A few years ago, my daughter (who lives in Oklahoma City) sent me a text. It was simply a picture of a grocery store freezer compartment stacked with a bunch of yellow Mayfield’s ice cream cartons. It took me a moment before I realized this was a picture taken in OKC. What? Mayfield’s Ice Cream was in Oklahoma City? Needless to say, she told me she had bought several different flavors, and she and her husband and four kids had enjoyed the Tennessee goodness. Sadly, it was a temporary thing. Guess thirteen hours on the road in a big yellow truck was too long to sustain.

I was looking at an old picture not too long ago and it was like having a time machine. The picture was of me in cowboy get-up. At the sake of dating myself, I loved the old westerns on TV: Rifleman, Wagon Train, Maverick, Death Valley Days, Zorro, the ones in black and white, during what some call the Golden Age of Television. There I am in the picture, my best sheriff pose, gazing into the camera on Christmas morning. This was in Alaska; Ft. Richardson, to be exact.