.

So, I’ll never have fabulous shots of the Grand Canyon or Old Faithful.

Then there were barns and bridges….

 

 

 

 

 

 

Next up, wildlife/birds…Once again, I like to stay close to home, and I am way too shaky to use a long heavy lens without a tripod.

 

 

I have done a few portrait sessions with some success and one wedding, which was stressful! My brother and his only daughter.

 

 

Last summer I started doing small *tablescape* types of shots and found I was good at it! So, I converted my music studio into a photo studio; set up a table and backdrop especially for still life setups and I was off and running!

 

I think I have found my niche now….still life objects don’t move, it never rains indoors, it’s always climate controlled so I don’t sweat so badly! I can move things around till my heart’s content to get just the right look for my shot.

I’m a happy photographer right now….but…you never know!

A Picture Perfect Christmas

Christmas ~

That time of year when we decorate everything that doesn’t move, trying to recreate all those beautiful images we see on Pinterest. You either nail it or fail it! I’ve been guilty in the past of over decorating and have the pictures to prove it…but the older I get, the more difficult it is to keep up!

We all want to live that perfect Christmas, but where I live, we don’t get beautiful snowy scenes like this one! Thank you Photoshop!

We also don’t see people ice skating on frozen ponds….

But we do have beautiful decorations in the city though…this scene is from Sundance Square in Fort Worth –

Ahhh, one of my favorite things to do…lean back in my comfy chair with a cup of hot chocolate and admire my tree.

Of course, every time a bell rings…

This is “Leon”…he visits our house in December to make sure we are being good and reports back to Santa every night! We never know where he will be the next morning!

My adorable grandson was seemingly overwhelmed by Christmas year before last. We would never leave him “home alone” …

Don’t forget the true meaning of Christmas, though….

Remember to let your light shine, not everyone will have a warm, cozy holiday.

No snow for us this year, the weather forecast is calling for 70 degrees on Christmas Day. We can always hold out hope for next year, though!

My Life as a Lug Nut

Debi Snider
Copyright 2003
This is a true story and took place in El Paso in 1987

“The Red Rose Lounge”……….hearing the name by itself suggests it might
be a nice place to relax at the end of a long day, with some nice piano bar music, some greenery here and there, polished brass railings along a shiny oak bar, a handsome Tom Cruise-type bartender mixing and serving exotic drinks to the yuppie crowd. But when you add the street name to the location of this lounge, the locals know it is on one of the worst streets in town and is more commonly known as a “dive”. I’m still not sure where the term “dive” originated, but I feel it may have something to do with a person taking a headlong dive into a world of alcoholic misery, for that is what I was about to do.

I was in rehearsals with a surefire up and coming rock band during the week (whatever happened to them?), when the drummer pulled me aside one day to talk. J.R. was playing on weekends with a three-piece band at the Red Rose Lounge, and would I like to bring my equipment out and sit in with them sometime……of course there would be no money involved, but it would be “fun”. Well, being the ham musician I am, I rarely ever turned down a chance to perform, so there I was! I soon became a regular fixture at the Rose, and before too long, I was on the payroll at a whopping $15 a night, every Friday and Saturday night from 9 till 2AM.

The stage, such as it was, was very small, and only about 8 inches above the dance floor, and barely enough room for the three guys, so I set up on the side near the fire exit (good thing there was never a fire!). The band’s unofficial name was “Mixed Nuts”, and since I was off to the side, I became affectionately known as the “Lug Nut”. My trademark song was ‘The Rose”, appropriately enough, and I sang it twice every night. Sometimes people noticed, but most times they didn’t. The clientele at the Red Rose Lounge, was a very serious drinking bunch no white wine spritzers or fancy drinks for these folks. Beer, the cheaper the better, the occasional whiskey and Coke and not even any pretzels on the bar in cute little baskets. No, if you happened to get hungry during the night, there was a vending machine in the back hallway, full of stale cheese and crackers, and candy bars.

One of the regular patrons, was a down on his luck fellow named (for the purpose of this story) Larry. Now, Larry had a very serious drinking problem, which probably explained why he was homeless. He would rather drink than do anything else in the world, including working to make money for a place to live. Rose, the bar owner, was one tough cookie most of the time, but had a soft spot for Larry, and let him sleep in the back office when it was really cold or wet outside, and Larry did a few odd jobs in order to get his beer for free. The rest of the time, Larry, I was told, slept in the desert under a shrub, and wandered the streets looking for handouts.

Larry began sitting at the table nearest my keyboard every night that I was there, and really paying attention to my music, to the point where he was heckling the band because I wasn’t singing enough songs. He would try to talk to me on breaks, but I was trying to keep my distance, not knowing exactly what his motives might be. Because he was usually so drunk and hard to talk with, I was polite, and tried to laugh things off, until one fateful Saturday night. Larry finally drank enough to get the nerve to tell me that not only had he fallen in love with me, but I was the “love of his life”, and he would do anything for a chance to prove his love to me. My pulse quickened, my heart was racing, but not for the declaration of his love, it was time to panic here I was slowly inching my way towards the fire exit door, while this poor guy is earnestly promising he will cut his long hair, give up his earring, get a job and find a place to live, if only I will give him a chance. But he didn’t want to do any of those things for himself, to make his life better, only for me. I tried to explain as gently as I could, that a person couldn’t, and shouldn’t have to change himself just to make another person love him, to make himself worthy of love. I assured him that he could put his life back together, then surely there would be someone in his future that would find him to be the perfect mate, but for now, it wasn’t me. I wasn’t the cause of his current problems, and I couldn’t be the solution for his future. I was not very convincing, and Larry didn’t take this very well, he said he cared only about me, not himself, not his family, and since I wasn’t going to give him a chance, he might as well have a few more drinks and he did. I was very anxious about this turn of events, as I had never had an “admirer” such as Larry, and didn’t realize until then just how dangerous it can be, to be in the “spotlight” so to speak, even in a low class place like the Red Rose Lounge.

One Monday morning not long after my encounter with Larry, I went to the club to pick up my equipment for my other band’s rehearsal, and had to wait a few minutes for them to open. The bar opened at 10 AM every day, and as I sat in my 20-year-old station wagon with 150,000 miles on the odometer, I saw several of the “regulars” walking up, they weren’t fortunate enough to even own a car, to wait by the door. These were the same people who I saw every Friday and Saturday night, and here they were, bright and early on Monday morning……waiting to get in. I wondered what kind of lives these men and women had lived in the past, and what road had led them to spend most of their waking hours in a dim, smoke-filled dive like the Red Rose Lounge. If I kept playing here and drinking like I was, could my future be staring me in the face? How in the world did I get involved in this place? At that moment I realized I had a choice to make.

As I loaded the last of my equipment into my car (by myself), one of the fellows hopped off his bar stool long enough to hold the door open for me while I carried out a single mic stand……he told me how much he enjoyed my music and hoped I’d play there a long time. I looked into his tired, worn face, smiled my best smile, said thank you, got into my car, drove away, and never returned to the Red Rose Lounge. I’m sure it’s still in business today. I wonder if Larry is still there……….

Sureshot, El Paso, 1987

My Life as a Lug Nut

Debi Snider
Copyright 2003
This is a true story and took place in El Paso in 1987

“The Red Rose Lounge”……….hearing the name by itself suggests it might
be a nice place to relax at the end of a long day, with some nice piano bar music, some greenery here and there, polished brass railings along a shiny oak bar, a handsome Tom Cruise-type bartender mixing and serving exotic drinks to the yuppie crowd. But when you add the street name to the location of this lounge, the locals know it is on one of the worst streets in town and is more commonly known as a “dive”. I’m still not sure where the term “dive” originated, but I feel it may have something to do with a person taking a headlong dive into a world of alcoholic misery, for that is what I was about to do.

I was in rehearsals with a surefire up and coming rock band during the week (whatever happened to them?), when the drummer pulled me aside one day to talk. J.R. was playing on weekends with a three-piece band at the Red Rose Lounge, and would I like to bring my equipment out and sit in with them sometime……of course there would be no money involved, but it would be “fun”. Well, being the ham musician I am, I rarely ever turned down a chance to perform, so there I was! I soon became a regular fixture at the Rose, and before too long, I was on the payroll at a whopping $15 a night, every Friday and Saturday night from 9 till 2AM.

The stage, such as it was, was very small, and only about 8 inches above the dance floor, and barely enough room for the three guys, so I set up on the side near the fire exit (good thing there was never a fire!). The band’s unofficial name was “Mixed Nuts”, and since I was off to the side, I became affectionately known as the “Lug Nut”. My trademark song was ‘The Rose”, appropriately enough, and I sang it twice every night. Sometimes people noticed, but most times they didn’t. The clientele at the Red Rose Lounge, was a very serious drinking bunch no white wine spritzers or fancy drinks for these folks. Beer, the cheaper the better, the occasional whiskey and Coke and not even any pretzels on the bar in cute little baskets. No, if you happened to get hungry during the night, there was a vending machine in the back hallway, full of stale cheese and crackers, and candy bars.

One of the regular patrons, was a down on his luck fellow named (for the purpose of this story) Larry. Now, Larry had a very serious drinking problem, which probably explained why he was homeless. He would rather drink than do anything else in the world, including working to make money for a place to live. Rose, the bar owner, was one tough cookie most of the time, but had a soft spot for Larry, and let him sleep in the back office when it was really cold or wet outside, and Larry did a few odd jobs in order to get his beer for free. The rest of the time, Larry, I was told, slept in the desert under a shrub, and wandered the streets looking for handouts.

Larry began sitting at the table nearest my keyboard every night that I was there, and really paying attention to my music, to the point where he was heckling the band because I wasn’t singing enough songs. He would try to talk to me on breaks, but I was trying to keep my distance, not knowing exactly what his motives might be. Because he was usually so drunk and hard to talk with, I was polite, and tried to laugh things off, until one fateful Saturday night. Larry finally drank enough to get the nerve to tell me that not only had he fallen in love with me, but I was the “love of his life”, and he would do anything for a chance to prove his love to me. My pulse quickened, my heart was racing, but not for the declaration of his love, it was time to panic here I was slowly inching my way towards the fire exit door, while this poor guy is earnestly promising he will cut his long hair, give up his earring, get a job and find a place to live, if only I will give him a chance. But he didn’t want to do any of those things for himself, to make his life better, only for me. I tried to explain as gently as I could, that a person couldn’t, and shouldn’t have to change himself just to make another person love him, to make himself worthy of love. I assured him that he could put his life back together, then surely there would be someone in his future that would find him to be the perfect mate, but for now, it wasn’t me. I wasn’t the cause of his current problems, and I couldn’t be the solution for his future. I was not very convincing, and Larry didn’t take this very well, he said he cared only about me, not himself, not his family, and since I wasn’t going to give him a chance, he might as well have a few more drinks and he did. I was very anxious about this turn of events, as I had never had an “admirer” such as Larry, and didn’t realize until then just how dangerous it can be, to be in the “spotlight” so to speak, even in a low class place like the Red Rose Lounge.

One Monday morning not long after my encounter with Larry, I went to the club to pick up my equipment for my other band’s rehearsal, and had to wait a few minutes for them to open. The bar opened at 10 AM every day, and as I sat in my 20-year-old station wagon with 150,000 miles on the odometer, I saw several of the “regulars” walking up, they weren’t fortunate enough to even own a car, to wait by the door. These were the same people who I saw every Friday and Saturday night, and here they were, bright and early on Monday morning……waiting to get in. I wondered what kind of lives these men and women had lived in the past, and what road had led them to spend most of their waking hours in a dim, smoke-filled dive like the Red Rose Lounge. If I kept playing here and drinking like I was, could my future be staring me in the face? How in the world did I get involved in this place? At that moment I realized I had a choice to make.

As I loaded the last of my equipment into my car (by myself), one of the fellows hopped off his bar stool long enough to hold the door open for me while I carried out a single mic stand……he told me how much he enjoyed my music and hoped I’d play there a long time. I looked into his tired, worn face, smiled my best smile, said thank you, got into my car, drove away, and never returned to the Red Rose Lounge. I’m sure it’s still in business today. I wonder if Larry is still there……..

Sureshot, El Paso, 1987

Photo Obsession

Hello, my name is Debi and I am addicted to photography. I admit it, I’m hooked, obsessed, totally over the top with this *hobby*.

I bought my first DSLR almost 2 years ago, a Nikon D3100. Now I’m up to four, yes, four cameras. Nikon D90, D5000 and D7000. Four cameras, 5 lenses, 3 editing software programs, one new MacBook Pro, a serious case on wheels to hold everything……and assorted accessories!  Woohoo….. My husband has decided he’d like to join me in my hobby (yay?) so I’m going to teach him what (little) I know. Wish us both luck!

I feel like I have learned a great deal in two years. I graduated to shooting in the RAW format a year ago, and have found it increases editing options. I do love editing, it brings out the frustrated artist in me, since I’ve always wanted to paint, but had no talent for it. Editing is the next best thing. Just changing the white balance or a using a preset can change the whole tone of an image, from boring to dramatic; from ho-hum lackluster color, to elegant tones of black and white.

I shot my first (and only) wedding last November, for my oldest niece.  It was a learning experience, for sure! The bride was thrilled with the photos, which made me feel better; but I realized just how little I knew about what I was trying to do. She was on a small budget, though, and I offered to do it as my gift to her. There were some sweet moments:

This was in a very small room, with lots of background clutter on the walls, so I cropped in very close to capture the sweetness of the father of the bride, giving her a good luck kiss before the ceremony.

The bride with step-mom before the ceremony……I was so happy with this shot in the mirror, which was necessary because the room was so small.

The bride, groom and family….

It’s Okay, I *AM* the Band….

Today while I was deleting old files to make space on my hard drive for more photos, I stumbled over this draft that I started…..who knows when….of course, I’m not going to finish it now. Just posting it, because it’s all true……

I lived a very sheltered life until my divorce at the age of 31. I didn’t drink alcohol, I never learned to smoke, didn’t use foul language and I didn’t know what the world was like outside my small circle of friends. Of course I saw these things on TV, but I couldn’t visualize living in that world.

My life changed one day when I answered an ad for a band that was looking for a piano player. I played piano, I should be able to do that, I thought. I auditioned on a borrowed keyboard, and even though I had never played with a band, had no idea what to do if I got the job. This meant I had to acquire a piano and an amplifier on my minimum wage paycheck. That was no small feat right there. They also asked me to sing backup harmony, since there was another girl who sang lead. Yikes…..most of the singing I had done was at church and a few times at a local Opry show. I managed to fake my way through that also. I was beginning to get good at faking things.

The name of the band was “Burgundy and Lace”. Catchy and descriptive….Burgundy was the masculine part and Lace was the other girl and me.

The band picked up a few gigs locally, and I gained more and more confidence and experience. I also began drinking, simply because that is what people do in a bar or nightclub. You go there to drink, to mingle, to dance; to live the nightlife. Ah, the nightlife.

I will admit to being quite conceited in those days. I admit it now, but not then. My mother told me once, when she was annoyed and disgusted with my new hobby, that all I wanted to do was “get dressed up, go out and let men tell me how pretty I was”. I was appalled that she would say such a horrible thing to me, I was a “professional” musician now, and I was going to be famous! It was a few years before I could acknowledge the stark truth in what my mom said to me. It was the truth. I loved it, I was thin, didn’t look my age, I was cute and the men liked me.

Even on my off nights from the band, I couldn’t just sit at home. I would go out to a club with my new girlfriends; I learned to dance, sort of. For a musician, I’m not a very good dancer, but I loved trying. The most popular place in the 1980s was Calhoon’s, on Breezy Hill between Denison and Sherman. Thursday was “Ladies Night”….which meant no cover charge and maybe even free beer. If not free, then it was 25 or 50 cents. That was my price range in those days. At a place like Calhoon’s, the crowd was constantly moving, back and forth from one end of the club to the other. We never, ever sat down at a table; that was for the married people, or the ones on dates. As single ladies, we were there to “see and be seen” by all the (hopefully) single men. The three of us heard every lame pick-up line ever uttered, and some never heard before. My favorite was the obviously drunk guy who came up to us right before closing time and said he’d been watching us all evening long, but was so intimidated by our beauty that he had to work up the nerve to approach us. Sure, buddy, sure. We know; we all get prettier at closing time! But, you didn’t get better looking or smarter…..take a hike!

Barns from the Past…..

Being a country girl, I have to admit……I love barns. Barns of all sizes and shapes…and even the smells. Horse and cow manure, feed….hay….leather…… I’ve recently become a little obsessed with finding old barns to photograph and add to my collection. Living in a small town with lots of farmland surrounding the area, I’ve found there are barns hidden away all around me. At least once a week I go “back-roading” looking for these ancient structures. They all have a story to tell……of course, I don’t know the stories since I wasn’t born around here. But I’d love to know…..

This one is on FM 1387 here in town, the house it belonged to on the corner, has been boarded up for about two years and the barn is fading fast.

This is the Anderson barn, west of Highway 67, off Gifco Road. The land now belongs to Ashgrove and is destined to become a quarry. The local historical society is trying to raise funds to save the barn and the house that is on the same property. I haven’t seen the house at all, and the barn itself is hard to photograph since it sits right smack in the middle of the acreage. I did get a better shot last week, though from near the entrance to the property.

This barn is huge……3 stories tall.

These photos show the barns true colors, very gray and faded, with shingles falling through the roof. So sad.

This is west at the end of  Gifco road atop a hill. Very pretty place, modern barn.

Mt Zion Road, practically on the street.

Ennis, Texas….we were looking for Bluebonnets, of course!

Somewhere between Rockett and Ferris, I love this one!

And just farther up the road from the Texas flag barn…..

I’m completely baffled as to where i found this one. I should be keeping notes, right?

Somewhere near a railroad track. Yep, that narrows it down!

Not a barn, but on the same property as previous picture.

Again, not sure where this one was…..I cover a lot of territory some days!

Inside the main barn at the Penn Agricultural Center at Cedar Hill State Park.

Inside the main barn at the Penn Agricultural Center at Cedar Hill State Park.

The main barn at the Penn Agricultural Center at Cedar Hill State Park.

Just what a photographer on a mission doesn’t want to see……”No trespassing”…. Bummer 😦

But, when I walked all the way up to the fence line, I got a much better shot with my 300mm zoom lens….

and of course, a lot of heavy editing makes the barn look much better than it really looks.

That’s about the extent of my barns for now, but I’ll keep looking!

Thanks for the Memories, Mr. Caldwell

Two years ago, my former store director, whom I had worked with for 9 years, retired after 47 years in the grocery business. We threw him a huge party, and in honor of his retirement, I wrote some fitting (humorous) lyrics to the song “Thanks for the Memory”…….with lots of little inside jokes and insight into this amazing BUSY man!

 

 

 

Thanks for the memories……there won’t be any tears

after 47 years…..of sacking groceries

day and night a never-ending sight…..

How lovely….. it was?

 

Thanks for the memories…..that polyester red

blazer now is dead…. he’s cutting up his ties and

wearing polo shirts instead

How lovely it is….

 

Who started out as a bag boy,

soon worked his way up through the ranks,

with honesty and integrity

and for that, we say THANKS!

Thanks for the memories….. for giving us a chance

inspiring us to dance,

to spread our wings and learn new things

to make you proud of us……

We thank you so much!

 

Thanks to our Mr. C.  ……. for talking way too fast!

and walking way too fast!

we nodded when you said something

then wondered what you said!

How funny it was!!!

 

Thanks for the memories ……there won’t be any tears

after 47 years ….. of sacking groceries

day and night and now the end’s in sight…..

Deserve it? … darn right!

 

We know you’re ready to sleep late

and drink coffee out of a real cup

but we’re going to miss you complaining

“it’s cold in here, turn the heat up“!
So, thanks for the memories,

And strictly between us, we’re going to make a fuss…

And show you that we’re glad your dreams are finally coming  true…..

Awfully glad we met you, you’re our partner through and through…..

So, thank you so much!

Jimmy Caldwell began his grocery career in 1958 at the age of 15 in Weatherford, Texas. After high school and starting college, at the age of 19, he was an assistant manager with the responsibility of carrying store keys. In 1963, Jimmy was hired at Brookshire’s #9, while he was visiting family there, and 3 months later went to Terrell #20 and worked his way up to assistant and stayed 5 years.

In 1968, Jimmy was named store director for Gladewater #7, he was the youngest store director for Brookshire’s at that time, and he stayed in Gladewater for 19 years!

In 1986, Jimmy was re-challenged as store director in Bossier City, LA. then 3 years later went to Shreveport where he served for 13 years.

In 2001, Jimmy moved back to Texas to serve as store director at the new #69 in Midlothian, where he led the store for 9 years; serving the community, setting the example of honesty and integrity, while maintaining his “old school” roots and training. Mr. C. retired in September 2010, but still had 16 of the original partners hired for the new store in 2001. Quite a feat these days.

Mr. Caldwell is enjoying his retirement, playing lots of golf and working with his sons in a new business venture. Each time he comes into the store, he has the biggest smile on his face and makes sure to visit with his former partners. We miss him, but are very happy that he is reaping the rewards of his many years of service.

Fourteen of the sixteen partners still working with Mr. Caldwell, that helped open the store in 2001.

Thank you Mr. Caldwell, for taking a chance on me, also, giving me the opportunity to learn with the challenge of training, and then taking over as office manager. You always said you and I were “old school” and I reminded you that YOUR old school was still ten years older than mine, but I was happy to be considered a valued partner. Thanks for your leadership, and more importantly, your actions and dedication to your customers.

PS…..I still keep the thermostat set on 70 degrees and it’s still cold in your former office 🙂