I saw some sad news a while back. Evidently the Roy Rogers and Dale Evans museum has closed and the owners recently auctioned off all of the memorabilia, including Roy’s (taxidermied) horse Trigger and dog Bullet (I’m glad they didn’t stuff Dale, too!).
Rogers wasn’t an icon of my generation, but with the advent of cable television and a lack of programming to fill the available time slots, suddenly the wild west was riding through the living room of my childhood. I loved The Lone Ranger, The Cisco Kid, and Wanted Dead or Alive, as well as the great old westerns starring John Wayne, Roy Rogers and the like.
And I suppose that as the remaining vestiges of Rogers’ generation ride off into the sunset of life, there isn’t much traffic at the museum anymore. But it’s sad to see what’s left of the King of Cowboys–his boots and hats, his famous stuffed mount–ride off into the sunset of memory. It reminds me of the transitory nature of our lives, and how that stands in stark, incontrovertible contrast to God’s eternity.
HIGH Up in the North there stands a rock. It is a hundred miles high and a hundred miles wide. Once every thousand years a little bird comes to this rock to sharpen its beak. When the rock has thus been worn away, then a single day of eternity will have gone by.
Such a concept as eternity is hard for humans to grasp. We’re nothing more than a dot, a breath, when it comes to eternity. Psalm 103 tells us, “As for man his days are like grass. He flourishes like a flower of the field. The wind blows and his place is remembered no more.” These are biblical metaphors for the brevity of life.
Christmas days have come and gone
Broken toys and faded colors
Are all that’s left to linger on I hate graveyards and old pawn shops
For they always bring me tears
I can’t forgive the way they rob me
Of my childhood souvenirs Memories they can’t be boughten
They can’t be won at carnivals for free
Well it took me years
To get those souvenirs
And I don’t know how they slipped away from me
Broken hearts and dirty windows
Make life difficult to see
That’s why last night and this
Always look the same to me
I hate reading old love letters
For they always bring me tears
I can’t forgive the way they rob me
Of my sweetheart’s souvenirs
COMMENTS
4 responses to “I Hate Graveyards And Old Pawnshops”
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Great post. Brings to mind Johnny Cash's "Hurt" video and the House of Cash Museum: "Everyone I know goes away in the end. . . And you could have it all, my empire of dirt. . . ."
Just have a child for instance, and realize that the sweet baby you hold in your arms will inevitably moulder in a grave just as you will some day.
I'm reminded of Jack Kerouac supposedly remarking to Gregory Corso, upon first seeing the latter's child, that he'd brought into the world "something to die."
Prine's a treasure. Thanks for posting.
Wow…An article referencing Roy Rogers and John Prine leads to comments referencing Johnny Cash and Jack Kerouac…That's what I love about MB!
I have just read your sad news of the closing of Roy Rogers museum. I’m now seventy eight years young, and still compete in National Senior Olympic Track & Field, but news of Roys’ museum closing has brought tears to eyes that still see and ears that hear Roy singing The Bells of Rosa Rita. It is so sad that an American icon such as Roys’ museum has now been taken away. The museum was on my bucket list, and now we are left with his movies and songs, along with his gifted Sons of the Pioneers, and the loving gift of memories that Roy has left for us to treasure, like an outstretched Mother’s’ hand, rich with sweet sadness.