OLD PLACES, OLD FACES

Last night I walked into a time warp.

During my late teens, occasional Friday or Saturday nights were spent driving from Podunk-ville Fredonia nine miles east to even-more-Podunk-ville Altoona. There, at the intersection of Highways 75 and 47, leaned a little dive known as the Mountain Oyster Shack. The dining area inside was smaller than the average living room, with just three booths, a few tables, and maybe six bar stools at the most. If your English teacher was asking for the opposite term of "fancy," then the M.O. Shack was a solid answer. It was the kind of place where you could toss peanut shells and just about anything else on the floor, and no one would care. Plus, the cow fries were the absolute BEST, and I mean that under no uncertain terms. Tender and drowned in barbecue sauce. A four-star restaurant could not serve 'em up any better.

Well, a few years ago at the Fredonia Homecoming, some friends and I decided to head east to see if the ol' shack was still standing, and it is, albeit under a different name, Prairie Nut Hut. Since then, groups of us have made this trip to our own little Mecca, and last night was one of those nights. From the minute I opened the squeaky front door, it was like being home again. Nothing much has changed. The seating is the same, the floor is still littered, and, best of all, the mountain oysters continue to be exquisite. Even stranger, when I removed my eyeglasses, my classmates from 40+ years ago started looking the same. The laughter was familiar, and no one was at a loss for words. Conversation ranged from grade school jacks competitions all the way up to the current standings in the Big 12. Pictures were taken; promises were made to do it all again.

Old places and old faces are like your favorite pair of shoes....comfortable.