Cowgirl Sass & Savvy

Lonesome for the old days

by Julie Carter

In some phase of the moon, or maybe it's the calendar, there seems to be yearning among a number of my acquaintances to find a piece of their past and return to the "fun" that they remember it to be.

"I'm lonesome for the old days," are the words that resonate around any conversation about said "old days" and the memories of the good times.

Class reunions and family reunions are a given for collecting people that have a history with each other. They offer a one-shot period of time to catch up on one or many years and then everyone goes home and life resumes.

Then there are those times when a simple action by one person starts a movement that gathers momentum with each day as the people involved start opening their memories to those "good old days."

Clay Mac may not know it yet, but he has done such a thing simply by agreeing to play at a benefit dance in the Rio Grande Valley later this fall. A New Mexico band legend in the honky-tonk hall of fame, Clay isn't just awesome with his music, he has a good time doing it and his fun rolls right off the platform and into the crowd.

Not far from the upcoming designated dance hall is a locally historical honky tonk called the Red Carpet, or the "Red Rug" as it was fondly referred to in the height of its day. Now just an empty building with its own ghosts, just the mention of the name invokes memories of two-stepping, beer-drinking, pool-playing wild nights. It remains a monument to the good times of decades ago.

Such are the "fun" memories of one veteran of the "good old days" who said that sometimes he gets a six-pack and pulls in the parking lot of the Red Rug and just sits there and remembers while he sips.

Built around those good old days are friendships that endure far into the future. Sadly and all too often, they are kept dormant by life and distance and the recall is locked away in the cedar chests of their honky-tonk minds.

The key to that lock can be as simple as the sound of a fiddle bow pulled across the strings. That soulful sound explodes into a song that invokes whoops, hollers and the rush of boots and jeans to the dance floor.

The phone lines have been burning up for weeks in the process of making plans for a Red Rug Reunion at the fairgrounds dance barn and Clay Mac's guaranteed good-time music.

Only briefly does any of the Red Rug alumni lament the toll that 20 years has taken on waistlines and backsides, hair color or ability to hang past midnight.

Wiser planning brought by inevitable maturity involves nearby motel reservations, designated drivers and subtle warnings to spouses that they could possibly meet a new side of their life-partner, if only briefly.

Probability is high that the recall of the good old days will be enhanced by differing stories and confusing memories.

Already the arguments have begun involving statements like, "No, that wasn't me, that was Sheila and it was at Cowboys, not at the Red Rug. Get your memories right, keep your bars straight and don't confuse my stories."

Yeeeee haw ... here comes the Red Rug gang.