Thirty Years Ago

My wife and I have been married thirty years today. We were married at a little chapel in downtown Kansas City, Missouri, just one block away from the Kansas state line. Our wedding was simple with just our parents, siblings, niece and nephew, and three other friends attending. My wife’s pastor performed the ceremony. Our life together has been a busy and circuitous journey. We have lived in just two states but have had 10 different addresses. I have had seven different employers. We have three children and together with them have traveled in 42 states and Canada. We have been a lot of places, done a lot of things, met a lot of interesting people, encountered a few challenges and have found solutions to or resolve with most of them.

Thirty years in some ways seems like a long time. For one thing there have been a lot of changes over the past thirty years. Thirty years ago we were still using one of those big heavy typewriters (and a lot of whiteout). We had scarcely heard of the internet. Yet here I am today communicating to people and places in different parts of the world with a click of a mouse. Thirty years ago we would seek to eradicate any mouse that got in the house and now I have a mouse at my right hand a great deal of the time. On the other hand thirty years does not seem long at all. It is not so long ago that I cannot remember holding my wife’s hands, looking into her eyes, and saying my vows. I can still hear her voice as she said her vows to me. I guess if you had thirty years with the wrong woman it would be a long time. But I have been fortunate to have spent the last 30 years with the right woman and it does not seem all that long.

Thirty Years Ago

©2013 Brent Cloyd

Man and woman, pledging no more to be single

Bride and groom, excited that their lives would mingle.

Husband and wife, in love, with hopes and dreams aglow

We were married at the chapel, thirty years ago.

Off the Exit and Over the Hill

The Bert T. Combs Mountain Parkway was opened in January 1963 and became a much needed conduit of transportation into the mountains of east Kentucky. I traveled this road west on my way back from Virginia earlier this week. I took a slight detour at exit 60 and traveled highway 191 north over the hill to the small unincorporated hamlet of Cannel City in Morgan County, KY. I have been there many times before but this is the first time in nearly 30 years. It has not changed much. Most things are recognizable though perhaps looking a little tired for the years. The village got its name from a type of coal extracted from the area known as “cannel coal” which contained highly volatile constituents that burned brightly and was used to produce light for homes and businesses. The market for that type of coal is long past and a once thriving village has become a small residential area. Yet if one looks around and will take the time to be inquisitive they can still explore some of the artifacts left from the town’s heyday, including an old bank vault that still stands in the local park. I made the stop in Cannel City in order to say hello to my cousin Donna and her husband Bill. Donna works at the post office which is where I found her. The Post Office sits in the middle of the parking lot of the old Cannel City School, a historic block building built by the WPA in 1936. The school building no longer serves as an edifice of learning, her students having been transported to a more modern facility. But the U.S. Post Office Cannel City, KY 41408 sits proudly and noticeably right in the middle of the parking lot. It is perhaps the smallest free standing post office I have ever seen. I would guess the structure to be about 10’ x 12’. It is painted grey and has a front porch adorned with benches where people can sit and chat. I sit on the porch and visit for a while with my cousin Donna and a few of the local folk who come to pick up their mail or to just drop by and catch up on the news. The flag of these United States of America blows in the November breeze above our heads.  It occurs to me that I am experiencing something small and something big at one and the same time.  I am in a small place talking with ordinary folks in rural Appalachia while sitting on the stoop of a building operated by the largest government in the world. This kind of scene is perhaps fading quickly from the nation’s landscape and I fear there is not much I can do to change that. But this week I got to be a part of a special moment. It was well worth the detour.