I have had a good day and I like that a lot. I got a few things accomplished and didn't feel too rattled. My sleep is still muy screwy. Yesterday I slept late into the day, dragged around and then went to work in the evening to catch up (Sunday). I worked until 2 a.m. and then came home and sat up doing nothing productive until 6 a.m. Woke up at 9:30 a.m. this morning and got up, got a lot done and here it is 2:12 a.m. and I've had to get out of bed because my mind was racing so.

Last entry I told that Papa Hallford had died. It was a busy weekend trying to get my stuff together and get out of town. Mark was already in Dallas playing a gig and the car situation worked out really well. I drove on up and some of the guys in his band needed transportation back to Austin so they drove my car back while we went on to Oklahoma.

I hate it that Papa died in Oklahoma. I have nothing (much) against Oklahoma except that it was never Papa's home until the last few years of his life. He lived in Mangum, OK, near my aunt and uncle In Eldorado and cousins (dear cousins) in Hobart. It is kind of ironic that this is where he died. His own grandfather also lived his entire life in Texas after arriving here at age three from Missouri. He lived in Tarrant County and near Dripping Springs and then, in his later years of life, he went to live with sons that lived in a part of Texas that no longer exsists. Oklahoma was still Oklahoma territory and the southwest portion of the state was officially Texas (I hope I'm not making this up and I'm remembering right). He died there and was buried in Blair, OK. Sadly, some time in the 70s the graveyard was vandalized and his grave in no longer marked and we don't know where it was, although it is a beautiful cemetery. So Papa died only a few miles from where his own grandfather died almost 100 years ago.

We drove up to Eldorado on Sunday and spent the evening at Aunt Louie's and Uncle Jay's with the cousins, laughing and reminiscing around the kitchen table. Papa's body lay in state at an old house in Eldorado that had been converted into a small chapel/funeral home. He didn't look good. He didn't look like Papa at all, not even the old mottled man that lived at the nursing home that I had learned to believe was Papa. I hated that he didn't look "like himself." But, then, he was 100 years old and had been very sick these last few days. It would have been hard to make him look like the 65 year old grandfather I think of when I think of Papa.

We spent the night in Altus and went to Eldorado again for the funeral service Monday morning. The wind was blowing in cold cold but the sun was shining. My cousin Ronny is a Baptist minister and he conducted the service. He has done the service for our grandmother, too, seven years ago and it was wonderful. This one may have been even better. Ronny told sweet stories about the grandfather we knew. Ronny has taken on so many of Papa's characteristics it is easy to see how him memory will live on. Papa would walk into a bedroom (maybe he needed to get his own clothes out of the guest room closet for instance) and say, "Close your eyes, I'm coming in!" His favorite expression at the dinner table was "Grab a root and growl." My sister sand "For Those Tears I Died" and did a beautiful job. I don't know how people are able to even sing at stranger's funerals, but to sing for your own grandfather is truly amazing. She told a sweet story about Papa from his 100th birthday party in November when he sang Amazing Grace with the group and she told him that he had a beautiful singing voice and he said, "Thank you" in his gruff way.

The church was by no means packed but I think it is a miracle in this day and time that all of Papa's eleven living grandchildren and most of their spouses were there. Most of the great-grandchildren were there too and at the graveside there was even one of the great-great grandchildren, little Anna Beth.

After the sad sad funeral (sad because he has been such a big part of our life and we will miss him, not really sad because he had died, we were all quite relieved that he no longer suffered)we had a beautiful lunch prepared by the church ladies. We talked and laughed and sang Happy Birthday to my uncle and cousin who certainly didn't get to celebrate their birthdays in the usual way.

My sister had a handwritten poem Papa had written and she made copies for all of the girls in the family. It was written about a "little girl" but we all feel it was about Mamma. Very sweet and loving, but funny too. Papa wrote a poem a day. I can't manage to write in this diary each day. Most of Papa's poems were written on the typewriter (and believe me, they are not something you'd curl up with---mostly quite religious or political), so it was neat to see one written by hand and Mamma had dated it 1963.

We drove on to Amarillo, about a three hour trip, for the graveside. I love Amarillo but I'd forgotten how that wind just cuts right through you. Many of my parents oldest friends were there for the graveside and it was wonderful to see them and introduce my husband to them. These are people that we grew up with and they have known us our whole lives. None of them came to our wedding since it was in Dallas so they hadn't met Mark.

The graveside service was short and sweet because of the cold. Ronny told about a time he was staying with Papa and Mamma for a week. Ronny was the youngest grandchild and lived closest to the Hallfords so he spent lots of time with them. He says he remembers having been at their house for only a few days, being in the bathtub and hearing Papa on the phone (out in the hallway as they were in those days) talking to Ronny's mother saying, "Louie, you'd better come get this boy, he's mighty homesick." Ronny remembers thinking to himself that he wasn't a bit homesick, but the next day here came his Mom to get him.

After the graveside we went to my cousin Judy's beautiful home and had a fabulous meal. I have never learned to cook like that portion of the family has (or, as just about everyone in our family has except me). Dips, chips, sandwiches of all types and with everything you could ever want to put on a sandwich. And, then, of course, the desserts. I claim to not be much of a dessert eater, but when I'm around this family and their cooking, there is just no stopping. Poppy-seed cake, lemon sheet cake, a fabulous coconut cheesecake bar and German chocolate cake. I showed some restraint by not having any of the German chocolate cake.

All eleven of the cousins were still together so we took some pictures of us all. It very well could be the last time we all see each other at one time. Despite the way so many families are these days, we all truly like each other too. There are a couple of family members that are a little more strident about beliefs than the others and a couple that are a little rougher around the edges than the others (I'd have to include myself in that group) but we all truly enjoy each other's company and have fond memories of being together.

The "party" broke up and Mark and I headed on toward Austin. We stopped by a friend's house, the last friend left in Amarillo just about, and stopped by Papa's grave again and then headed south.

We planned on stopping in Lubbock but kept going to Sweetwater. Lord, Lubbock stinks. Being from Amarillo, I have to proudly look down my nose at Lubbock just out of principle but smelling the feed lots and then smelling the oil, I realized there are reasons we Amarilloans feel the way we do.

We had the best lunch in the world on Tuesday at the best restaurant in Texas. If you ever have the opportunity to eat at Allen's in Sweetwater, do not let it pass you by. I'll just let you find out for yourself how wonderful it is or describe it to you later, but you haven't had fried chicken like this since you were a kid at your grandmother's Sunday table. Trust me.