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June 26
, 2011

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OpalToney7-24.jpg (37075 bytes)As I Was Saying
By Opal Toney

I’ve often told you I never throw anything away, if I think it’s worth keepin’.
And, when rodeo time comes every year, it brings back a lot of memories.
And, this week, I pulled out of my “memory box” the June 9, 1966 story of the annual Western Week published in the Mabank Banner.
The headline reads, “Mabank Celebrating Annual Western Week.” Here is what the story has to say about the highly anticipated event...
Mabank is cleaned up and decorated in preparation for Western Week and the Annual Mabank Riding and Roping Club Rodeo to be held June 9, 10, and 11.
The gala week began Tuesday night with street jamboree.
Wednesday night the Queen’s Dinner was held at the Andrew Gibbs home with the Riding Club acting as host, the Rodeo Queen was to be chosen by drawing a name from among the following candidates. They are Mary Ola Richman, Patty Hyde, Andrea Gibbs, Donna Gibbs and Mary Ann Hyde.
The parade will be held this afternoon at 5 p.m. Rodeo performances will begin at 8 p.m. each night of the Rodeo and will feature bareback bronc riding, saddle bronc riding, steer dogging, bull riding, bulldogging, calf roping and other attractions. The stock for the Rodeo is furnished by Roland Reid of Fort Worth.
Admission to the Rodeo is adults $1.00 and children 50 cents.

And maybe next week I’ll tell you about how my sister Louise and I tried havin’ our own rodeo.
As I was saying, this is not my first rodeo.


honeyandflag.jpg (61206 bytes)The View From Here
By Katherine Veno

Each decade we evolve...
I was never as intelligent as I was at the age of 17. I certainly knew it all. As I matured and hit my 20s, I found out pretty quick I really did not know much of anything about most everything.
In my 20s, I was a focused go-getter. Capable of taking on challenges with a cool, calm demeanor, I could conquer the world. Studies have shown that when we are in our 20s, our brains impulse-control center is maturing at breakneck speed. Better yet, conscientiousness, which is the predictor of success, is the fastest growing trait. In our 20s we are building dreams to complete in our 30s, 40s and beyond.
I hated turning 30. It was my most difficult of the decade birthdays. But on the upside, I was more confident, and my personality was evolving along with my language and social skills. I put down roots, made new friends and became a little more confident and outgoing.
The 40s were a time I flourished. I felt better and I thought I looked my best. It seemed I was a more well-rounded thinker and I was not as extroverted or gregarious. I had normally contradictory traits. I had introversion and extroversion sharing center stage. I was no longer extra-social and coexisted with new-found reflective wisdom. I took on new hobbies and tackled anything life threw in my way without a second thought.
My 50s found me looking into new opportunities, indulging my interests and expanding my world. I found a sense of control and I was determined to take on new challenges to ensure my second act would be even better than the first. My 50s were my most empowered time. It was time to look to a new me.
Now I am in my 60s. I find all sorts of new ways to be creative. I can see solutions where my younger friends can see none. It is all coming more easily now. I feel smart, confident and socially savvy. I am bold in my dress, and can go to the store with no makeup. No problem. I have the gift of time in a day and whether it is a smile, a helping hand or a good meal, I am ready. I can be a sounding board or give a piece of advice or a pep talk. I can just have some fun. I can take a happy break.
Now I can clearly see there is plenty of joy to go around, but we must not be afraid to claim it. I know I can touch more lives than I thought before, and I believe that hope works.


EmilyLundy4-2.jpg (36194 bytes)Escapades of Emily
By Emily Gail Lundy

Having class...
For many reasons I have lost interest in pro sports for some time, concentrating on local and colleges, where I know the players.
Then last year the Rangers took over my interest, and I saw the art involved in baseball. This year my family talked so much about the Mavericks with such enthusiasm, I began paying attention, asking questions. Some in the family attend home games, from different communities, and have spoken via cell phone in the same gym.
I wished I could have been outside the home center in the patio area just one night, but some of us have silly superstitions about making the team lose.
When the Mavericks made it to the playoff rounds, my husband and I could not watch a televised game in its entirety. We kept two programs running, on one or both television sets and went back and forth and then made ourselves watch the final minute.
Even at close high school games, my husband has to leave the gym and walk around to ease the tension. I can hide my eyes and go by the sounds of the crowd. The Mavericks would get 14 points behind, and we needed to check on the weather. It was a crazy time no one but us could understand.
With the big win and all the other hoop-la, I was a follower.
Thus, last week’s parade for the championship Mavericks took my breath away, hit me with nostalgia I haven’t experienced with sports at its highest level in sometime. Interspersed with interruptions, I watched the parade from the beginning through the impromptu pep rally following.
One word struck me about the entire event – class. If there is one thing my world could use more of it’s class.
This word or act or event does not equate with money or success. On the day of the parade, of course it did, and that made the “word” more special.
I was not aware of vulgar, shocking display of clothing or non-clothing, gyrating cheerleaders in actions that have made it down through public schools and has little to do with cheerleading, arrogance, three and four-letter inappropriate words. Something about the entire affair was old-fashioned, maybe a trip back through time for an elderly watcher to enjoy.
Classy people can have any amount of money. Classy people act appropriately wherever they are seen, usually with the mouth shut.
Classy people don’t have to sprinkle curse words into their conversation to make a point.
Classy people don’t dress in public to shock, show too much skin, or stress a “don’t care about you or anyone else” attitude. Classy and successful people are not synonymous.
Think of a recent television show or movie that was funny and then picture it without 30 or more of the four-letter words, the most popular the old one from centuries and centuries ago that relates to fornication. I know you would still be laughing throughout the movie.
Humor and cursing are not synonymous either.
Someone wrote a long time ago the meaning of success: old dogs and little children like you. You have planted a garden. You have a left a child who will make the world a little bit better or you, yourself, have improved something, no matter how small. If class involved any part of this, consider yourself a success or one in the making.



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