Retired In Austin

Monday Meanderings - 2.13.2012

2012-02-13T05:54:00.030-06:00

About that comment regarding no winter; it snowed yesterday here in Austin! Well, if you stood very, very still and looked very, very hard, you might have noticed - for the briefest of moments - some teeny, tiny frozen precipitation thingies falling from the sky that could possibly be interpreted as snow. Or not. High expected to be near 70 tomorrow.

Yes, I am still trying to adopt a healthier eating style, thank you for asking. I confess that after Christmas, and Super Bowl, and several other excuses I'm still a couple of pounds above my pre-Christmas weight. Time for another attitude adjustment.

I've been working on my bucket list. You know, that list of things you want to do before you kick the bucket. Here's what I have so far:

Seek medical help

Watched some of the Grammys last night. I'm not normally a Grammy Watcher, but after small group, we stopped at Waterloo Ice House and that's what was on the big screen. It got me curious, so I turned it on when we got home (and promptly drove Barb into the other room). It didn't take long for me to remember why I don't do Grammys - I didn't know any of the artists, never heard any of the songs, and after seeing Niki Minaj, I don't think that will change soon. If it wasn't recorded in the 60's or 70's I have little use for it.

Having said that, there was a lot of homage to groups and singers of my prescribed era; they caught Brian Wilson in a lucid moment (he only forgot the words once) and the Beach Boys, with some help, performed "Good Vibrations" in a 50th anniversary performance. Glenn Campbell, suffering from dementia, held it together long enough to sing "Rhinestone Cowboys." Tony Bennett can't hit the high notes (for that matter neither can Sir Paul McCartney). Joe Walsh looked good, but he didn't have to sing.

I'm not sure what the intended message is here, but I, for one, think it's rather rude, whatever it is!

And since that was so unappealing, how 'bout something in better taste? Like this pig in a blanket.

The Last Picture Show

2012-02-10T05:36:00.001-06:00

I have previously mentioned that I'm watching old movies to help me while away the miles on the treadmill. Since I get them from the public library, there has been an odd assortment of films - The Gods Must be Crazy I & II, Zanuck's The Longest Day, Hitchcock's The Man Who Knew Too Much, Mr Roberts, and Day of The Jackal, to mention a few. Most recently I watched The Last Picture Show, based on Larry McMurtry's book of the same name.

The movie has garnered a number of accolades. It won Academy Awards for Best Supporting Actor and Supporting Actress; and was nominated for awards in six other categories. In 1998, The Last Picture Show was deemed "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant" by the United States Library of Congress and selected for preservation in the National Film Registry. It also ranked number 19 on Entertainment Weekly's list of the 50 Best High School Movies. In 2007, the film was ranked #95 on the American Film Institute's 10th Anniversary Edition of the 100 greatest American films of all time.

It also ran afoul of a number of court cases until a Federal case ruled in favor of it. Let's just say it was ahead of it's time.

McMurtry is a native of Archer City, a community just over an hour's drive from my hometown, and the similarities, not unexpectedly, are legion. Archer City is actually seeing better days currently than it was in 1971 when the movie was filmed there (thanks in part to McMurtry's legendary multi-building bookstore "Booked Up"). Set in 1951 and filmed in black-and-white, the movie depicts a bleak, barren place, where mesquite trees rule and the oil patch provides a hard scrabble existence for all but a lucky few. To say that this movie resonated with me is an understatement.

I had seen it before - about 10 years after it was released - and I had read McMurtry's book, as well as his sequel, Texasville, but I don't remember feeling so strongly empathetic to the locale and the circumstances of the story as I did this time around. It was a real "Wow" moment for me - so much so, while watching I walked significantly further on the treadmill than I usually do, and limped around for a couple of days to pay for it!

The last picture show is literally that - the Royal Theater - the movie house in Archer City/Thalia (the book name)/Anarene (the movie name)/Breckenridge (my hometown) is no longer economically viable and with a meager group in attendance, shows its last feature and closes. The characters, for the most part go separate ways, as is so often the case with small, dying towns and young people. A few stick around and become the next generation of locals trapped in a desolate place.

The characters, the forlorn frame houses, the over-bearing court house, the shabby high school gym, the Christmas decorations, the dirt roads, the pump jacks - all could have been from my home town.
And they say you can't go home again.

Famous flour bombings

2012-02-08T05:16:00.003-06:00

Disclaimer: I was not responsible for the ACU Chapel flour bombing. I knew nothing about its planning and execution, and I was in no way involved in its execution. But I know who was.

A few days ago, French Socialist Party candidate for the 2012 presidential elections, Francois Hollande was flour bombed. The woman in the picture rushed onto the stage and dumped a bag of flour on M. Hollande. Crude, but effective.

Think how much more effective it would have been if the payload of flour had been positioned in a mechanism hidden in the ceiling above M. Hollande, and a timer had been employed to drop the flour on the head of the unsuspecting victim.

It wouldn't have to be anything sophisticated; a simple wooden box to hold the flour and a trap door that could easily be released by the action of a wind-up alarm clock. And if you knew that at the exact same time every day - say, at the daily ACU chapel service - some member of the school establishment - say, Dean Adams - would stand in the exact same spot on a stage, below where a spotlight used to shine down on the podium, but since the light was no longer in use only the hole it previously occupied remained, well... well, it would cause quite the kerfuffle. And the perpetrator, unlike Mille.Claire Seguin in the picture above, would be unknown to the public and not be in a world of hurt.

That's the way ~~I would have done~~ it should have been done.

But even clever schemes like that sometimes fail. The graduate student delivering the chapel address went a little long, and it was he, not the Dean, who was flour bombed.

So they say.

Monday Meanderings - 2.6.12

2012-02-06T05:42:00.010-06:00

We watched the first Sherlock Holmes movie the other night. That's one of the DVDs we found in the bargain bin around Christmas (didn't want to rush into anything). As a youth, I read the complete works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Every Sherlock Holmes story written. I have even read the contemporary Holmes book that was published by the Doyle's estate this past year. I have to say that my over-arching impression of the Holmes character based on all that reading did not match the characterization presented by Robert Downey, Jr. Not even a little bit.

Well, the groundhog predicts that there will be six more weeks of winter. I'm not sure how that can be since we have yet to have any winter! Seriously, the grass is green and the trees are budding here in ATX. It got up to 80 degrees on Friday. Other places, it's not so balmy; Denver and Europe, for example. Here are a couple of pictures from a friend in Sarajevo.

Yes, those are cars under there! See?

However, that much snow allows you to do this:

Admit it. That would be a lot of fun!

The Super Bowl party has become a firm and hallowed tradition in our nation. For some, the get-together and the food is far more significant than the game itself. In honor of that tradition, Barb and I started our celebration early. Let's see, I think we began last Friday, or maybe it was Thursday. We celebrated in an ever-increasing crescendo of good eats throughout the weekend, and if there are any goodies left, we'll taper off throughout the day today. Nothing exceeds like excess.

Noticed in a Statesman article that the student enrollment of Reagan High School - Rob and Julie's old alma mater - is now 1,051.5. Wondering which half of that student they counted.

Okay, I admit this is subtle.

Addendum to "the Honda era"

2012-02-03T16:37:00.000-06:00

Two things that have been brought to my attention:

First, Rob reminded me that they now drive a CR-V, so make that 10 Hondas in the family. I knew that.

And I found out that the proper terminology is "Foreign-Branded" instead of foreign-made, since the auto industry has become rather global.

The cars in my life - the Honda era - Stories for my grandchildren

2012-02-03T05:33:00.084-06:00

There was a reason why US auto-buyers turned to Japanese-made cars in droves in the '70's and 80's - and that reason was American-made cars. I ditched the Buick Century for a 1981 Honda Civic wagon; that was the beginning of 9 Hondas in the immediate family, counting the two my son-in-law and daughter now drive. Plus a Toyota Highlander. You only have to look at the Consumer Reports Editor's Picks and the repair history charts to see why. Not to mention the mileage.

Then there was the little white '78 hatch back that Barb drove, the '85 Accord that became the school car for Rob and Julie (well, that was the theory), The maroon '89 Accord that I drove, Barb's '91 red hatchback; the sort of greenish blue '95 accord (the one we picked up while the bomb squad was at the dealership), the Honda that Rob bought in Abilene, the '04 Highlander, Barb's '05 Civic and Julie and Jason's Odyssey and Accord.

How did the Toyota Highlander get in there? It was an experiment that has worked out very well.

They say that American-made cars are vastly improved these days. That would certainly be good for the auto industry, but the line is pretty blurred at this point. Our Highlander was assembled in Princeton, Indiana, with the majority of its parts manufactured in the US. Hard to call it a foreign car under those circumstances.

Can I hear you now?

2012-02-01T05:31:00.017-06:00

If you look up at the banner at the top of this blog, the captions says "Occasional thoughts on growing older." Truth be told I don't write many blogs on growing older, but this is one. I got fitted with hearing aids this past week. I am feeling my age.

I have been well aware of my hearing loss for some time. Noisy rooms, such as restaurants, made it almost impossible for me to understand what was being said. Even in quieter environs, I was missing a lot of what was being said to me. Barb wound up repeating questions and comments to me, but she speaks very softly (and mumbles a lot) and I still ended up not catching all that was said. Finally, just to make her happy, I went to an audiologist and got tested.

This is not my audiogram, but it illustrates my problem. Notice that everything sort of drops off on the high end. In my younger days these two lines would be almost straight across (and closer to the 0 line). Not now.

So to get on with the story, I'm in my "Thirty day evaluation." That means I wear these things everywhere I go and when I watch TV and when I talk to Barb, and I try to get used to the fact that I now hear all these high frequencies that annoy me and startle me, and get used to things sticking in my ears, and a lot of other bothersome details.

So do I hear better? Yes. Am I happy about it? I'll get back to you on that; I'm convinced that not everything is worth hearing, but I guess that's the curmudgeon in me. That happens when you grow older.

Monday Meanderings - 1.30.2012

2012-01-30T05:07:00.005-06:00

Had a lot of thunder and lightening this past week. Very, very frightening. And a lot of rain - about 5 inches, overnight. Just down the road they had a tornado. Rain is good; roofs blown off not so much.

Busy week. Westover hosted the Stream worship conference, and there's a lot of fetching and carrying sound system-wise for Ken Young whenever he does one of these. The Stream conferences started back in the mid-nineties in Midland, Texas as "Stream in the Desert" - a reference both to the Isaiah passage and Midland's locale. When Ken began holding them in other cities, they became simply "Stream where ever." This weekend was Stream Austin. It's a great weekend, with a lot of behind-the-scenes effort involved to make it appear as a restful, refreshing weekend.

Mike Cope was the speaker; he was warming up for the Renew Conference in Fresno in two weeks. We sent him on with our blessing.

And Stream was my last official duty behind the sound desk. Off and on, for more than 30 years, I have been involved in church sound systems. It's time for some younger guys to take over that role, so this was the grand finale for me. I will not miss it.

Add Stephen Tyler to the list of aging rock stars that should no longer sing in public - especially the Star Spangled Banner. It's getting to be a long list of guys who no longer can hit the high notes. Of course, I'm still wondering who convinced Neil Young he should sing at all.

And speaking of National Anthems, I am seriously freaking out that there will be only one more football game; then it's the long drought until next Fall. Sigh.

Article in the AS about "Less drawl in 'y'all'." A research project at UT says Texas accents are fading away, along with a number of colloquial expressions, such as "yonder" (some distance away), "drouth" (drought), "rench" (rinse), "shinnery" (scrubby oak thicket), "snake doctor" (dragonfly), "light bread" (white bread), "clabber cheese" (cottage cheese), and "snap beans" (green beans). Hmm. Some of those I know, some I do not. How about you? On the other hand, they say Southern standbys such as "cup towel", "lightening bug" and "y'all" have not only endured, but are spreading beyond the South.

And can you tell me what is wrong with this placard we saw in the Bob Bullock Museum a couple of weeks ago?

The cars in my life (the Detroit Years) - stories for my grandchildren

2012-01-27T05:52:00.009-06:00

The Detroit years...

Since the Dodge dealership in Abilene was also the Renault dealer, I visited their place of business often, trying to keep the Dauphine running. When it became obvious that it was a losing cause, the dealer made me a great offer on a low-mileage trade-in; a 1962 Dodge Dart. The price was right; the vehicle had been purchased up north but when the owner moved to Texas they found that they couldn't deal with our hot summers and immediately traded for an air conditioned car. We were used to cars with no A/C, so it was a good deal.

The Dodge Dart had a novel feature; an automatic transmission with gear selection through push buttons mounted on the dash. Took some getting used too, and I learned - when the tractor-trailer ahead of me started backing up - that you could easily get confused about how to quickly select reverse gear. Fortunately, the trucking company paid for my new hood.

It wasn't long before we felt the need to become a two-car company; I had been looking at a Plymouth Sport Fury on a used-car lot owned by a man from church and somehow I talked myself into buying it.

It did have A/C, and it featured the forerunner of the legendary Hemi engine, with 407 cubic inches of displacement that developed 365 horsepower. There were twin air breather intakes, and two tailpipes as big around as my leg. It was very powerful and very fast - an ideal family car. As I recall, it had a 30 gallon fuel tank, which was a requirement to get you from one gas station to another. Gasoline was .35 cents a gallon in those days.

It had bucket seats with a console in the middle, and the gear shift knob in that console. Much easier to manipulate, as two-year-old Rob found out when he shifted out of gear and the car rolled backwards down the driveway into the street!

Barb took a break from teaching when the kids were very young, and it was hard to justify that muscle car under the circumstances (or any other circumstances), so I eventually sold it back to the same guy I bought it from. I notice that it didn't sit on his lot very long.

I worked for a man named Wyman Wilkerson, who bought a new Buick every year. When the new models came out, there was active bidding for Wyman's current car, because it was better than new; during that first year every little kink and problem had been taken care of by the dealer, Fred Hughes Buick. I begged and nagged Wyman until he sold me his 1970 Electra 225 hardtop.

The number 225 referred to the car's length, 225 inches. The car was almost 19 feet long! And yes, it would fit in the garage but only because we had not yet enclosed the bonus room. You could also throw a dance on either the hood or the rear deck, and a small family could live in the trunk. It had electric windows and seats, and an even bigger engine than the Sport Fury, a 370 horsepower, 455 cubic inch V8. And now gasoline was .38 cents a gallon. I paid Wyman $5,000 for that car and we drove it till the wheels fell off.

When it was past time to trade for another car, the afterglow of the Electra clouded my vision and reasoning and we bought another Buick. A lesser, loser, Buick Century. There's no picture of that car because the sooner it is forgotten, the better. It was my last American-made automobile.

Next... The Honda years

Hanging with Joe Nick

2012-01-25T08:31:00.000-06:00

Joe Nick Patoski, that is; the guy that has written biographies on Selena and Stevie Ray Vaughan, and Willie, and the coffee table books Texas Mountains, Texas Coast, and Big Bend National Park; the guy who was a staff writer for Texas Monthly for 18 years, and more recently has written for the Texas Observer, National Geographic, People magazine, Texas Parks & Wildlife Magazine, Field & Stream, the Los Angeles Times, the New York Times, the Big Bend Sentinel, Southwest Spirit, American Way, the Austin Chronicle, Harp, TimeOut New York, and other publications. That Joe Nick.

Joe Nick is a football fan. So much so, that he was the curator of the recent exhibit "Texas High School Football: More than Just a Game" at the Bob Bullock Texas State History Museum. The promotional material for the exhibit reads:

"[Football] is the bond that holds together communities, from small burgs barely able to field a six-man team to 5A suburban schools that faithfully fill 20,000 seat stadiums to cheer their hometown heroes. It is the soul of Texas towns.

It is the caravans of cars that drive 200 miles on a Friday night to support the home team, the endless post-game analyses in coffee shops, the local pride in past victories and legendary players. It’s also marching bands, drill teams, pep rallies, mascots, cheerleaders, twirlers, booster clubs, fans and fanatics. For at least a few hours every week in the fall, Texas high school football is the glue that transcends cultural, ethnic, and spiritual differences to define us all as Texan."

I went to the exhibit to look for mention of Breckenridge, of course, and I was not disappointed. The "team of the century" was listed; Emory Bellard was honored; there was a giant blow-up of a Basil Clemons photo of Buckaroo Field on the occasion of the 1929 State Championship. And Joe Nick was there.

I don't know if he came every weekend to "his" exhibit, but this was the closing weekend, and he was there, talking to anyone who paused near him. The man does love to talk, and talk about Texas High School football history. For the entire time we were there - probably more than two hours - he had someone cornered.

I heard him talk about Jerry Tubbs, a Breckenridge boy... "well, he was from Throckmorton, originally, but you know the stories about Breckenridge recruiting players..." who went on to play for the Dallas Cowboys. I heard him talk about Gordon Woods, the Brownwood coach, and about Joe Don Meridith, and about Emory Bellard. The man does love to talk.

But as we were leaving, I interrupted him, stuck my hand out and said, "Breckenridge High School, Class of '58."

And just for a few seconds, his jaw dropped and he didn't have anything to say. Then we talked for a few minutes about Breckenridge football, and Jerry Tubbs, and Emory Bellard, and even Basil Clemons.

Monday Meanderings - 1.23.2012

2012-01-23T05:49:00.007-06:00

While the Northwest is being blanketed with snow, we are having spring-like weather here in ATX. It was so balmy the other morning I took my coffee to the patio - and discovered that if the trees are bare (it is still winter, after all), then the sun shines directly into your face. Oh, I get it! In the winter you do afternoon coffee on the patio. Works for me.

Medicare sends quarterly statements showing what they paid various doctors over the past few months. We got a statement this past week that was prepared in South Carolina, showing a charge from a doctor in Prarieville, Louisiana, for a service that was performed in Fresno, California.

And speaking of doctors and such, the surgical center where Barb had her procedure last week has called a couple of times, leaving messages that they wanted to follow up and make sure she was doing okay. Barb won't let me call them and apologize for missing their calls, "what with all the funeral plans, etc." No sense of humor.

Barb came home the other day with the newest in the series of the "Eat This, Not That" books. If you are not familiar with this series, the books contrast a healthier suggestion for what is usually a more popular (and less healthy) choice. This latest book is a guide to popular restaurants, with suggestions for best choices from the current menu. For instance, at Outback Steakhouse, choose the Teriyaki Marinated Sirloin (418 calories, 12g fat) as opposed to the Baby Back Ribs (3,021 calories, 242 g fat). I looked through the book, and discovered that all the things we like to eat at our favorite restaurants are on the right-hand page. You know, the one that starts, "Not That!"

I've previously written about cowbells and their use at football games. I came across this the other day: empty propane tanks with a number of steel ball bearings inside.

Take that, SEC!

The cars in my life (My First) - stories for my grandchildren

2012-01-20T05:27:00.016-06:00

In my Sophomore year in college, I became quite enamored with a sporty little French-made Renault Dauphine. Like the very popular VW bug, it was a rear-engine car but had 4 doors, a 4 cylinder engine labeled the 4CV, or quatre chevaux, which quite literally translates as "four horses." All-in-all, that's a pretty good description of the power of this little vehicle. which on a straight-away (like the Winters Freeway) could achieve 67 miles-per-hour. Max.

The dealer let me drive the car for a weekend while I made up my mind, and I gathered 3 friends and took the car out to Abilene State Park for some fun in the windy roads and trails out there. That was also a weekend that the National Guard was engaged in some maneuvers at the Park. We had stopped mid-road to switch drivers when we heard the ominous clank of a half-track around a curve and we just got the car back in gear and moving before a big Army truck roared around the bend. I have often wondered just how I would have explained to the nice man at the dealership that his tiny little car was now a blip on a tank tread.

The Dauphine could seat four, but on occasion, a fifth person would curl up in the luggage compartment, which of course, was in the front of the car. My brother-in-law-to-be Thayne often drew this position. Since the "hood" tilted forward starting at the windshield, he could sit in the compartment with his head out, just in front of the windshield, and watch where were were going, waving at passers-by.

With mileage of better than 40 mpg, it was cheaper for me to drive home to Breckenridge, let my mother do my laundry, eat some home cooking, and drive back to the dorm than it was to go to the laundromat. Not that I ever went to the laundromat, mind you. Plus, with the gear shift floor-mounted, it was a great car for dating. Was it my fault that the girls knee was right where I needed to move the gear shift? I have to mention that when I demonstrated that particular move to Barb early in our dating, it almost changed the course of history, in that there almost was no history!

I'm happy to say that she married me anyway, but I almost didn't make it to the wedding. When I started out for Port Lavaca, the little Dauphine began to seriously overheat. We turned around (Thayne and my roommate Skeet were with me) and limped to Breckenridge and borrowed my parent's car. leaving the Renault in Breckenridge for repair. After we were established in Dallas, my folks drove the car to Dallas to swap. The thought of my Mom and Dad in that little car amuses me still.

Alas, the overheating was just the beginning of a slow but sure decline. Let me just say that while the French may have many skills, building automobiles is not one of them. The Dauphine disappeared from the marketplace by 1960.

Next, the Detroit years...

Dissidence, riots and other holiday behavior

2012-01-18T05:22:00.004-06:00

I witnessed - nay, was part of, a couple of interesting crowd interactions recently. Both occurred at the Austin-Bergstrom International airport. Outbound, we had finally achieved the TSA Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval, having performed all of the tricks required in the security theater of the absurd, and we were now comfortably waiting for our flight to be called.

All the sudden, a loud siren went off, followed by a recorded announcement that said, "An emergency has been reported. All occupants please locate the nearest stairway and proceed to the ground floor." Nobody moved. Not a twitch. We all sat there thinking, "If I have to leave, then come back through security again, I am not responsible for my actions." So we all just sat and looked at each other, wondering who was going to blink first.

Meanwhile the announcement was repeated over and over. We're all watching the Southwest gate agent, waiting to see what his reaction/action would be. He was on the phone, but didn't seem concerned, so we all took our cue from him and continued to cautiously, nervously sit there.

Finally, there was just a series of siren sounds, and the announcement stopped. So, at this point we're not sure if we are the only people left on the concourse, or the announcement equipment just went up in flames, or what. I'm looking at the exit gate, thinking, "If a wall of flame and smoke comes our way, we're going down the Jetway and taking the stairs down to the apron outside." Of course, doing that will probably land us in jail as terrorists, but at least we will not be crispy critters.

During all this, not one person made any move to leave. In about 5 minutes, someone came on the PA and said, "Nevermind. It was a false alarm" and we all looked smugly at each other, as if to say, "I knew that."

The second behavior event occurred outside the terminal after we returned, when we participated in a riot. Well, I did, anyway; Barb showed a lot more restraint. Some 3 or 4 flights had all arrived within minutes of each other, and the baggage area was jam- packed. It took a while to claim our bags and then we went outside to join the throng waiting for a shuttle bus to remote parking. It was late, approaching midnight, cold, and it appeared there were only a few buses in operation, covering the Near lots, the Remote lots, and during peak travel periods, such as this, the Cargo lot. I don't know the capacity of each bus, probably no more than 16 passengers, and there were probably 50 in our Remote lot queue alone, with more arriving by the minute.

As we waited and shivered, the muttering grew louder, and when a bus would appear and turn out to be for a lot other than Remote, the mutterings would turn to angry groans. After a period, I heard one side of several phone conversations, no doubt in response to a recorded message on the Airport Shuttle number, stating pleasantries, such as "I'll never ride your bleep shuttle again!" A couple of women had taken a more active role, stepping out into traffic to direct a bus, any bus, to our loading point, or going down to the Cargo lot bus to deliver in person messages similar to those being left on the phone.

The tipping point occurred when a Remote lot bus stopped - not at our queue - but at the end of the line closest to the Cargo lot and began taking on passengers down the way! The two vocal women immediately ran down to the bus and verbally assaulted the driver and possibly the boarding passengers. It was hard to tell what was being said to whom; I just know it was loud and angry.

It was apparently effective, because the driver closed the door and drove up to our load point, whereupon about 20 people stormed aboard. The driver is yelling at the excess passengers, the two women are giving the driver what for, and it's possible that I quietly and politely suggested to the driver that it would be prudent to get a manager on the radio, if only for her safety!

The excess passengers were off-loaded, the angry driver drove away, and we all held our breath in anticipation of what was going to happen next. Fortunately, the next bus was also Remote lot; the driver immediately took charge of the situation, 16 more of us, including one of the shouting ladies climbed aboard, and if there was a riot, we didn't read about in the paper the following morning.

Which all goes to show that people are the strangest folks I know. And Holiday cheer can be stretched to a breaking point.

Monday Meanderings - 1.16.2011

2012-01-16T05:29:00.053-06:00

Checking my notes, it would appear that I didn't wander all that much this weak. Pretty sparse on things to report.

A couple of days were invested in getting the spouse through a certain medical procedure - the one that shall not be named, but involves drinking a few gallons of foul tasting liquids ahead of time. She's pretty happy that since everything is OK, she's done with that unpleasantness, since 10 years puts her beyond the time range that they recommend the procedure. I, on the other hand...

And speaking of doctor visits, I really wanted to tell my eye doctor that if he is going to spend 20 minutes on the phone arranging to lease or buy a hunting lodge in Montana while I am waiting on him in the exam room, he should at least shut his door so I think he's doing something important during that time.

I've mentioned this event before, but here's your chance to participate in a real iconic bit of Austin weirdness. Sign up now for the Austin Gorilla Run next Saturday. The registration fee for the 5K fund raiser includes a full gorilla costume, which you get to keep. I'm pretty sure no one else wants a gorilla suit after you have run a 5K race in it, so that makes good sense.

Went to a funeral home for a visitation the other evening. That seems to be an event that happens with increasing frequency, by the way. We sort of figured that we were in the wrong section of the funeral home when everyone we saw had a white sash tied around his head. Not our tradition.

And it's rare to have an orchid bloom in the middle of the winter. What is even more rare is for the bloom to have leaves! Look at this bloom, and the stem behind it. Leaves!

I learned that this is a Keiki - the beginnings of a new orchid. It will put out air roots, as well as leaves, and can be removed and potted. Cool!

Enjoy Martin Luther King day. I hope it's a holiday for you, as it is for me. Oh, wait...

The cars in my life - stories for my grandchildren. Part 1

2012-01-12T05:24:00.105-06:00

The early years:

According to popular journalism, the male of the human species maintains a life-long love affair with automobiles. He recalls each one of them with more fondness than that reserved for old girl friends, and if the literature is to be believed, sometimes the current women in his life. I am not that male. It has taken me a while to reconstruct my automobile history, and I'm frankly a little vague about certain years and models. A true auto-aficionado would not be as hesitant as I am.

I was more interested in the auto as a means of independent transportation than I was as an expression of my identity, or manhood, or charisma, and that started at an early age. In those days, a parental word to a friendly magistrate got you a driver's license at age 14. Not a cheater's permit - a full fledged license. You still had to take the driving test, which I did. Twice. But at 14, I was on the road.

The family auto at the time was a 1955 Pontiac Star Chief. It was far and away more auto than my father expected to buy, and he probably would have passed it over for something plainer but for the fact that while he was test driving it, he and five other gentlemen from church were asked to be pall-bearers at a funeral. He and the others all rode together, in air conditioned comfort, from the church to a remote cemetery on a blistering hot Texas afternoon, and by the time he got back, the deal was done. Air conditioning was new, and it was a big deal in those days.

I admit that this auto did help my self image as a fledgling driver; it was big, fancy-looking, and it could take most of my friend's cars in the quarter mile. In theory, at least; I'm neither admitting nor denying anything. It was slow off the line, but the engine was bigger than most, and by the end of the race, I usually overtook all comers. And that big engine made it very fast, if the road was straight and long. Or so I assume. It had bench seats (and no seat belts) so it was a good car for dating, as well. Again, in theory.

And yes, it was blue and white - though the blue was more sky blue than this picture shows.

Alas, this was not the only family car. My father acquired an older model Plymouth - probably a 1950 model - with the super-sharp external visor. THIS car became my primary means of transportation. Perhaps because of the alarming number of miles being added to the Pontiac. Surely it couldn't have been the prodigious amount of fuel used; gasoline was only 16 cents a gallon in those days!

The Plymouth needed a ring job, and my father and I did this ourselves. Well, he did it and I fetched. Afterwards, the rings were so tight that the starter could not crank a cold engine, so it was necessary to park the car on a hill so as to get a rolling start. If one parked nose-in, you either had to leave the engine running while you ran your errand, or you had to be back out in mere minutes before the engine cooled.

I learned an important lesson while driving this car. It was common knowledge that if you turned off the engine of an auto and coasted down the hill on East Walker, when you turned the key back on, the car would backfire. Did you know that if you waited a very, very long time to turn the key back on, the resulting backfire was capable of blowing the muffler right off the car? Split that sucker right down the seam and blew fiberglass packing all over the road! Theoretically.

But the car I took to school was a Chevy coupe, painted Bell Grey, with a round shiny spot on each door where the Bell Telephone logo had been rubbed off and the spot painted over. Surplus company cars were auctioned off, and it was common for the men who drove them, and were familiar with them, to buy them at auction.

As you might suspect, there aren't many "Bell Telephone Grey" photos out there. You'll just have to use your imagination!

Next: My First...

Stalking the wild tangerine

2012-01-10T22:57:00.002-06:00

I've mentioned Barb's quest for the tangerine of old - the loose-skinned, easily-peeled fruit of Christmas past. We've searched the usual places and the markets that carry more exotic fare, as well. A produce manager at Central Market told us that it was highly unlikely that we would find the classic tangerine in any store in this day and time.
During our Coastal California excursion, we happened to tour a section of the Cal Poly campus in San Luis Obispo (no, I was not in the lead, nor were we receiving directions from the GPS Lady, Preventer of Driving Directions). This particular detour passed through some citrus orchards, and at one there was a market set up with "Pick your own" signs.
Sure enough, at the market table they handed you a bucket, a pair of clippers (clippers?), and pointed you down a path between rows of fruit- laden trees. Help yourself.

If you pull the fruit off the tree, the easy-peel skin tears; thus the clippers.

This particular orchard was of the "Satsuma" variety of citrus fruit. Loose-skinned, easily peeled, seedless fruit that tasted sweet with just a little tang. Just like... tangerines!

We've seen Satsumas in the store, but paid them little attention. After enjoying a bucket of can't-get-any-fresher fruit over the next few days, we wondered if the Satsumas in our local store would be as good. They are, but if you pick them yourself, you pay only $1.50 a pound; if you buy them at Central Market in Austin, they are $2.40 a pound. I guess we'll just have to go back to California.

Monday Meanderings - 1.9.2011

2012-01-09T05:11:00.004-06:00

Drove by one of those clothing collection boxes that sit on street corners and there was a single snow ski propped up against the box. No sign of the mate, and it made you wonder if there were some ski togs inside the box; say a bib and some long johns. It really set me to wondering about the back story here, and where the other ski was. Somehow, I think this pertained to a story with an unhappy ending.

Christmas trees are appearing on the curbs around town, waiting for the city to pick them up for recycling. That makes me think of my youth, when we would roam the neighborhood after Christmas, gathering up all the trees that had been set out, dragging them to some central location for an annual bonfire. Sometimes, before the big bonfire, we divided them up into tree forts and had roman candle wars with other neighborhood kids, but don't tell anyone that we did that because it definitely wasn't a safe thing to do.

He said (noting the recent 15 cent increase in the price of gasoline): "They said on the news last night that the cost of gasoline is headed for record highs."
She said: "Ummm."
He said: "I guess it's time to buy a couple of bicycles."
She said: "Too expensive."
He said: "No, I'm not talking high-dollar bikes, here. If gas costs..."
She said: "No. What you are forgetting is the cost of the emergency room."

I guess we do eat at Fran's too much. Our favorite waitress pointed out which table was hers, but before she let us sit down she walked over and tested it to see if it wobbled - something we always do, but didn't know it was that obvious.

I have featured the miss-spellings and malaprops of the Crestview Baptist Church sign before. Recently it read, "Welcome to our warship." Glad to know that is a problem with the Baptists, too.

And yes, I have weighed myself now that the holidays are over, and yes, my weight did reverse direction SINCE I SHOWED NO RESTRAINT WHATSOEVER!! But it was not as bad as I expected, and I should be back on track in, oh, say another 6 months, or 10,000 miles - whichever comes first.

The car from... Gothenburg!

2012-01-06T05:28:00.000-06:00

Another episode from our California adventure -

It is my understanding that Volvo makes good cars. Dependable, safe cars. So when the car rental agent told me that she was going to upgrade us to an "elite Volvo" I thought that would be a good thing. What she did not tell us was that it would be a Volvo S60, a snazzy-looking little car about the size of a roller skate. So the first part of our journey, with 5 passengers and all our luggage, was, to say the least, painful. Especially for Jana, who shared her space with some of the luggage.

Setting aside the lack of room, there were other issues with the car; most notably the "control center," that video screen in the dash that - depending on your point of view - either kept one informed about current conditions, or taunted you with information you could do nothing about. For example, for many miles, the screen displayed the cryptic statement, "There is one car message." Okay, the car is texting me. How do I see this message? Push this? No. This? Uh-oh. This? Okay, I don't really need to know what the car message is. Or do I? Let's see, there are only 36 buttons and knobs on the control console. Surely one of them fetches the message. Many miles later, I found that a dial on the left-hand steering column thingy shows the message text, which was, and I quote, "Rear left, center and right seat belts are in use."

OK. How about the radio? According to a decal on the window the car was equipped with satellite radio. Alright, let's cruise down the Pacific Coast Highway listening to the Beach Boys on Classic Rock! Barb and I spent 30 minutes (while stopped) fiddling with buttons that suggested that they would actually produce radio choices. Finally the console indicated that we had indeed selected XM Classic Rock - and that if we called an 800 number they could set up a paid subscription in place of the one that had expired. Okay, I'll just flip over to an FM station. Or not.

There were other problems, to be sure. Among them finding the button that opened the gas filler lid, the switch that turned on the headlights (actually I never found that, but the lights seemed to be on when I needed them). There were certainly buttons enough to try, including 4 on the sun visor! Never did figure those out. But the most aggravating behavior of the car was to rotate the rear-view mirrors downward whenever you put the car in reverse. Want to see behind you? Sorry, the mirrors are pointed to the ground. Am I going to back into something? With the restricted view out the windows, the only way to find out is to open the moon roof (assuming you can figure out which button to push to do that) and stick your head out and look behind you!

I'm told this is a "feature" of high-dollar cars; the mirrors rotate so that you can see the curb when you are parallel parking. I ask you - when was the last time you had to parallel park? When was the last time you backed up and needed to see behind you? I rest my case, your Honor.

So the message is clear. I'm just not an "elite Volvo" sort of person. Next time, I think I'll ask for an old pick-up truck. I'll bet I can get the radio to work on an old F-150.

Recalculating!

2012-01-04T06:08:00.015-06:00

I have blogged before about misadventures with GPS devices. In fact, it was while traveling in this very same area a couple of years ago I learned that you can't always trust the GPS for the best way to go. On this trip, however, we learned that you can't even trust the GPS to get you out of town, let alone point you in the right direction!

The back story is that on our trip to California we rented a car and I added a GPS to the rental because we were driving to unvisited places on unfamiliar roads. Makes sense, right? So we pick up the rental car and I start off while Barb plugged our destination into the device. That's the way you do it right?

Let me just stop right here and state that if I had not been in such a hurry; if I had waited, or pulled over while everything got set up; if I had given Barb adequate time to get everything operable, I might not be writing this blog. But I did not, and let me be perfectly clear about the fact that I am the one that missed the crucial on-ramp to the freeway and started the whole mess.

Having said all that, the normal expectation of a GPS unit, or "the GPS Lady" as the disembodied voice came to be known, would be to recalculate and direct us to the next opportunity to get on the freeway. But this was not a normal GPS Lady. This was more like "Mordac the Preventer of Information Services" in the Dilbert cartoons. The GPS Lady, Preventer of Driving Directions. It took us an hour to find our way out of San Jose! We toured the San Jose State Campus, we toured the barrios (are the doors locked?), we were directed into the middle of a street carnival, we were directed North, when our destination was South! At every misstep, when it was obvious we were not achieving our goal, the GPS Lady would say, "Recalculating" and send us off in a different direction!

Finally, we escaped into the countryside on a secondary road that was going in approximately the right direction. All the while, we could see Highway 101, our destination, paralleling us off to our left! We made several attempts to cut across to that highway, but did not succeed until we finally came to a small community that nestled between the two roads. There, a seventeen-year-old working at the McDonalds gave us clear and succinct directions to our target highway. At last, we pulled onto 101 and felt certain that we could get clear GPS navigation help from that point. We were so naive, so gullible.

The GPS Lady had her heart set on taking us down the old road. So much so, that she pointed out every opportunity:
    "In 1,7 miles, exit right."
    "Exit right!" and when we did not do so...
    "Recalculating. In 3.2 miles exit right."

And this went on for 70 or so miles, until we finally got tired of her whining and turned her off. Not once! Not once, did the GPS Lady consider, "You know, they seem to want to take this other route. Let me recalculate and find them the best way to proceed down 101 instead of this little road off to the West that I do so love!"

Let me give a clear picture of just how obstinate and obtuse the GPS Lady was. Check out this map:

See the little pin at "A"? That's where we were when Barb decided to give the GPS Lady another chance. Our destination is Fresno, on highway 41, that straight stretch that heads off toward the top of the map. YOU CAN ALMOST SEE FRESNO FROM THERE! So, she plugs in the address in Fresno, presses GO and the GPS Lady says.... Wait. I'm going to let you guess. Do you see another highway on the map? The big one that goes AWAY from Fresno?

"Recalculating."

Monday Meanderings - 1.2.2012

2012-01-01T22:06:00.003-06:00

Welcome to the New Year and the new, revised Monday Meanderings. Of course, it's exactly like the old Monday Meanderings, but with every new year we pretend we're going to be better, right?

With the good Doctor's approval, we did indeed spend some time exploring Coastal California - from Pismo Beach to the south, up the Pacific Coast Highway, past San Simeon and the Big Sur to Monterey Bay. Breathtaking scenery. Toured the Hearst Castle, went back to the aquarium in Monterey, saw sea lions and elephant seals, ate clam chowder at the Splash Cafe, ate steak at Jocko's, got to hang with my favorite people. It was good.

But since I was supposed to be taking it easy, here's my favorite view, just a short stroll from the house we were staying in.

Came back by way of Las Vegas. My plans for underwriting the cost of the trip with a little slot machine action were foiled by a very tight connection at opposite ends of the airport. My previous visit to Las Vegas was as a teenager, when my family and the Woods family were camping at Lake Mead. We drove in one evening to see the lights. So now I have seen the lights of the Strip by drive-by and by fly-over without ever having set foot in the city itself.

Spending a week two time zones away requires a little adjustment. When it's time to get up or go to bed I always seem to be in the wrong time zone.

It's Capital Bowl Week(s) and if you are a football fan there's no better time. The downside is that you have to listen to Lou Holtz and Mark May arguing at half times. However, with careful planning you can work in some real life segments during those periods. Like my annual tradition of sorting out all the bills and junk to get ready for the tax process.

Another year has passed, and a lot has happened in the last 365 days. Like the character Earl in the comic strip "Pickles" said, "I kinda wish I could remember what it was."

Happy New Year!

A Grateful Day

2011-12-30T06:00:00.011-06:00

I left my iPad on the airplane.

I gathered my bag from the overhead, jostled for my position in the aisle, and walked out of the terminal with my iPad still stuffed in the back pocket of the seat in front of where I sat!

Later that night, I reached into my carry-on bag, where I had carefully kept the device during the entire trip, and my heart dropped through the floor when I realized what I had done! It was about 1:00 in the morning at this point; we didn't arrive until 11PM, and there were long waits at the baggage claim and for the shuttle. I frantically called the 24-hour number for Southwest, and the lady there - who no doubt had fielded many such calls - calmly told me what to do and who to call and urged me to have "positive thoughts" about the outcome.

I did as instructed and called the local baggage office, which was closed, as expected, and left a message about the missing iPad, flight information, my name, etc., and I also called a second number which was the official "lost article" number, and another kind lady took down the same information for the official lost item record in the computer. Then I went to bed and dreamed about missing iPads.

At 7AM the local Southwest Baggage Office called and told me that they had my iPad.

Never. Never, was I so grateful to be wakened by an early phone call! There was great rejoicing, because that which had been lost was found!

It's now later in the morning, all is well in iPad land, and I'm checking email. One message is from the Circulation manager of the American Statesman, stating that they would resume delivery of the newspaper today, as requested. Only problem is, they never stopped delivering the paper while we were gone, as I also requested! After a few days, our neighbor noticed the build-up of papers and began gathering them, but for a while they lay in the yard and loudly declared our absence.

"Boy, am I going to give someone at the paper a piece of my mind!" I said.
"No you're not," my smart wife said. "Today, you are going to be grateful. This is going to be a grateful day."

At this time of year especially, those words really struck home. In fact, I'm going to make that my resolution for the coming year. My only resolution. "Today, I am going to be grateful."

So, instead of sending a snarky email to the Statesman Circulation department, I'll politely point out that while I'm grateful that they restarted the paper on time, I would have been even more so if they had stopped it as requested.
And if service at a restaurant is slow, Ill be grateful that I will eventually have something good to eat; that doesn't happen for everyone.
Or if the rental car was a fiasco, I'll be grateful that we traveled safely, with no roadside trauma, and I'll send a letter to some VP in the company, pointing out how helpful the counter manager was.
And if those about me upset or disappoint me, I'll be grateful for their love and friendship.
And when I really mess up (hard to imagine, isn't it?) I'll be grateful for the opportunity to improve and become better.
And when problems and troubles pile up, I'll be grateful for a Father that sustains me far beyond any setback.
And I'll strive to recognize daily the goodness and blessings that I receive, and be grateful for them.

So that's my resolution, and I'm grateful for the unfolding of a new year to allow me to practice this gift.

How about you?

The Dr. said what?

2011-12-28T11:17:00.001-06:00

Okay, I had a little sinus surgery in mid-December. I'll spare you the details, but this was a repeat performance of a similar surgery performed waaay back in 1999. I expected that my recovery would be the same as then. Couple of days rest, then right back into a regular schedule. Somehow it didn't happen that way.

Our first clue came when I was still in recovery and the Dr. came out to talk to Barb. He said everything had gone fine, and he wanted to see me in his office on Tuesday or Wednesday of next week.

Barb said, "Uhh, we are leaving for California on Tuesday."

The Dr. said, "I think not."

Barb said, "Then I suppose you don't want him going to Ft Worth on Saturday, either?"

The Dr. said, "Absolutely not. Have him in my office on Monday."

Barb said, to a friend, "There's no way I'm telling Bob about this until later."

But she did, and my response was, "No way I'm missing those trips!" So I went home to recover and bounce back and prove to the Dr. that this was no big deal. It was a big deal. After surgery on Tuesday, I got out for a bit on Thursday and discovered I was, to put it mildly, shaky. I tried again on Friday with only marginally better results. Where was the old vim and vigor? Where was the stamina? Surely I have not grown... old.

Friday I cancelled the trip to Ft Worth and fretted a great deal about the trip to California. Airline tickets had been purchased; deposits had been made. Someone else would have to meet Jana and the kids in San Jose. Worry, worry, worry. Saturday I did not move from the recliner. Sunday morning I went to church and that was it. Monday, I went to see the Dr.

I debated long and hard about not saying a word to him about the trip, hoping that he would have forgotten about the post-op conversation. But I had read some scary things about flying and sinus surgery, and decided that if I was going, I needed to know what the potential problems were. So after he confirmed that I was healing very nicely, I kind of happened to sort of slip in a little mention of the planned trip.

"You're going where?"

"Uh, flying to California tomorrow."

"Will you be close to a hospital in case you have problems?"

"Absolutely!"

"Okay. Promise me you'll take it easy, and I'll see you in 3 months."

"Yesss!"

Monday Meanderings - 12.26.2011

2011-12-26T07:42:00.000-06:00

I'm still awash in the sea of Christmas. I hope that you and yours have been as blessed as we have been.

I did surface long enough to note that at about 3pm on December 20th, the 10,000th visit to this blog took place. I don't know who it was, but they use RoadRunner (Time Warner) as a service provider, and they use a Mac. Who would have thought?

There have been a lot of Meanderings over the last week - so many that I'm going to have to sort it all out before writing about it.

So, take a breather, as I must, and we'll get back together later.

Bob

The moose story - stories for my grandchildren

2011-12-21T05:08:00.017-06:00

I mentioned my Grandmother Anderson's brother from Canada - the one who brought fermented cranberries to the family dinner - and promised more, so here's the moose story.

Great Uncle Jess (I mistakenly called him Virgil earlier; though he is named Jessie Virgil, he went by Jess) went with his dad to Canada when he was seventeen years old (he was born in 1896). Canada was the new frontier at the time, and it suited Uncle Jess just fine. He stayed, living most of his life in primitive areas of British Columbia, became a Canadian citizen and married a young woman from Norway, Mariene Carlsen. Together, they lived in the backwoods, hunting and trapping for food and engaging in the fur business as a livelihood. When civilization encroached, they simply moved further back into the wilderness.

Years later, on one of their visits to Texas, my brother Jim thoughtfully taped several hours of conversation with the pair, and the stories they told were incredible - the stuff of the wilderness adventure novel, but true. Like the time they were out running their bear traps. One of the traps had a bear and Uncle Jess was busy skinning it, when he said that he heard the snap of a rifle and the next thing he knew a 400 pound bear came crashing down the hillside and rolled right over him. When he freed himself from under the newly-deceased bear and stood up, he found that Mariene had seen the bear up the trail, and just as it charged, shot it with a small caliber rifle and fortunately pierced the bear's heart!

On another occasion they were moose hunting, but had seen no prey, so stopped to prepare their meal. They had but one rifle with them, and Uncle Jess leaned it against a rock and turned to build a fire. Almost immediately, he heard the gun go off, and he thought, "Oh No! The rifle fell over and when I turn around I'm going to be a widower." What actually happened was Aunt Mariene saw a young bull moose on the trail, picked up the rifle and shot it between the eyes! But I digress.

The moose story happened right at home. At one point, the couple lived by a navigable river and depended on a boat operated by a mining company up the river for supplies. In return, they provided the company fresh meat. It was late in the season, and bear meat was all that was available, so Uncle Jess was delighted to see a pair of moose swimming across the river to their bank. He shot and killed one, but missed the other. The moose he shot was floating down river, so he jumped in the canoe, chased down the moose, put a rope on it and began towing it back to their dock.

In the meantime, Mariene, having heard the shots, came down to see what was going on. She saw a moose struggling to get up on the steep bank out of the river; it only had its front hooves and nose on the bank at that point. Thinking that Jess had shot and mortally wounded it, Mariene picked up a hatchet from the nearby wood pile, walked over to the moose and dispatched it with a stroke between the eyes! When Jess got back with his moose, she asked him what he wanted to do with the other moose. What moose? The other one you shot. I only shot one moose. You mean there was nothing wrong with that moose I just killed with a hatchet?

And that's the moose story.

The Jesus hat

2011-12-19T20:19:00.001-06:00

I have fun wearing my Santa hat during this season. It's always neat to see some little kid's eyes get big when I walk in a store or restaurant. And when I wear it some place I regularly go, like the recording studio, or the dentist's office, there is a lot of comment and joking about being naughty or nice. Occasionally there's even a photo op. The other evening I wore it into Chuy's and an elderly gentleman (all things are relative) came over to the table and thanked me for wearing the hat. He said it brought some joy to the place, and he just liked seeing it.

But there are some places and circumstances where the hat makes me a little uncomfortable. Like when I pull up to a stop sign wearing the hat and there's a panhandler standing on the corner. Now, it is not my custom to accommodate panhandlers. You may disagree with me on that, but that is my position. So there I sit, and the dude is looking at me, and looking at the hat and I know he's thinking, "You're a phony. You ain't living up to the hat."

So the other day, after one of these experiences, it occurred to me, "What if - instead of Santa hats - we all wore Jesus hats?" You know, hats that clearly and loudly identify us as followers of Jesus. Hats that proclaim we have chosen a life as a follower, a representative, a servant.

Where would we be uncomfortable wearing a Jesus hat? Almost everywhere? Who would look at us and say, " Phoney!" Excuse me while I try to slip onto the back row here, where I might be less noticible.

Join me as I reflect on the reason for the season and ponder my choice of wearing apparel for the coming year.

Monday Meanderings - 12.19.2011

2011-12-19T05:11:00.019-06:00

Santa came early and brought an iPad. Apple, the original minimalist company, included these instructions - and only these instructions - for using the iPad (the pen is to show you the scale of the information card):

Now here is the 8 1/2 X 11 sheet of instructions for the cover!

More than twice the amount of information for attaching and using the cover than for the device itself!

And now we have the problem that confronts all of us media-savvy, socially-conscious, cyber families - where to plug in all the charging stations?

Formula 1 is back on the agenda for Austin. However, in order to fund it, now they are going to set it up as a toll road. All the cars stop at toll booths once a lap and pay a fee.

I was wearing my Santa hat at the recording studio the other day and one of the regulars came in and said, "Santa, I've been very naughty. But of course you knew that, didn't you?"

It's been raining off and on for a week now. That's not a bad thing in Texas, mind you, but it reminds us of how fickle we are when it comes to weather. It even makes one think nostalgically of those days of summer. Those 80 days in a row of triple digit summer. Okay, maybe not yet, but I sure would like to see some sunshine.

Surprisingly, there is now more color in the leaves in this area than we have seen in several years. It seems late in the season for that, especially considering the drought conditions all year. But they are beautiful, unless they have all fallen off - like the leaves in my front yard.

I'm really hoping for a good breeze to come along and blow these in my neighbor's yard, as usual.

You can't pee until you go home.

2011-12-16T05:38:00.002-06:00

I posted some months back about some of the strange things that can occur during a hospital stay. In this case, my wife was the patient and I was just the observer. This time around, I was the ~~victim~~ patient, and it wasn't a hospital as such, but rather a "surgical center" - one of those places that provide only out-patient services. For the record, I had a bit of sinus work done; it was no big deal and I'm fine, thank you.

When my ENT doctor set up this procedure, he gave me a packet of information which included a brochure from the Grace L. Furguson Surgical Center and Storm Door Company, and I dutifully read through all the information. One of the first things to catch my eye was a prominent section about Advanced Directives - a fancy term for "do not resuscitate." Since I was to be the resusitee, in this case, I read the section closely. In brief, the surgical center insisted that you bring a copy of the DNR orders, but that you should be aware that they would ignore them and resuscitate you to the extent that they could push you across the street to the real hospital next door where you could happily pass on to your reward! Really?

Next in the brochure was the requirement that you spend the better part of an hour filling in the online patient history and medical information. It was, to say the least, extensive but doing that online is preferable to trying to juggle one of those little clip boards they give you when you get there. So guess what was the first thing that they had you do when you arrived for check in? "Just these few questions, and review this page....and this one... and..."

The brochure also proudly proclaimed that the surgical center was a WI-FI hot spot, but signs everywhere said cell phones were verboten.

Hospital gowns have long been the butt (pun intended) of many a joke, so I was pleasantly surprised to see that they gave me some pants along with the gown - and this was no flimsy paper gown - it had an inner lining and a cardboard "portal" that allowed them to attach a flexible tube and blow warm air into the liner portion of the gown! How ~~cool~~ warm was that? I wonder what that cost me? Along with the disposable blood pressure cuff?

Okay, I'm prepped and ready, and off we go - down this corridor and that, turn this way, turn that way, back and cut to get around this corner and here we are at the operating room where the door is apparently too small for the bed I'm on! So I hop out of bed and walk into the OR! I wonder if they drug me out when they were done or had me walk out on my own?

And you know how when you are dismissed from a regular hospital there's all this waiting around for forms to sign and more waiting around for someone to come get you? Well, there's no waiting around at the Grace L. Furguson Surgical Center and Storm Door Company. I guess they needed the bed. "Sorry, you'll have to do that when you get home. Time to go. Bye."

That's okay. I was ready to come home anyway.

Health Day

2011-12-14T07:27:00.000-06:00

Maybe that should read "Mental Health Day."

See you on Friday.

Monday Meanderings - 12.12.2011

2011-12-12T06:01:00.004-06:00

I wore my Santa hat into the allergist's office the other day - none of the nurses wanted to give me my shot. "Uh-uh! I'm not sticking Santa Claus. Not me. Go get Dr. Goldstein - it won't matter if he hurts Santa."

Well, I'm on another round of steroids, and as I mentioned, that's mostly all on the up-side for me. It must have a cumulative effect, or I'm just getting used to how good food tastes when you are on this stuff and the good smells just keep on coming. That, of course, tends to interfere with my new life-style, eating-wise, and I admit that there have been a few days of disappointments on the scales, but I am proud to say that I reached a milestone this past week - down 20 pounds! Thank you.

Weight loss is not without its issues. For instance, my pants keep slipping down. I got some new jeans and I needed a new (shorter) belt, so we stopped by a men's store on Friday. I needed to try on a belt, but as soon as I removed the old one, my pants started toward the floor. I grabbed them just in time, thank goodness. It would have been awkward to explain to the clerk why my wife was collapsed on the floor in the middle of the store, laughing her **** off.

Speaking of tasting good, we were walking through an HEB the other evening and saw a gingerbread house kit. The gingerbread is already baked and cut in the needed shapes, and all the icing and other goodies are included. Barb said, "We could get one of those and put it together. And then we could eat it." I suggested that we might consider just eating it without going to all the trouble of putting it together.

The question is: was this fraud, practicing medicine without a license, or good customer service? My doctor sent me for some blood work, but when I handed the lab technician the order, she took one look at the medical code and said, "What? There's no way they will pay for this under that code!" So she called the doctor's office and talked to several people in order to get the right number. But when she put the new number in the computer, it was came back invalid as well. "Okay, I know the number this should be...let's use this one. There you go!"

The power went off the other evening after some poor soul plowed through a major power line pole over on Cameron Road. We are properly prepared for contingencies like that, though; we got out the battery-powered lantern that gave us enough illumination to get around safely, and then we settled down foe a quiet evening at home. No TV, no stereo, no phone, no distractions. Just Barb and I in the quiet companionship of a time together with no interruptions- she with her Kindle, and me with my iPad. Nice.

And there is no truth to the rumor that we have not decorated the house for Christmas. See?

People are the strangest folks I know

2011-12-09T00:09:00.000-06:00

Okay, here's a confession. It's after midnight and the Blog muse turned in hours ago, but I simply cannot disappoint my faithful readers (neither one of them) so I turn once again to News of the Weird. Somehow that fits the week I've had.

A New Hampshire woman who brought her mother's ashes to bingo games for good luck is hoping for their return after the urn containing them was stolen. Police say the urn was stolen from Diane Bozzi's van Tuesday morning in Rochester by someone targeting unlocked cars. Bozzi says the urn was in a bag that she was planning to take to her bingo game later in the day. She and her mother loved playing bingo together. Before her mother died in 2002, Bozzi promised her she would take some of her ashes with her to play. Her mother agreed, saying she would bring Bozzi luck. For everybody but Mom, I guess.

Rhode Island residents have complained for weeks about foul odors wafting from the state's main landfill, so state lawmakers are pledging to investigate and see where their noses lead them. The General Assembly announced Wednesday that a commission that will try to put an end to the rotten-egg smell at the Johnston landfill. The odor has prompted complaints from as far away as Attleboro, Mass., about 14 miles away. The agency that operates the landfill blames recent rains for the smell and has installed vents to trap gasses coming from it. Okay, let's see if I get this straight. The county dump smells bad. Really?

A Utah bird hunter was shot in the buttocks after his dog stepped on a shotgun laid across the bow of a boat. Box Elder County Sheriff's Deputy Kevin Potter says the 46-year-old Brigham City man was duck hunting with a friend when he climbed out of the boat to move decoys. Potter says the man left his 12-gauge shotgun in the boat and the dog stepped on it, causing it to fire. It wasn't clear whether the safety on the gun was on at the time. Can I take a guess? Potter says the man wasn't seriously injured, in part because he was wearing waders. Just be glad he wasn't out hunting with Vice President Dick Cheney.

A Georgia man preparing for the Christmas season spent a night in jail after he was arrested for shooting at mistletoe outside a Decatur shopping mall. William E. Robinson, 66, was charged with reckless conduct and discharging a firearm on someone else's property after he opened fire on a tree that held a sprig of the plant, which is commonly used as a Christmas decoration. Robinson said that he was merely following a holiday tradition when he used his double-barrel 12-gauge shotgun to knock the plant out of a tree outside the North DeKalb Mall. "Every year I go somewhere to get some mistletoe to decorate the house," Robinson told the station. "I get some for my friends that can't get mistletoe. The best way to get it is with a shotgun." And how glad we are that he was not in the Mall shopping for an X-Box?

A 31-year-old Florida man allegedly attempted to shoplift four steaks and a pair of candles by hiding the items in his trousers. Officials arrested Naples resident Dannial Ashley last week after grocery store employees spotted him stuffing the meat and candles -- unlit, of course -- into his pants. When one store worker confronted Ashley, the would-be thief ditched his stolen goods and attempted to escape on foot; an employee reportedly chased down Ashley and convinced him to walk back to the store. Is that a romantic dinner in your pants or are you just happy to see me?

But the story that wins this weeks Weirdness Award is:

Zany experiments testing scientific theories in real-world settings have earned the TV show "MythBusters" a devoted following, but a stunt gone awry met with an unhappy audience when an errant cannonball went shooting through a California family's bedroom. Sheriff's deputies are still measuring how, exactly, the cannonball flew from a bomb range in the rolling hills flanking a suburban San Francisco Bay area neighborhood and rocketed into the front door of a home and through its master bedroom before landing in a neighbor's parked minivan.

Hosts for the Discovery Channel show fired the cannonball Tuesday as they filmed an episode testing whether other types of projectiles shot from a cannon would pick up the same speed and have the same impact as the steel ball. Later, the production team plans to film flying stone cannonballs at a rock quarry in Northern California. Instead of hitting a string of water-filled garbage cans, however, the cannonball passed over the barrels, crashed straight through a protective cinderblock wall and careened off the hill behind it, said Alameda County Sheriff's Department spokesman J.D. Nelson. "It missed the target and took kind of an oddball bounce," Nelson said. "It was almost like skipping a rock on a lake. Instead of burying it into the hill it just went skyward."

So see? Your day is not going so bad after all.

The 5 best toys of all time...

2011-12-07T05:44:00.072-06:00

File this under the heading "Blog ideas that I wish I had thought of first." But I didn't, so I'll just do what I always do and ~~blatantly steal~~ ~~shamelessly borrow~~ graciously credit Wired Magazine's GeekDad blog and writer Jonathan Liu for condensing the all-time great toy list down to the essential 5. Mr, Liu's take -

"All five should fit easily within any budget, and are appropriate for a wide age range so you get the most play out of each one. These are time-tested and kid-approved! And as a bonus, these five can be combined for extra-super-happy-fun-time."

1. Stick
Almost, almost, the universal toy, sticks come in all sizes, from slender twigs to oof! can't pick this sucker up! Easily available everywhere, it's almost as if they grow on trees. And with such a wide variety of shapes and sizes, the right stick can become almost anything - as long as it's a weapon. Traditionally, a stick's primary use is for hitting something. And that something is anything that's within reach, including one's sibling if he or she is not smart enough to stay out of range.

Once hitting grows old, or becomes forbidden in this household, almost any stick can quickly become a gun, or a spear! Or a knife! Or, or, SWORDS! The possibilities are limited only by the child's imagination and the parents absence. And while it is true that more boys play with sticks than girls, I still have a mark where, in the 3rd grade, Ida Jo Waller stabbed me with a pencil, which is a stick in church clothes. That, by the way, is not the only scar given me by Ida Jo, but rocks did not make the list.

2. Box
The bigger the better! Sometimes you get really lucky and find a box that is so big there's almost no way to get it home. Almost, but where there's a will there's a way. And once you possess the box - any box - it can become a rocket ship, or an automobile, or a club house, or a cave, or a ship, or a table, or (usually unsuccessfully) a chair, or a castle, or, or... What can't you do with the right box? And cardboard boxes also incorporate the thrill of sneaking one of your mother's sharp (until you get hold of it) knives, so that you can cut portholes or windows. And other things. See? Right here on my left index finger. A scar that Ida Jo was not responsible for.

3.String
Another toy that comes in all sizes and infinite lengths. It can be used to connect other toys and small furry animals, though that didn't work well in my case. Or it's great to string between two tin cans to make a telephone. It's almost always associated with other objects of play, such as tops, or big buttons (to make them spin) or if it is of sufficient girth, tied around other playmates hands and feet. As mentioned, cat's tails are not recommended. Nor is the neck.

4. Cardboard tube
Also known as a "doot de doot" in its smaller sizes for the noise they make when you hum or sing into them. The smaller ones can also become wonderful drum-like instruments that make a really neat, annoying bonking noise when you hit them on other things, such as other cardboard tubes, or your sibling's head. See number one, above. Believe it or not, Chet Atkins released a rock and roll song in the '50s called the "Boo Boo Stick Beat" that featured - cardboard tubes being hit together. Hey! I was a disk jockey then. I actually played the song on the radio!

Cardboard tubes, if large enough, assume the properties of an artificial stick. Flimsy tubes, such as those found in Christmas wrap make wonderful swords, in that it's really hard to significantly hurt one another with these. The downside is that after a few whacks they tend to break apart and return to ordinary strips of cardboard and are quickly abandoned. Occasionally, you find an industrial strength tube, and then you become the baddest dude on the block.

5. Dirt
Now we are talking the quintessential toy! Available anywhere, in infinite quantity and multiple consistencies, dirt comes in a rainbow of earth-tones. You can work with dirt in its dry state, but to really appreciate the stuff, you also need water. Digging holes is a wonderful dirt pastime. Filling them with water is even better. Sitting in water-filled holes you have just dug tops it all. Girls appreciate a good mud pie now and then, but if you are patient and get the consistency just right, you can used dirt as - that's right, a weapon! Push it around, pack it into any container, throw it up in the air, track it in the house, even eat a little of it. There's just no end to what you can do with dirt.

So, as you brave the malls and prepare to pepper-spray your fellow shoppers so that you can grab that last X-Box, give some thought that maybe, just maybe, you can't top the top five.

Monday Meandering 12.05.11

2011-12-05T05:23:00.007-06:00

Before the end of the year some visitor will log the 10,000th visit to my blog. Note that that's 10,000 visits, not unique visitors. But that's all the more amazing since there are only three regular readers out there - you guys are really doing a good job! And I noticed that this is my 615th blog entry. I'm amazed that I've stuck with it to that long. So here's the deal: you keep visiting, and I'll keep writing. We deserve each other.

We've been watching with interest a construction project up the street. The house on the corner of January and Braker - the one that burned a while back - was on a double lot. Some previous owner put a swimming pool on the 2nd lot and for a time, an RV was parked there. But all the sudden a construction crew scraped the ground in front of the pool, poured a foundation on the tiny space left, and in a matter of a week framed a house on that lot. A big house. Almost a McMansion. Curious.

And further up the street the Valero station is messin' with my head. I'll drive by on the way to run an errand and the price for regular gas will be $3.06. When I come back a few minutes later it's $3.08. OK, gas is going up again. But a few hours later Barb and I will drive by and it's $3.06 again. What? Then that evening it's back to $3.08! Three times in one day? and this is one of the signs where someone has to come out and change the numbers manually. I got the last laugh, though. I bought gas at Costco for $2.90. Take that Valero!

My ENT doctor sent me to Austin Radiological for a scan. Walked in for the appointment and was met by a hostess! She took my name, directed me to a seat, asked if I wanted coffee, then went to get my paperwork. She brought that, took my insurance cards, traded them for my filled-out forms, asked if there was anything she could do, or if I had any questions. In a minute she came and got me and handed me off to the radiologist, who was equally solicitous of my well-being. Really not my usual doctor's office experience. Wonder what that cost me?

Had to eat a big helping of crow the other night. My spouse and I were in disagreement about whether the limbs of Christmas trees grow up or down. I was finally able to persuade her that I was right, with just the teeniest bit of gloating after she came around. Then later in the evening, I realized she was right. Hot sauce really helps make the dish edible.

And Barb was the one who pointed out that the cows in the Chik-Fil-A commercials are actually dairy cows, and as such are seldom eaten.

We picked up a couple of DVDs in the Wal Mart bargain bin, movies I thought suitable for watching-while-walking. Opened the first one and the disk was totally blank - no title, no verbiage of any kind. Put it in the drive and the first thing up was a little message about staying alert for pirated DVDs. Like those with no printing on them. Huh?

And here's a billboard between here and Waco:

Do you smell what I smell?

2011-12-02T05:17:00.007-06:00

The sense of smell is an interesting phenomenon. If you have one. My sinus problems have diminished my ability to smell for many years. Most of the time, I wouldn't be able to smell gasoline if it were squirted up my nose. And then, after some medical intervention, I'm acutely aware of the odors around me, and for the most part it's sensory overload!

Most often, the difference-maker for me is steroids; a few days into a course of Prednisone and I can detect strong odors. A few days after that, the more subtle aromas become evident. Opening a container of coffee becomes a heavenly experience. Walking into Chuy's is almost more than I can abide. It's a whole new world.

Of course, there is a down side. Not all aromas are pleasant, but let's talk rather about the association between smell and taste. It is well established that smell is the larger part of the taste experience and significantly affects appetite. So I've always said, if I could smell, I would weigh 400 pounds. I wonder if that is why steroid users usually have significant weight gain. They can smell, or smell better than they could. What I find is that things taste differently to me when I'm able to "smell good." And interestingly, not all things taste better. It's what you are used to, I guess.

There's also the issue of lingering smells. Sometimes they linger because that's normal. I fried a slice of bacon the other morning (47 calories, okay?) to go with my scrambled eggs (120 calories). The house smelled of bacon the rest of the day! Good thing I wasn't trying to hide it. Jana commented the other day about the unmistakable aroma of an Allsups that clung so, she felt she would have to burn her jacket to get rid of it. And sometimes my "smeller" gets stuck on a particular odor. Just a short exposure can trigger a lingering smell that stays with me the rest of the day, no matter where I am after that.

I'm due for a second round of steroids soon, so I'm expecting my sense of smell to be elevated to a new level. Think I'll go to the Candle Factory. They may have to drag me out by my heels when I OD on aromas.

Serve Out

2011-11-30T05:39:00.015-06:00

Amazingly, it is the end of another month. Usually, I drag out all the bizarre photos that have accumulated in the inner recesses of my computer, but this time I think I'll recycle some of the newspaper articles that I have clipped and stuck on the wall.

Like the one about the middle-aged white couple seen stealing political signs in the Austin area. Not all that unusual for one party to vandalize another party's signage, but these two seem apolitical - they are taking all of the signs from all candidates that they can get their hands on. The printed portion, the wooden stakes, the metal rods - it's all being scooped up. Police are looking for a house under construction using recycled materials.

Speaking of signs, how about the prank brought to you by the letter 'T' and the students at Georgia Tech? The letter 'T' is disappearing from signs all over campus, costing the school more than $100,000 in repairs. Officials at the school are asking students to knock it off. Undergraduate President Elle Creel says the tradition of stealing the 'T' off Tech Tower began in the 1960s. But this new ritual involves taking a 'T' from everything from stadium signs to book return bins in front of the campus library. Student leaders recently launched an amnesty program to try and retrieve some of the letters.

Did you see that PETA wanted Turkey, Texas to change the town's name to Tofurkey, Texas? That's a contraction of Tofu and Turkey, a vegan alternative, if you didn't get it. The mayor of Turkey, Pat Carson, was not too receptive to the idea. And shortly after, the owners of Pork Barrel BBQ, a barbecue sauce company, offered the town $1,000 and part of the company's web site profits to briefly change the name to Barbecue, Texas. Apart from being the home of Bob Wills, the little town of Turkey hasn't got a lot going for it; maybe auctioning off the name is a good idea.

Or did you hear about the wild turkey that smashed through a plate glass window at an empty restaurant near Pittsburgh, PA. and ended up where millions of its fellow gobblers did on Thanksgiving: a dining room? Penn Hills police said the feathered fowl didn't survive impact when it barreled into the dining room of the Eat'n Park on Thursday afternoon. The restaurant was closed at the time. Obviously the turkey's escape plan didn't work out as planned.

Several possible victims have come forward alleging a woman posing as a Florida doctor and promising buttocks enhancement pumped their behinds with a toxic concoction of, well, cement, superglue and flat-tire sealant, state health officials said Tuesday. It gets stranger -

Oneal Ron Morris — who police say was born a man and identifies as a woman — was arrested Friday after nearly a year of being sought and charged with practicing medicine without a license with serious bodily injury. Authorities say a victim who was looking to get a job at a nightclub and wanted a curvier figure paid Morris $700 for the injections in 2010. Morris allegedly used some type of tubing and injected the toxic chemicals into her backside during a painful procedure. You think?

And all the violence surrounding Black Friday shopping became so common it was no longer an unusual news item. Tasers, pepper spray, clubs - it used to be credit cards that you shouldn't leave home without.

How about the guy in Lubbock who had to be rescued from the chimney of his house? He said he wasn't trying to be Santa Claus. He was just locked out of his house and wanted to save the price of a locksmith, so decided to enter the house through the chimney as his wife and child waited outside around 1 a.m. Monday. The man's wife called 911 after he became stuck and firefighters hauled him out uninjured about an hour later. Ho, ho, ho.

And I'm sorry to report that Frosty the Snowman got arrested in Maryland. Maybe "Surly the Snowman" would be a better name for a costumed man accused of getting out of hand at a Christmas parade. Police in Chestertown, on Maryland's Eastern Shore arrested a man dressed as "Frosty the Snowman" on Saturday after he allegedly fought with a cop and kicked at a police dog. Kevin Michael Walsh became agitated when a dog-handling officer tried to escort him away from the crowd. It's unclear what prompted police to redirect Walsh in the first place, but cops claim that the suspect allegedly hit one officer in the face with the head from his Frosty costume and pushed another cop who tried to put him in a patrol car. Nothing in your stocking this year, Frosty.

Stay sane, my friends. The hard part is still ahead of us.

Monday Meanderings 11.28.2011

2011-11-28T05:03:00.024-06:00

We enjoyed a peaceful Thanksgiving this year - certainly was not as exciting as the Thanksgiving when we tried out the "cook a turkey in a brown paper bag to retain flavor and juices." This was way before the commercial cooking bags hit the market. We were hosting guests - students from ACU - that year. We got up early to get the cooking started, and after everything was set and the bagged turkey was in the oven, we went back to bed. But not for long. The house filled with smoke when the bag caught fire and burned down to the liquid line. Then we almost dumped the whole thing in the floor getting it out of the ash-filled pan, but finally got it cleaned off and back in the oven. As I recall, Thanksgiving dinner was served late that day.

We did not, however, do as badly as a local restaurant, whose deep-fried turkey operation went up in flames early Thursday morning, depriving 125 customers of the Cajun-fried turkeys they were planning on serving in just a few hours! Fortunately, they had set up the fry stations out back, so at least the restaurant itself didn't go up in smoke.

And while we did not enter into the Black Friday shopping frenzy (except online), we did get out and go shopping on Friday for normal stuff, like groceries. We even braved Wal Mart, but stayed in the grocery section and kept purchases under 20 items so as to be able to use the Express lane. Pretty, daring, if you ask me. We might have encountered the lady who used pepper spray to hold off all the other shoppers while she made her selection.

Enjoyed the historic UT-A&M football game - especially the way it turned out. Someone said, "UT won the first one, won the last one, and won the majority of the ones in the middle." I have to gloat a bit; when A&M made their last touchdown with only a couple of minutes to play, Barb packed it in. I was able, a few minutes later, to stick my head in and say, "Oh ye of little faith."

While preparing breakfast the other morning we began hearing a strange noise - something between a small animal in distress and an alarm of some kind. Could not locate the source. Stuck my head outside - nope, coming from in the house. Strongest in the kitchen, Wait, now strongest in the dining room. Something in the attic? Not in any other part of the house. This is really annoying; the eggs are getting cold but how can we sit down to a peaceful breakfast with Eeep! Eeep! Eeep! going on in the background? Wait! It's...it's...coming from Barb's pocket! It was a game app that somehow got punched up!

It appears that in Austin, the F in F1 stands for Flop, not Formula. Anybody want to buy 500 acres of scraped ground in Southeast Travis County? It's out of character, but at least the City and the State didn't sink any up-front money into this boondoggle. Yet.

And this sort of sums it up for me.

Enjoy your week.

A small Thanksgiving memory - stories for my grandchildren

2011-11-25T05:59:00.020-06:00

The tryptophan fog has lifted a bit, but the leftovers live on! I trust your Thanksgiving was a joyful experience, and you were blessed by the day.

A small Thanksgiving memory from many years ago - Grandmother Anderson, my father's mother, had a brother who lived most of his life in the remote, wilderness areas of Canada. His story, and those that he told, are subjects of blogs to come, but for now the focus is on a particular trip he and his wife made to Texas.

I was a teen when I first met Great-Uncle Virgil. I'm unsure of his age at that time, but he and his wife were at the point where the harsh Canadian winters drove them to warmer climates, so annually they came south - usually spending some time with my Grandmother and the rest of the trip exploring warm places.

One of the trips co-insided with Thanksgiving, so the family gathered, and a great feast it was. Great-Uncle Virgil brought a few quarts of Cranberries, picked from bushes in a bog near their home in Canada. Picked fresh, they made the trip to Texas in the back of the car and got processed into Cranberry sauce for the meal. Delicious.

The story is a bit vague from that point, but around the table heads began to snap back after a taste or two of the Cranberry sauce, and knowing glances were exchanged among some of family members. I myself do not clearly remember, but the story is that my little Grandmother, who had consumed several helpings of Cranberries by that time, was just a little bit giggly.

"Why yes, there had been several nights with the temperature below freezing before we picked the Cranberries. And yes, I did seal them in quart jars before we came down? Why do you ask? And would you pass the Cranberries, please?"

Pigorian Chants

2011-11-23T05:16:00.047-06:00

Someone handed me a small booklet with an enclosed CD of...Pigorian Chants. Yes, classical Gregorian chants, by pigs. Well, voices assuming the role of pigs, and cows and chickens, and even the farmer.

Although this delightful little book has been around for a while, it's a new finding for me - so if you already have 3 copies, I apologize. The whole thing is from the imagination of Sandra Boynton, long famous for her whimsical greeting cards embellished with, well, pigs and cows and chickens, etc. I tried diligently to incorporate a sample of the pictures and audio, but I don't have the technical acumen to pull that off, and if I did, I would probably fall afowl (that's a pun) of Ms. Boynton's lawyers, never mind the pictures you see here. So I'll just describe as best I can what the book is about.

The chants begin with the pigs fast asleep. They chant:

Ore-Snay, OreSnay.       Snore, snore.

Ore-Snay, OreSnay.       Snore, snore.

Ore-Snay, OreSnay.       Snore, snore.

Ore-Snay, OreSnay. Snore, snore.

It's possible that you noticed that the pigs chant in Pig Latin. The dawn comes, and the animals awaken. First the Rooster, then the chickens:

Coccadoodul du. Cock-a-doodle-doo.
Ego dixi: I said,
Coccadoodul du. Cock-a-doodle-doo.

O, primam lucem.          O, first light!

Sol surgit.               The sun is rising.

Gallus magnifice          The strutting

incedens exclamat.        Rooster calls.

Nunc venit agricola.      Now comes the farmer.

Ecce Macdonaldus Senex    Behold Old MacDonald,
qui fundum habet.         Who has a farm.
E-I-E-I-O                 EIEIO.

And it continues to name the farm animals, with a Ni oink oink hic, and a Ni oink oink ibi.

The gist of the book is that the pigs want to sleep(Et-lay us-ay eep-slay) and not until the farmer threatens to give their food to the chickens can they be rousted (Op-stay, Opstay. E're-way oming-cay!).

The cow's response?

Margaritas ante porcos.    Pearls before swine.
Allemooia, allemooooooia. Allemoia, Allemooia.
Et in Arcadia sumus.       Country life is
                           overrated.

There's much, much more. Quoting from the back cover:
"Intoned in the original Pig Latin, with antiphonal responsoria and commentaria in Latin by the lesser barnyard animals, and featuring the ethereal polyphony of chickens, this music is not soon to be forgotten."

I'll be honest - this is not a recording that you will treasure over the years and play it again and again. A little chanting gos a long way, But it may be that you are in need of a white elephant gift for an upcoming party. This might be - if you can still find it in the stores - just the item.

Monday Meanderings - 11.21.2011

2011-11-21T05:12:00.006-06:00

They handed out the annual certificates of appreciation at Learning Ally this past week. Mine said that I have logged a total of 527 hours in the studio. I think 500 of that has been devoted to a business statistics book that goes into excruciating detail on building Excel spreadsheets to solve detailed business problems. #notlikethatbook.

Still motivated to keep the exercise and smarter food-choices action going. It continues to bring results, one of which is an increased level of, well...chafed-ness. Not sure how marathon runners handle that. Family-friendly suggestions are needed.

And just in case you are keeping a log, I have now watched all 194 minutes of Titanic, a 1966 movie called Blue Max - an oldy with George Peppard and Ursala Andress, and next is The Iceman Cometh, with Lee Marvin. Maybe I will have to figure out this streaming stuff, after all.

After lackadaisical attendance and flagging interest on our part last year, we decided to forgo season tickets to the Lady Longhorns this year. We have access to good seats if we do decide to see a game on general admission (Barb's hairdresser has access to a block of seats). Have to see how the team does this year.

Typical Texas weather. Put the extra blanket on the bed a few nights ago. Air Conditioning came on yesterday.

You all have a good week.

A small memory abberation

2011-11-18T05:19:00.005-06:00

From time to time, we go up the highway to Pflugerville, to a Catfish restaurant that we enjoy. On the way, the road curves to the right, and just at the bend of that curve is an eating establishment called "Charlie's Steak House." Every time we pass it, I have a small memory hiccup and I think of trips to the little town of Lowake and steak dinners.

I can only guess that one of the two steak houses that once were in Lowake was named Charlie's, or was located at the bend of the road, or both. I do know that this was not the one we went to; we passed Charlie's and stopped at the Lowake Steak House.

Further clouding my memory is that this was all about 50 years ago, when a student in Abilene. A trip to Lowake was a special date; it was, after all about 75 miles away, down toward San Angelo. And the steaks were not cheap, even back then. Huge, but not cheap. You only took hot girls to Lowake. Barb says she doesn't remember going with me, but I am certain that I did take her. I remain adamant on that point.

Lowake was a hoppin' place, to have been in the middle of nowhere. There was even an airstrip for the fly-in traffic. Possibly, part of the attraction was the availability of adult beverages served with your meal. Abilene was located in what was at that time a dry county. Not the case in Concho County. I was always too chicken, but it was always very interesting to look around and see fellow students (and one or two faculty members) pretending that was not their beverage in front of them.

There is still a Lowake Steakhouse today. I understand that it's hard for you and your date to get out for less than $60, even without adult beverages, and the reviews are not too favorable. I don't know if ACU students still make that trip or not. I know the few times that I went down there remain memorable; so much so there's a little mind trick every time I pass by Charlie's Steak House.

Older than Dirt?

2011-11-16T05:58:00.013-06:00

Count all the ones that you actually remember; not the ones you were told about, or saw on TV or in a movie.

1. Blackjack chewing gum
2. Wax Coke-shaped bottles with colored sugar water
3. Candy cigarettes
4. Soda pop machines that dispensed glass bottles
5. Coffee shops or diners with table-side juke boxes
6. Home milk delivery in glass bottles with cardboard stoppers
7. Party lines on the telephone
8. Newsreels before the movie
9. P.F. Flyers
10. Butch wax
11. TV test patterns that came on at night after the last show
12. Peashooters
13. Howdy Doody
14. 45 RPM records
15. S& H green stamps
16. Hi-fi's
17. Metal ice trays with lever
18. Mimeograph paper
19. Blue flashbulb
20. Packards
21. Roller skate keys
22. Cork popguns
23. Drive-ins
24. Studebakers
25. Wash tub wringers
26. Head lights dimmer switches on the floor
27. Ignition switches on the dashboard
28. Heaters mounted on the inside of the fire wall
29. Pant leg clips for bicycles without chain guards
30. Using hand signals for cars without turn signals

There's supposed to be some kind of score matrix with this quiz, but I forget what it is.

Monday Meanderings - 11.14.2011

2011-11-14T05:32:00.033-06:00

It's been an interesting week on the political circuit; Governor Goodhair is proving himself a prime candidate - as the source of humor for the late-night TV guys. Natalie Manes (Dixie Chicks) got in some serious hot water for saying she was ashamed to admit she was from Texas. Hmmm.

Latest entertainment is giving the telemarketers grief. Usually we just let the answering machine pick up, but for those very, very persistent ones that call several times a day, the new approach is to answer and play the role of an old, disoriented person (which I find is not all that hard). While they are trying to tell me about refinancing my mortgage, I'm acting like this is a call from cousin Kenny, and asking how the family is and whatever happened with Oscar's parole hearing? Too soon to tell if they cross the number off the list, but I'm having fun.

Yes, thank you for asking. My better eating choices are indeed paying off. I try not to make a big deal about in front of Barb, but I have lost 16 pounds to date. I tell her that this is just the low-hanging fruit - the easy pounds; it will be a lot harder from here.

Part of the kerfuffle with everybody wanting out of the Big XII has been the formation of the Longhorn Network, the TV alliance between UT and ESPN. Seems other schools thought this gave Texas an unfair advantage on several fronts. The only problem is, to date, only one small cable company, mostly in San Marcos, has picked up the Longhorn Network. So to promote viewership, LN had a free weekend - everything was available to view - on your PC. Being the technical guru that I am, I went to Frys and got the cables that were supposed to allow me to connect the PC to the TV. If you like watching a big screen of nothing but blurry green lines, it was a great success.

Saw an ad in the AARP magazine that said I could look as good as I feel. I was hoping for something a little better than that.

One of the big toys this year is apparently a remote control roach. Really? We pay regularly so we won't have those critters crawling around.

And speaking of unwanted pests - you know how, when you are out and about and checking mail and such on your smart phone, you will get notifications of nearby hot spots that you can access? Here's one that popped up on my phone. How many unwanted visitors do you think this spot attracts?

Movies to walk by

2011-11-11T05:58:00.143-06:00

I mentioned that I was taking my exercise to a new level, which is certainly not hard to do if one was sort of doggin' it, which I was. So instead of the occasional mile on the treadmill, I've committed to a semi-regular regimen of two or more miles on the endless belt each outing (don't judge me - I'm old). But you know the problem. Walking for a long time on the treadmill is like reading the Bible and getting to Leviticus. Boring, Boring, BORING!

I started with the 5th and Final Season (sniff) of Friday Night Lights, but now I'm watching movies. Since Barb and I see, on average, one movie every two or three years, there's an enormous backlog out there just waiting for me. I found a copy of The Shawshank Redemption at the library and that turned out to be quite well done. I picked up a copy of Breaker Morant next, but it was veddy, veddy British, old chap, and there was a danger of falling asleep during the movie, which probably would have had unfortunate consequences, considering the circumstances.

So I switched to The Russians are Coming, the Russians are Coming, which is one of my all-time favorite movies (okay, I know it came out in 1966 and most of you have never heard of it; you will just have to trust me on how good it is). And next was Once Upon a Time in the West - the penultimate Spaghetti Western. I know you've never heard of this movie - it was a colossal flop in the US.

So how do I describe this movie? So bad it's good? Every Western Movie cliche crammed into a mere 171 minutes? Would it help to know Clint Eastwood, who found fame and fortune in spaghetti westerns, turned down a role in the movie? Or that two of the actors committed suicide - one during the filming of the movie by leaping out of his hotel window in full costume?

How could you go wrong with a movie that stars Henry Fonda cast against type as the villain, Charles Bronson as his nemesis, Jason Robards as a bandit, and Claudia Cardinale as a newly widowed homesteader with a past as a prostitute? Scoff if you will, but the film is now generally acknowledged as a masterpiece and one of the best western films ever made. In 2009, it was named to the National Film Registry by the Library of Congress for being “culturally, historically or aesthetically” significant and will be preserved for all time!

But I digress. I have a copy of The Men who Stare at Goats from the library (I didn't say you could get good movies from the library) but it's only 90 minutes long, so I'm going to need a new movie to walk by soon, so the floor is open for nominations. What would you like to see while you are grinding out the miles? Better yet, what should I see? The longer the better, and weirdness is a plus.

Band Bus - Stories for my Grandchildren

2011-11-09T05:38:00.086-06:00

One of our at-large family members, Sarah, recently blogged about the great adventure that comes with being a band parent. We have that experience in common. Who knows how many trips, how many concerts, how many BBQ dinner fund-raisers, how many hours Barb and I spent supporting our two through Junior High Band, High School Band, Concert Band, Stage Band, Marching Band, UIL, State Tryouts, etc.? We felt then, as Sarah does now, that band activities provide significant pluses that make it all worth while. Band kids, by and large, are the kind of peer group you want your kids to associate with. Band activities require discipline, and provide reward for hard work, and promote pride in oneself and one's classmates.

And then there's the band bus. Sarah, you might want to skip the rest of this.

It's not done exactly the same way these days - especially not in the metro areas and big cities, but when I was a band member, we spent hours and hours rolling down the highway in the common yellow school bus on the way to some football game, and then hours and hours rolling back home again. Most of the time, there was a stop somewhere for supper; often there was a stop at a DQ or equivalent after the game before starting home. It was not uncommon to roll in at 2 or 3 in the morning. When you live in a small town (Breckenridge), your opponents are often many miles away. Abilene, at 60 miles distance was a breeze; Wichita Falls at 90 was a lark. Snyder, at 121, was just on the way to Abernathy, 233 miles distant. And Crane was 390 miles away. We got back in the wee, small hours that trip.

It took two school buses to convey the band (and some few twirlers and cheerleaders). There was the underclassman bus, and the Senior bus. Physically, there was no difference in the two. Psychologically, and esteem-wise, one was a royal coach, the other was a tumbrel. It is with some pride that I can say I never rode on the underclassman bus. It's all in who you know. School was out for us about noon; we made a pretense of gathering our things while waiting for the two buses to pull up, then it was a mad dash to claim a seat. Mrs. Funderburk, the chaperone, and Mr. Roan, the band director, sat on the first two seats, so naturally, the further back in the bus one could position oneself, the more out-of-sight and thus more enjoyable the trip.

We loaded the instruments in bus-top racks, stashed all our gear (and hopefully all of our uniform and regalia) and endured the outbound trip. It was all social, and daylight, and card games and the like. I'm told that some students on the other bus sometimes studied and did homework. Our bus was two or three hours of benign boredom.

The evening meal was always at some location like Underwoods (in Brownwood) or the Crosskeys Cafeteria in Wichita Falls, or wherever two or more fast food outlets gathered together. Get dressed, discover you forgot your Sam Brown belt, swipe one from the other bus and finally get underway to the stadium and the game. First half, showtime, cruise through the second half and gather back at the buses. This was sometimes tricky, in that locals usually took umbrage at the loss the Buckaroos laid on their boys. Once in Wichita Falls, the locals staged a fight beside the buses, hoping to draw in some unsuspecting bandsmen, then pounce on them. They hadn't reckoned on Johnnie LaForge, our raw Cajun drum major and his big drum major baton. Another successful outing.

And then the trip home. Some slept (the aisle was always the best place for that), couples who had already made allegiances paired off for the trip and the rest of us formed new and temporary friendships for the duration. What happened on the band bus stayed on the band bus. Every week was a new beginning. Mr. Roan had a wooden leg; he never risked walking to the back of the bus. Mrs. Funderburk was usually the first person to go to sleep. If it was quiet, Mr. Munnerlin, the driver never turned on the overhead lights.

So what went on in our band bus? Well... I was usually one of the ones who went to sleep. Right away. And I slept until we returned. That's my story. You'll have to ask your kids about theirs.

Monday Meanderings -11.7.11

2011-11-06T05:17:00.008-06:00

Oh, "fall back" means one hour - not one day.

We enjoyed a cool, crisp weekend - a little too nippy of a morning for coffee on the patio (unless one brought one's Snuggie along with the coffee) but the afternoons warmed up delightfully. Trimmed some trees to get ready for bulk brush collection next week. Domesticity is killing me.

Occupy Austin continues to be in the news. Police did arrest a number of folks after a quick rule change about food tables. Unlike Oakland, our folks lined up to get in the paddy wagon, got released and were back on the premises for the next afternoon rally. I do wonder, though, if this is a "leaderless, agenda-less, non-organized" protest, why are we getting automated recorded phone messages urging us to support the protest?

Shouldn't those big bumps in the roads be called "slow bumps?" Just asking.

I think it goes without saying that people who break the law aren't very smart to begin with, but what kind of stupid do have to be to steal a big backhoe from a construction site, like Austinites Steven and Teresa Labato did last week - and then try to hide it in their backyard. Next door to the construction site they stole it from! "This is not the backhoe you are looking for."

I was feeling pretty smug about my daily exercise on the treadmill - until I looked it up and found that the calories burned just about cover the sugar in my coffee. Sigh.

Asked for our favorite waitress at Chuy's on Halloween. They said she was not working. In fact, she and some friends and family were soon seated at the next table, being served by others. Seemed a little strange, especially when she asked her wait person how a particular dish was prepared. I wonder how well she tips?

And the Chuy fish dressed up for Halloween.

Curiously popular post

2011-11-04T05:13:00.034-05:00

Back in May, I wrote a blog about a man named Broderick James, who has come to be known as "Austin's Running Man." He's the dude that could be seen most days - never mind the triple-digit temperatures - running and jogging in place and making like Rocky on the courthouse steps. Except he was doing all this on a swath of grass by the HEB until construction moved him across the street to the Sonic lawn.

I mentioned that he says he runs "because I am free. I run to inspire others to be bold in their dreams, their thinking, and be who they were created to be. I offer true optimism through my dedication to the city and its people thereof. I run to show that I am opposed to poverty, stress, depression, and obesity."

I also mentioned later that corporate HEB was keeping a very close eye on Mr. James and they visited my blog regularly to see if there was more news about the gentleman. Seems HEB is not the only one interested in the Running Man. I have had more visits to this particular blog than to any other blog I've written save one - all from people Googling "Austin Running Man" or something similar. More than 140 people have accessed this blog entry as a result of a search. Some have even left comments. Like this one posted just a few days ago:

"Well, I know Broderick James Jr. personally, we first moved here when he came back home from Iraq. Broderick doesn't tell people he has children or even acknowledge them. I was very sad when someone that knows Broderick and I and our children, informed me that he says that he doesn't have children. I wonder if that is the reason why they do not get phone calls on birthdays, Christmas, or any other holidays. He is a great guy but when you don't take care of your children and you help everyone else, what does that really say about you. I'm not saying dead beat dad like others, but that's what it's called."

So now it appears that I can add a new dimension to my blog. Marriage and Family Counseling. Maybe I can get a TV show.

The Doctor is in.

You picked a fine time to lose weight, Lucille!

2011-11-02T05:04:00.022-05:00

I finally broke down and went back to see Dr. S - otherwise known as the Rotor-Rooter guy. Sinus congestion and blockage was driving me (and all those around me) crazy, so I made an appointment to start up the process that will eventually end up with long sharp objects in places I never want them. Hey, I've already had needles stuck in my eye this year! What's an electric drill up the nose after that? Oh. Sorry. I wasn't going to be so descriptive.

But first, Dr. S. has to deal with the immediate issue that I can't breath through my nostrils much of the time. That's not a new problem with me; I was 14 years old before I learned that you were supposed to be able to breath through both nostrils at once. That's why you had two, right? Breath through one for a while, then it stops up and you breath through the other one. It's when they gang up on you that's the problem. So, I'm back on industrial strength steroids.

The Doc asked me if I tolerated steroids well. I said he probably ought to ask my wife that. Other than the occasional outbursts of rage ('roid rage it's called in the sports world) and the staying awake all night, steroids are wonderful! They cure what ails me, Big Time! I can breath freely, I can smell things, I've got boundless energy (until I crash). I love 'em. Oh, and there is that other little problem. On steroids, I want to eat every thing on the table and then I want to start in on the table itself!

Now comes the conflict. A couple of weeks earlier I had an annual check-up with Dr. R. Tests came back pretty good, but there were a few things he didn't like - mainly my weight. So after ~~reaming me out pretty good~~ ~~a stern lecture~~ some counseling on the Doc's part, I came away with the conviction that it was time to do something. Dr. R. does not preach dieting; he is wholly vested in the gospel of changed lifestyle. I read that that's a good thing and that there are a number of ways to approach it, but approach it you must.

So, with my good wife's help, I am now walking the path of portion control and healthy choices. And I must say that so far it only partially sucks. I was managing pretty well until I augmented my diet with 50 MG of Prednisone a day. Did you know that with a little salt, the morning newspaper is not too bad? Bland, but filling. And I'm not saying a word about the missing potholders.

Oh. And exercise. Barb walks at the Mall. Thank goodness she just walks and doesn't shop. I walk on the treadmill because Dr C. (yes, I can sing the alphabet song with my doctor's initials) does not want me walking outside "vacuuming up allergens." But I wasn't walking that often, nor very far. So I set up the laptop on the treadmill and now I watch episodes of old TV programs (just finished the final season of Friday Night Lights. I'm a little behind. And I still say it's the best thing ever done on TV!) I haven't figured out the download streaming thingy so I get DVDs of old movies from the library.

Watching programs while you walk is similar to driving and listening to Books on Tape. First thing you know you are in New Mexico and some police officer says you crossed the border doing 90. You sort of loose track of time and distance stuff.

So. Now you know more than you ever wanted to know about me and my diet, exercise and meds. But that's just the steroids talking. You want to make something of it??!!

Monday Meanderings -10.31.2011

2011-10-31T05:46:00.007-05:00

I got my first Halloween fright the other night. The first political TV commercial of the season. Scary.

So after Barb saying she could live with a St Louis Series win, she decided in retrospect that she was wrong about that.

A couple of blogs back, I visited some improbable obituaries. My daughter, for some reason I cannot fathom, commented that she thought I might be making some of that up. Now I ask you - do you take me for the sort of person that would fabricate... oh, never mind. But here, here is a made-up obituary:

Waldo, 36, is missing and presumed dead. “We Gave up looking for him years ago.” Said a spokesman for a local search team. “In the past we’d scour the earth, but every time we’d find him he’d take off again. Finally, we put his picture on a mild carton and said the hell with it.” Other reactions were mixed.” It was a case of sibling rivalry,” said Carmen Sandiego a half-sister. “Waldo tried to outdo me by hiding in shopping malls and outdoor rock concerts. These had no educational value, so it’s no wonder people stopped caring.” “The little deadbeat owed us for 20,000 tasseled caps, said a spokesman for the Acme Headgear Co. “Now we’re filing for bankruptcy, thanks to him.” A memorial service for Waldo will be held at 11 a.m. tomorrow at an unspecified location. Those wishing to attend will have to find it for themselves.

Article in the paper the other day about a Bastrop resident who lost her home in the fires trying to cancel her satellite TV service, since she obviously didn't need it at the moment. The service rep was insistent that the customer must return the satellite, converter box and cable to the company. The customer kept asking "What part of the house burned down do you not understand." I could make a fortune and benefit mankind in general if I could write an app for your phone that would bop stupid people in the head at the press of a button. Of course, it would only work in one direction. Of course.

Every time I see one of those big TxDot highway signs that says "Missing Elderly" I check the license plate to make sure I'm not the guy who wandered off. You never know.

You know I likes me some coffee on the patio of a morning, but I am to the point that the evening is just not complete without that wonderful cup of decaf. Here's an unpaid plug for Community Coffee out of Louisiana (unpaid, but if some corporate social media VP at Community wants to reward me... Just saying...). Try the Cafe Special, available in both decaf and leaded at most major grocers. Use a little more coffee than you might be used too. Oh, and their tea is superb as well.

And a very scary Halloween to you.

Serve Out

2011-10-28T05:07:00.015-05:00

Why yes, it is the end of another month and things have indeed piled up around here again, as usual, so let's pull out some of those things lurking in the dark.

Need a Halloween costume suggestion for your dog?

Or your phone?

Good. Punctuation is important.

An OCD snake!

Hmmm.

Never thought about the view from the Canadian side, did you?

Well, perhaps just snippy!

And some days nothing goes right.

Have a pleasant Friday.

A few last words

2011-10-26T05:01:00.008-05:00

I don't want to make too big a deal about this, okay, but I've been thinking about my obituary, so I decided to see what others have said. You know, kinda looking for inspiration. I probably won't go with something like this -

But there are other choices:
Dolores Aguilar, born in 1929 in New Mexico, left us on August 7, 2008.

Dolores had no hobbies, made no contribution to society and rarely shared a kind word or deed in her life. I speak for the majority of her family when I say her presence will not be missed by many, very few tears will be shed and there will be no lamenting over her passing.

Her family will remember Dolores and amongst ourselves we will remember her in our own way, which were mostly sad and troubling times throughout the years. We may have some fond memories of her and perhaps we will think of those times too. But I truly believe at the end of the day ALL of us will really only miss what we never had, a good and kind mother, grandmother and great-grandmother. I hope she is finally at peace with herself. As for the rest of us left behind, I hope this is the beginning of a time of healing and learning to be a family again.

There will be no service, no prayers and no closure for the family she spent a lifetime tearing apart. We cannot come together in the end to see to it that her grandchildren and great-grandchildren can say their goodbyes. So I say here for all of us, GOOD BYE, MOM.

Or this:
Frederic Arthur (Fred) Clark, who had tired of reading obituaries noting other’s courageous battles with this or that disease, wanted it known that he lost his battle as a result of an automobile accident on June 18, 2006. True to Fred’s personal style, his final hours were spent joking with medical personnel while he whimpered, cussed, begged for narcotics and bargained with God to look over his wife and kids. During his life he excelled at mediocrity. He loved to hear and tell jokes, especially short ones due to his limited attention span.

When his family was asked what they remembered about Fred, they fondly recalled how Fred never peed in the shower – on purpose. He died at MCV Hospital and sadly was deprived of his final wish which was to be run over by a beer truck on the way to the liquor store to buy booze for a double date to include his wife, Rush Limbaugh and Ann Coulter to crash an ACLU cocktail party. In lieu of flowers, Fred asks that you make a sizable purchase at your local ABC store or Virginia winery (please, nothing French – the *censored*) and get rip roaring drunk at home with someone you love or hope to make love to. Additionally, all of Fred’s friend (sic) will be asked to gather in a phone booth, to be designated in the future, to have a drink and wonder, “Fred who?”

GRAHAM MASON, the journalist who has died aged 59, was in the 1980s the drunkest man in the Coach and Horses, the pub in Soho where, in the half century after the Second World War, a tragicomedy was played out nightly by its regulars. Unlike his friend Jeffrey Bernard, though, Graham Mason did not make himself the hero of his own tragedy. His speciality was the extreme. In one drinking binge he went for nine days without food. On one cold day he complained of the noise that the snow made as it landed on his bald head.

His practice of “boozer’s economics” meant dressing in the shabbiest of clothes, many of them inherited from the late husband of the woman with whom he lived. He wore a threadbare duffel coat with broken toggles. One day it was inexplicably stolen from the pub coathook. After Marsh Dunbar’s death in 2001, with almost all his friends dead, he sat imprisoned by emphysema in his flat, with a cylinder of oxygen by his armchair and bottles of white wine by his elbow, looking out over the Thames, still very angry.

Louis J. Casimir Jr. bought the farm Thursday, Feb. 5, 2004, having lived more than twice as long as he had expected and probably three or four times as long as he deserved. Although he was born into an impecunious family, in a backward and benighted part of the country at the beginning of the Great Depression, he never in his life suffered any real hardships. Many of his childhood friends who weren’t killed or maimed in various wars became petty criminals, prostitutes, and/or Republicans. Lou was a daredevil: his last words were “Watch this!”

And is this guy related to Frederic Arthur (Fred) Clark (above)? It's almost the same obit.
A celebration of life for James William "Jim" Adams, 53, will be held at a later date. He died Tuesday, Sept. 9, 2008 at Memorial Hospital of Converse County in Douglas. Jim, who had tired of reading obituaries noting other's courageous battles with this or that disease, wanted it known that he lost his battle. It was primarily as a result of being stubborn and not following doctor's orders or maybe for just living life a little too hard for better than five decades.

He was sadly deprived of his final wish, which was to be run over by a beer truck on the way to the liquor store to buy booze for a date. True to his personal style, he spent his final hours joking with medical personnel, cussing and begging for narcotics and bargaining with God to look over his loving dog, Biscuit, and his family.

During his life, he excelled at anything he put his mind to. He loved to hear and tell jokes and spin tales of grand adventures he may or may not have had. In lieu of flowers, he asks that you make a sizeable purchase at your favorite watering hole, get rip roaring drunk and tell the stories he no longer can.

Robert James (Bob) Smith, 69, of Wilmington, North Carolina, surprised and annoyed his wife by dying in his sleep in the early hours of January 6, 2005.

In the middle of nearly any conversation, he loved to toss out the fact that he had ten children. He did this often, and generally for the sheer entertainment value of watching peoples' expressions. He would want it noted that these children hold nearly twenty degrees, from bachelors to doctorates. Since he celebrated his 42nd birthday for eight years in a row, many folks, including at least one of his kids, had no idea how old he really was.

Bob survived Cathedral Latin High School in Cleveland, and then graduated from the University of Dayton with a Bachelor of Science degree in Mechanical Engineering: he is now at Duke University's medical research facility, awaiting an incoming class of first-year med students with shiny new scalpels. He surely hopes to get credit for attendance, so Duke University is officially added to his resume, albeit posthumously.

After college, Bob served in the United States Army as an Intelligence Officer at the National Security Agency, attaining the rank of Captain. Fed up with the Army, he landed as a civilian at Wright Patterson Air Force Base, where he stayed for years and years. He really liked planes. He also liked blowing things up. He also loved his chainsaw.

Bob is survived by his wife. Other mourners include Libertarians, Unitarians, artists, beach-walkers, and an enormous extended family of friends, colleagues, and admirers. Please come to a celebration service for Bob. Or, just put on a silly hat and a comfortable t-shirt, grab your beverage of choice, and think about him.

Now you see why it's important that I write my own obituary. You just can't trust others to say the right things.

Monday Meanderings -10.24.2011

2011-10-24T05:49:00.004-05:00

On the way to Port A we go through the community of Ingleside, a lovely little town that includes the largest Dairy Queen we have ever been in. You wouldn't think that a quiet little town like this would have a lot of political strife, but evidently they do, because posted beside the TV in the DQ is a large sign that says "CNN on Mondays, Fox on Tuesdays, CNN on Wednesdays, Fox..."

In the play-offs leading up to the World Series, the Rangers played at Detroit in Comerica Park, a relatively new stadium. Barb noticed that there was a dirt path from home plate to the pitcher's mound and asked if that was normal. We did a little research and found that Comerica Park is one of only two current stadia that have this feature, considered old fashioned. What interested me even more was the fact that I could Google "stadiums with dirt path to pitchers mound" and learn which two they are. BTW, where is the other "dirt path" stadium?

Big doings in Austin this past weekend. Nine - count 'em - nine major events downtown. A good weekend to stay far, far away.

And speaking of Weird City, Texas, I saw an item the other day about a guy in Idaho Falls, Idaho, who was warned by the police that he had to stop wearing his large, black bunny suit in public. Not only that, he sometimes wore a tu-tu with his bunny suit. Excuse me? This guy got a warning for wearing a bunny suit with a tu-tu? In Austin he could run for mayor! In Austin, he wouldn't even be noticed unless he hopped down the middle of Congress Avenue, and then he would only be cautioned that he needed a permit to protest/parade/hold a race! I love this town!

Strange meteorological phenomena going on these past few days. First Lubbock has a haboob (no, I'm not going there) and then San Antonio has an Earth Quake! I think it all is a reaction to Governor Goodhair's political debates.

And there is an epidemic of...

Rooting for the Rangers - with a small caveat

2011-10-21T05:35:00.001-05:00

Make no mistake about it. Barb and I are rooting for the Texas Rangers in the World Series. In fact, I think the whole family is cheering on the Rangers - with the possible exception of Rob, who was somehow seduced by the pin-striped dark side years ago.

But there is a small caveat. Barb's family has cheered for the Cardinals for many, many years. She was a staunch Cardinal fan when I married her, her dad was a life-long St. Louis fan, and his father before him. The only pro baseball game that I have seen in person was between the Cards and the Astros; this was back in the Astrodome days, with the exploding scoreboard. We saw the scoreboard light up three times that evening - three Astro single-run homers. The Cardinals won 4 - 3.

While we were waiting around for the imminent birth of our 2nd child, we watched the Cardinals and the Tigers play game 7 of the 1968 World Series (at that point in time the Rangers were still the Washington Senators). Barb had been having labor pains all afternoon, but this was game 7! This was important! Bob Gibson was pitching but the Tigers were ahead 4 - 0 in the bottom of the 9th. Mike Shannon hit a two-out solo home run to provide a glimmer of hope, but Tim McCarver - currently announcing this series with Joe Buck - popped out with a foul ball and that was that. We grabbed our bags and headed for the hospital, Julie was delivered almost immediately and I was home by supper!

I asked Barb if she was conflicted about who to support in this series. She said the Rangers, but she could live with any outcome.

Let’s Go Rangers! (clap, clap, clap, clap, clap)
Let’s Go Rangers! (clap, clap, clap, clap, clap)

Chronicle's "Best of Austin" issue

2011-10-19T05:32:00.001-05:00

Austin has two newspapers; the ultra-conservative Statesman, and the decidedly off-beat, far to the left of left-wing Chronicle. There are many, many differences in the two papers - daily + Sunday vs. weekly; it costs more than $200 a year to subscribe to the Statesman vs the Chronicle is free; one endorsed Bush, the other endorsed Leslie. I think you get the picture.

Annually the Chronicle publishes their Best of Austin list and it promotes those places the readers say best represent what's good about Austin - you know, Best Hotel, Best Park, Best Man. I made that last one up. And I think the Chronicle made up some of them too. Get a load of the some of Bests this year:

Best Tolls for Thee (David Chapel Baptist church bells)
Best Library Name (Ana Sisnett Library, UT Gender and Sexuality Center)
Best Old School South of the River (Fulmore Jr. High)
Best Jukebox (Casino el Camino)
Best Dive Bar without a Sign (Bernadette's)
Best Local Food Blog (not this one)
Most Underrated Breakfast Tacos (Julio's)
Best Bacon (Full English)
Best Chip Shop Currey Sauce (Bits and Druthers)

And the list goes on for another 40 pages. I've lived in Austin 40 years, and the only name listed above that I recognize is Fulmore. And that remains true for most of the bests listed in the rest of the issue. How is that possible? Simple. There are actually three Austins; the one I live in and the one that holds events like SXSW, Pecan Street Festival, Republic of Texas Motorcycle Rally, ACL Fest, packs 6th street every Halloween (200,000 on a good year) and crawls the Pub District every weekend. The third one? South of the River.
Oh, wait! There's the University of Austin and the Domain of Austin, and the Barton Springs of Austin. and the West Lake Hills of Austin.

I am a pilgrim in a strange land.

Monday Meanderings - 10.17.2011

2011-10-17T05:32:00.073-05:00

Barb has been after me for quite some time to take a trip to Port A. I kept telling her it was too hot, but we decided to go this past weekend. Guess what? Okay, it's not that hot, but you can work up a good sweat walking the beach.

Needed gas on the trip and finally stopped at the HEB in Lockhart, where it was $3.25. I thought that was pretty good until I got to Lulling, where every station in town had gas for $3.07 (and $2.95 if you used MasterCard!)

I've commented before about the Rain Lilly phenomenon - how they magically appear in what seems like only a few hours after a rain. But the phenomenon on this trip was acres of Rain Lillies; medians and right-of-ways and pastures covered in white flowers, mile-after-mile! But timing is everything. On the return trip Sunday there NO flowers to be seen. None.

When we we passed through Nixon there were signs everywhere for the wild hog cook off and goat slapping competition. Now the wild hog cook off I understand - but Dear Hearts - what in the world is a goat slapping competition? Do the goats mind? Do they get to slap back? Should the SPCA be involved? Inquiring minds want to know.

There are some snazzy new ferry boats in service.

The bridge spans the "road" instead of sticking up in the middle. Pretty cool.

As is our custom, we stayed at the Sand Castle. They've added a new annex this year.

And I have blogged before about the things one can see from the balcony. Last trip it was kites and a "Snow Bird Happy Hour," where all the visitors from up north gathered each afternoon at a specific spot at the Motel across the street and celebrated the absence of snow and sleet.

This trip we got to watch a wedding on the beach. I had noticed several rows of white plastic chairs set up in the sand, facing a small portable cabana when we were on our afternoon walk, but there weren't any people present. Later, from our balcony we noticed that a small crowd had assembled and there were bridesmaids in matching dresses and groomsmen in white guayaberas and khaki shorts.

And in a bit, the brides-maids and groomsmen strolled together to the cabana, then someone we think was the "ring beller" (see Julie's blog if you don't know about the "ring-beller") and then what might have been a flower girl, but since you can't litter on the beach we wondered what she was distributing. Sea weed maybe? Then we spotted the bride, in the traditional white gown. If you look closely, right in the middle of this long-distance picture, you can see her on the way down the... uh, sandy path.

Evidently you do not have long, drawn-out ceremonies when one weds on the beach. This one was over in less than 10 minutes. We kept watching to see if they were going to have the reception there too, but I guess they figured a wedding cake and hungry sea gulls were not a good match and in a little while, someone drove a vehicle down to the chairs, loaded them and the cabana and that was that.

And for those of you who didn't think I got up early enough to see one - here's another sight from our balcony.

Have a good Monday.

More old jokes about being old

2011-10-14T05:52:00.002-05:00

1. I'm the life of the party..... even if it lasts until 8 p.m.
2. I'm very good at opening childproof caps.... with a hammer.
3. I'm usually interested in going home before I get to where I am going.
4. I'm awake many hours before my body allows me to get up.
5. I'm smiling all the time because I can't hear a thing the Mrs is saying.
6. I'm very good at telling stories; over and over and over and over.
7. I'm so cared for -- long term care, eye care, private care, dental care.
8. I'm not really grouchy, I just don't like traffic, crowds, unruly kids, barking dogs, long lines, liberal politicians and a few other things I can't seem to remember right now.
9. I'm sure everything I can't find is in a safe secure place, somewhere.
10. I'm wrinkled, saggy, lumpy, and that's just my left leg.
11. I'm having trouble remembering simple words like......?
12. I'm beginning to realize that aging is not for sissies.
13. I'm wondering, if you're only as old as you feel, how could I be alive at 150?
14. I'm a walking storeroom of facts... I've just lost the key to the storeroom door.

State Fair of Texas - Stories for my grandchildren

2011-10-12T05:14:00.024-05:00

In 1953, when I was 12 years old, much to my mother's dismay, my father took me out of school one Monday and he and I went to the Fair.

When first my way to fair I took
Few pence in purse had I,
And long I used to stand and look
At things I could not buy.

This would be the State Fair of Texas, held annually since 1886, the largest state fair in the US, by attendance. Home of Big Tex and the Cotton Bowl and Fletcher's Corney Dogs. We drove to Dallas and left the car at the home of Mrs. Burns, mother of my new sister-in-law, and rode the trolley to the fairgrounds (a grand adventure in itself). I have been to the fair many times since, but most of the memories of those trips have blurred. I remember clearly, even in my dotage, that day with my father.

My father did not know that the 2nd Monday of the Fair, the day we attended, was Negro Appreciation Day. This was in the '50s, in the South and desegregation was very much part of the fabric of the times. One day and one day only was set aside for "the coloreds," so there we were, two white faces in a sea of more than 100,000 visitors of a darker hue. I had a wonderful time.

I didn't ride a single ride - whites were not allowed on any of the rides. I learned this when I was turned away. Sort of discriminated against, you might say. I remember the experience to this day, so I think it was a lesson well learned.

So we went to all the exhibits; the Auto Show, the Agricultural Building (where I saw Bordon's Elsie the cow), the Reddy Kilowatt Electric show, the Hall of State, the Pan American Pavilion, The Centennial Building, the Livestock barns, the Women's Exhibits (free food), The Natural Sciences building, and of course the Midway, where I learned valuable lessons about games of chance, sampled State Fair Saltwater Taffy, and ate my fill of Corney Dogs.

We toured the Aquarium, which is on the fairgrounds. I remember a smallish turtle in a very big tank, that would get a gulp of air and swim to the bottom to feed, only to have to go right back up for another breath of air and start all over again. I also remember seeing electric eels brush against metal rods and power up some type of light.

We went to the Ice Capades; my father loved the graceful skaters, I was awed by the spectacle of the show itself.

And we saw a brand new exhibit that had been imported from Germany and was appearing for the first time in the US - The Dancing Waters. Miles of pipe, dozens of nozzles and hundreds of lights, all mixed together in what was probably a pretty small pool. One man played an organ and another man worked the valves and an incredible display of music, water and light resulted. Neither of us had ever seen anything so spectacular. We saw the show three times. Many years later, I sat on the balcony of my hotel room at Disneyland and watched an automated version of the Dancing Waters that was probably 5 times as large, with water jetting a hundred feet in the air and grand music booming from the speakers.

It didn't hold a candle to what we saw that afternoon in a dark tent at the State Fair, on Negro Appreciation Day.

Now times are altered: if I care
To buy a thing, I can;
The pence are here and here's the fair,
But where's the lost young man?

Monday Meanderings - 10.10.2011

2011-10-10T05:13:00.028-05:00

As noted, Chuy's North Lamar location (the one closest to us) celebrated 25 years of business at that location. I confess that we didn't start eating there until it had been open a couple of years. Rob insisted we try it and order the Chuychanga with queso sauce and a multi-decade tradition was born. Thanks, Bro.

One of the retro dishes offered during the anniversary celebration was Rajas con queso y crema. It's a low-calorie appetizer consisting of a steaming bowl of chiles, onions, Oaxaco cheese and heavy cream. Dip tortillas in it, or pour it on your tacos al carbon. Thought it was pretty good last Monday night. Thought it was even better on Wednesday. Considered enjoying it again on Thursday, along with the free dulce de leche anniversary cake.

Driving through an industrial park on the way to the Post Office the other morning, a good-sized coyote trotted across the street in front of us. We have heard coyotes howling for as long as we have lived here - the Pioneer Farm and an undeveloped wooded area is less than half a mile east of us - but we've never seen one strolling across a busy street.

In recent months, two acquaintances from Fran's have passed away. I'm sure it's not the food.

The Austin chapter of the Wall Street protesters staged their own demonstration at City Hall last Thursday. When we moved here, protests and demonstrations were the order of the day; Vietnam War, boycott table grapes, anti-busing, you name it. And through the years protests have been part of the fabric of this city. Just as this town is very adept when it comes to staging street celebrations or marathons or craft fairs, they also know how to stage a little protest or two.

Last week, a small group of protesters actually went down to City Hall early to rehearse and to touch base with the Chief of Police about where they were going to stand, or not stand, and what they were going to do and not do. Seems inordinately civil for a civil disturbance, but the Occupy Austin group got their protest on TV and nobody had their head cracked or got hauled off to jail. I do wonder, however, what would have happened if the streets in Austin were paved in those really-handy-to-pick-up-and-throw stones that the streets in Europe are paved with.

On the news the other night there was one of those stories about a huge hive of bees that had settled in some poor soul's house, but the local apiarist saved the day and took the bees away to "be rehabilitated." Which got me to wondering what "bee rehabilitation" consists of. "All right you bees, fall in and listen up! Buzzy! Drop and give me 2,000! I can't hear you!"

Confessions of a waffle-challenged breakfast cook

2011-10-07T05:51:00.046-05:00

Ya'll, I can cook breakfast. Eggs (how would you like them?), bacon, sausage of any type, pancakes, breakfast tacos, biscuits (oven-ready) - you name it. For a number of years the Anderson family cooked Saturday breakfast for about 250 people at church retreat. I can do breakfast!

But the lowly waffle has, once again, brought me to my knees. Let me start at the beginning.

When our daughter Julie was nine or ten, she had some friends over for a birthday slumber party; movies, popcorn, giggle all night, and Dad was going to cook waffles in the morning. The movies, popcorn and giggling went just fine. And breakfast turned out okay, because after destroying the waffle iron and covering the kitchen counter and floor with oozing, excess waffle juice, I gathered everybody up and took them to McDonalds. It took me the rest of the day to clean the waffle iron and kitchen. Really. And I made a vow, then and there, borrowed from Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce Indians, who, standing thigh deep in ~~snow~~ waffle batter, said "I will make ~~war with the white man~~ waffles no more forever." Amen.

I blame what happened next on Rozanne, the family member who was in charge of Monday breakfast at the Lake Cabin on Labor Day. She served, among other wonderful breakfast goodies, sweet potato pancakes. I thought they were delicious, so recently we got a box of sweet potato pancake mix, and I made some, and they were also delicious. And I saw, on the back of the box, the recipe for sweet potato pancake waffles.

Barb orders waffles regularly at Fran's, and they are crisp and golden and perfectly formed and delicious, and I'm thinking as I stand there and look at the sweet potato pancake waffle recipe, "How hard can that be?" So instead of saying, "Hello, my name is Bob and I can't make waffles," I cast away my solemn vow like a Saturday night sinner, turned my back on who-knows how many years of sobriety and said,

"I'll make us some sweet potato pancake waffles for breakfast this morning."

Let me just say that Barb enjoyed breakfast, though if I were a true traditionalist we would have gone to McDonalds instead.

Yes, I ended up with a concrete-encased waffle iron and batter all over everywhere. Again. But I had half of the batter left, so I determined that I was going to keep trying until I got it right. I sand-blasted the original attempt off of the waffle plate thingys, cleaned them scrupulously, set the iron to its hottest setting and waited until a drop of water sizzled on the iron. I administered a liberal dose of cooking oil on the plates and brushed it thoroughly over all the little waffle hills and valleys. Yea, my waffle iron runneth over. Then I carefully poured out just the right amount of batter, closed the lid carefully and waited for the indicator light to go off.

Let me show you a picture:

You may not think it, but I count this a giant step forward. At least half the the waffle came off of the plates and it is golden brown! Okay, in some places. It is unfortunate that this batch literally dripped cooking oil, but that way I didn't have to butter them.

I've since done a great deal of research on the subject, and I have some tips that I'm going to use on my next batch. Just as soon as I clean the kitchen floor and Barb tells me where she hid the sweet potato waffle mix.

Does anyone remember Sadie Hawkins?

2011-10-05T05:07:00.050-05:00

A few days ago Julie posted about the school rules for a Sadie Hawkins dance. Mind you, I am not uninterested in the rules, but what really caught my attention was the phrase "Sadie Hawkins dance."

I texted my grandson - the family member attending the previously-mentioned dance - and asked if he knew who Sadie Hawkins is, or actually, was? Not surprisingly, he did not. After all, it has been nearly 75 years since Al Capp invented the Sadie Hawkins character, in a cartoon series that has not been published since 1977. Here's the story, from Wikipedia:

In Li'l Abner, Sadie Hawkins was the daughter of one of Dogpatch's earliest settlers, Hekzebiah Hawkins. The "homeliest gal in all them hills", she grew frantic waiting for suitors to come a-courtin'. When she reached the age of 35, still a spinster, her father was even more frantic—about Sadie living at home for the rest of his life. In desperation, he called together all the unmarried men of Dogpatch and declared it "Sadie Hawkins Day". Specifically, a foot race was decreed, with Sadie in hot pursuit of the town's eligible bachelors—and matrimony as the consequence.

"When ah fires [my gun], all o' yo' kin start a-runnin! When ah fires agin—after givin' yo' a fair start—Sadie starts a runnin'. Th' one she ketches'll be her husbin." The town spinsters decided that this was such a good idea, they made Sadie Hawkins Day a mandatory yearly event, much to the chagrin of Dogpatch bachelors. In the satirical spirit that drove the strip, many sequences revolved around the dreaded Sadie Hawkins Day race. If a woman caught a bachelor and dragged him, kicking and screaming, across the finish line before sundown—by law he had to marry her!

Capp inked the first Sadie Hawkins event in November, 1927. In less than 2 years, Life magazine reported over 200 colleges holding Sadie Hawkins Day events. It became a woman empowering rite at high schools and college campuses, long before the modern feminist movement gained prominence. I know that there were Sadie Hawkins "events" at ACC, when my brother attended, and I went to one when I attended. Be sure you note that these were "events," not dances, according to the traditions of our tribe.

And evidently the 75-year-old activity named after a fictitious female endures to the present day, even if no one remembers who she was.

Happy 25th Anniversary!

2011-10-04T05:54:00.004-05:00

Monday Meanderings - 10.3.2011

2011-10-03T05:04:00.010-05:00

Knock! Knock! Knock!

That's the sound of me knocking on wood. Maybe, just maybe, Austin has seen its 90th - and last - day with temperatures in three digits for the year. There was a movie once called "The Long Hot Summer," from the book of the same name by William Faulkner, starring Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward. It was a great movie, but I did not enjoy seeing it daily. Every day. For 90 days. Twenty-seven of them consecutively. Then again, it has been more than 100 degrees in Austin as late as October 2nd. And as early as February! Moving to Montana soon.

The other day a large pile of household belongings appeared in the driveway of a house up the street. What looked at first like a garage sale soon took on the appearance of an eviction; evidently not of all the residents - just one. Worthless Husband? Shiftless Son? Deadbeat Border? Hard to tell. Stay tuned.

Good gumbo is back! I told you that our favorite source of good gumbo had gone out of business when the owners, husband and wife, dissolved the partnership and marriage in a murder-suicide. Ugh! The other day we noticed that what had been Mama Roux's is now French Quarter Grill, owned and operated by former employees, as it turns out. I confess that it was a little spooky eating there, knowing the circumstances, and when I asked about the new ownership it was obvious that the waitress was a bit uncomfortable discussing it, but the gumbo there is worth a lot of discomfort. Believe you me!

On the news the other night they were showing this snazzy new BMW motorcycle all decked out with all the gear necessary to make it a mobile EMS unit. Livestrong donated the bike with the idea that it could maneuver in traffic more easily than the big units, thus providing faster response. Barb and I decided that it was a good idea, but when it came to transporting people back to the hospital, she thought she would want to wait for one of the more traditional vehicles. No sense of adventure, I say. When we were in El Salvador we noticed that small Toyota pickups were the EMS vehicles of choice, with patients transported in the open bed of the pickup. A Medical School Director with us saw a wonderful opportunity to cut back on next year's budget.

And speaking of traffic, once again Austin has earned a top spot in another poll; this time for worst traffic in the nation! Yes, for the second year in a row, researchers at Texas A&M University say we have the third worst traffic congestion in THE ENTIRE COUNTRY! Only places worse are Los Angeles and the Washington, D.C. area. Austin is tied with New York City and the San Francisco Bay area. Sorry Dallas and Houston. You lose. However, this is a study by A&M. Could it just be sour grapes because they now get to be Baylor in the SEC?

And while we are on the subject of football -

Serve Out

2011-09-30T06:01:00.017-05:00

Yes, it is the end of the month, once again, and time to fearlessly reach into the back of the fridge and see what's left over. As Oscar Madison once said, when asked what the green stuff was in the offered sandwich, "It's either very old meat or very new cheese."

Ouch!

Eat much?

One bite at a time!

Speaking of eating too much - Shaq and his girlfriend!

So, what's on the walls?

You got it!

Go ahead. Everybody needs a smile.

User participation - you have to click on the picture. Go ahead.

Poor Gummy!

Awwww! So! Cute!

The secret behind the pulpit

2011-09-28T05:51:00.011-05:00

Perhaps you saw the item recently on CNN about the new female Pastor in Louisville that outed herself? No, not that kind of out. But first, some background.

First Unitarian Church in Louisville, Kentucky was founded more than 200 years ago. This a venerable, long-established conservative congregation that took a giant leap recently - and hired its first female Pastor, Dawn Colley. So, the other Sunday morning, when their new Pastor said she had a secret about herself that she needed to share, the congregation held its collective breath, and then the organist started playing an up-tempo number and the members of the Derby City Roller Girls skated down the aisle. That's when Ms. Colley ducked into a near-by room and emerged in Roller Girl regalia, as "Liv Fearlessly" her nom-de-skate.

It seems that the search committee never asked her about hobbies, and she never brought up the subject that on Saturdays she hip-checked opponents into the cheap seats. She was pretty sure that sooner or later some parishioner was going to catch the show, so Ms. Colley thought it best if she got her altar-ego (heh, heh) out in the open and fess up to being a holy roller (groan). In other words, she could no longer separate church and skate (enough!)

There's no word out of Louisville about the congregations response to this revelation, but it got me to thinking. Out of all the ministry staff that I have known, some of them surely have had similar deeply-closeted secrets. Don't you think? For example, our current pulpit minister might well have had a career on the pro surf-board circuit, known as "Kevin Keomoka." Or that guy we supported in Guatemala all those years; could he have really been with the CIA? Send lawyers, guns and money.

Think about ministry staff you have known. Weren't there whispers? Rumors? I'm just sayin'.

Monday Meanderings - 9.26.2011

2011-09-26T05:17:00.009-05:00

Enough, already! One hundred five degrees yesterday, one hundred three expected today and tomorrow! This is insane!

Notice the date on this email.

19-Sep-82 11:44 Scott E Fahlman :-)
From: Scott E Fahlman
I propose that the following character sequence for joke markers:
:-)
Read it sideways. Actually, it is probably more economical to mark things that are NOT jokes, given current trends. For this, use:
:-(

With that post, Fahlman became the acknowledged originator of the ASCII-based emoticon. Happy 25th anniversary to the smiley face.

I noticed that Wal-Mart is going to offer lay-away this Christmas. Lay-away played an important role in the financial fabric of my childhood. My mother often had items on lay-away at Anthony's or Penny's; she would send me in with a five-dollar bill to put on the item account. I suspect sometimes they were items she neglected to tell my father about. Maybe I should put that iPad on lay-away.

The good days are the ones where I can get out of bed, put on my glasses, watch and a pair of shorts, and I'm done. If I want to get dressy, I come my hair.

Do you suppose if I called NASA and said there was some junk from that satellite in my backyard they would come and haul away the trash back there? Rob tells me that it worked once before.

Two signs with football references; first at the local El Arroyo restaurant -

And this one recently went up in Waco in response to Baylor's plan to block A&M's exit from the Big 12.

Dear Reader's Digest

2011-09-23T05:40:00.015-05:00

Dear Reader's Digest,

I have been a loyal subscriber nearly 60 years, by my reckoning. Grandmother Anderson gave me a subscription to your magazine somewhere around my 5th grade year. Perhaps it was even before that. The point is I have been with you for many, many years.

I was a reader before you accepted advertising. Remember the anguished soul-searching you went through before adding paid advertisements? But not just any ads - they would have to adhere to your strict family standards. Remember?

I stuck with you through all the size changes. I was there when you began publishing foreign editions and became the most-read magazine in the world. I read your Condensed books for years. When each book came, I read every story, starting with the shortest and working my way through the longest.

I was a subscriber during your growth to 17 million domestic readers, an unsurpassed number. I was loyal when 32 state Attorney Generals took you to task for your duplicitous sweepstakes contests and forced you to stop conning the public with your claims. I was still there when your US readership dropped to 5.5 million.

I stood by you when you filed for bankruptcy.

I'm still here even though you now send me only 10 issues a year, and charge me much more.

So, you ask. What can you do for such a loyal subscriber? Simplify.

Just send me a notice - one notice only, Vassily - when it is time to renew my subscription. Not 6 months before, written in language that makes me think my subscription is about to expire. Remember the Attorney Generals?
No more offers to send the magazine free to someone else disguised as a renewal. I tried that and I hear you hounded the recipient when it was time for them to renew.
Don't give me special offers that expire in 30 days; only to send me an even better offer that expires in just 30 days, and then send me... I get it. The longer I wait the cheaper it gets.

Just send me a notice and tell me the price. That saves you a lot of money and me a lot of grief.

And if you do, I might - just might - stick with you a few more years.

Sincerely,

Your trying-to-stay-loyal subscriber

Clotted Cream - Stories for my grandchildren

2011-09-21T05:31:00.022-05:00

Yesterday morning was delightfully cool and I added Breakfast on the Patio to my regular routine of Coffee on the Patio. Breakfast consisted of a very nice cranberry scone, liberally covered in clotted cream.

If the term "clotted cream" is new to you, you might recognize it as "heavy cream," or "Devonshire Cream." It is a product of southwest England - Devonshire and Cornwall both claim to be the original source - and it is a sinfully rich (64% fat), very bad for you (twice the calories of an equivalent serving of a cheeseburger) topping. No wonder it tastes so good!

We first became acquainted with clotted cream on a British Airways flight from London to the US, returning from a summer visit to Prague in July of 1996. Rob and Jana were with us on that trip and we spent a couple of days in London and the surrounding countryside on the return portion of the visit. Unfortunately, all of public transportation in London staged a one-day strike the day after we arrived, so we had to improvise (and walk a lot) but it was a fun couple of days.

We took one of the famous old-fashioned-looking London black cabs - fresh off the work stoppage - from the hotel to the Gatwick Rail Terminal in Victoria Station and at the British Airways counter in Gatwick, found to our delight that we were going to be bumped up to Business Class. But there was a problem. The clerk indicated that only Barb and I were going to get the upgrade. I asked if the upgrade could be extended to Rob and Jana as well. The clerk peered over the counter at Rob, dressed in neat jean shorts, and said, "Only if he can change out of those cut-downs." We had our bags with us; Rob changed in a restroom, and we all got into Business Class together. I was relieved, because the truth of the matter is, I was going to accept the upgrade even if Rob and Jana could not be accommodated. Sorry kids, but that's just the way it was.

This was our first experience with Business Class, and if you fly much you know that it makes all the difference in the world in a long flight. Plus, we soon learned that British Airways Business Class is equivalent to First Class on many other airlines. It. Was. Divine. And at some point in that delightful trip, we were served snacks of mini-scones with little tubs of clotted cream.

You can buy clotted cream in tiny little jars at places like Central Market. It is expensive, and you had best use it up in about 3 days because it has a very short shelf life after opening. And like Business Class, it is delightful.

Monday Meanderings - 9.19.2011

2011-09-19T08:37:00.000-05:00

If you saw part of this blog entry a few days ago, it's because the Blogger software has a mind of its own and will release works-in-progress into the wild on a whim. I probably should consider that if I ever start to write something libelous, planning on retracting it later. Oops! Too late!

The newspaper is a wonderful source of interesting and educational items. For instance, consider:

Austin American-Statesman
Sept 10, 2011Letters to the Editor

Calling all sinners: We need rain.

It's pretty clear that we're not going to get any rain unless a hurricane makes it our way, but we're not going to see a hurricane unless we get our act together. It is not a "high-pressure weather system" over Texas that's making all the Atlantic hurricanes veer away from us. It's high-pressure godliness, brought on, I fear, by Gov. Rick Perry's prayer meeting in Houston.

More than one of the preachers who shared the spotlight with the governor has warned that God sends hurricanes to punish us for sinning — and that means you don't get a hurricane unless you've earned it. The governor's revival was so successful that we're all haloed up to the point that no wind is mighty enough to break through.

I hate that it's come to this, but my trees need the rain, so I plan to sin like hell for the remainder of the hurricane season. Won't you all join me?

HUGH LOWE
Austin

I don't know Hugh, but I can't fault his logic. And then there was this item the other day:

Austin American-Statesman
Sept 12, 2011

TV Study Faults SpongeBob

Four-year-olds who watched nine minutes of the fast-paced cartoon SpongeBob Squarepants showed temporary attention and learning problems, researchers found. The study compared 60 children who were randomly assigned to watch SpongeBob, the slower-paced PBS cartoon Caillou or to draw pictures as a control.

After nine minutes, the children did four tests to tap their "executive function" — such as attention, problem-solving and delay of gratification — which allows people to set goals and implement them. Executive function is important for helping children to learn and function in school and be creative, the researchers said.

"Just nine minutes of viewing a fast-paced television cartoon had immediate negative effects on four-year-olds’ executive function," Angeline Lillard and Jennifer Peterson of the psychology department at the University of Virginia concluded in Monday's issue of the journal Pediatrics.

Obviously, our government leaders have been watching Sponge Bob Square Pants. A Lot. Just in case you missed it, the program causes problems with "executive function" — such as attention, problem-solving and delay of gratification — which allows people to set goals and implement them.

Do you suppose that we are too predictable and set in our ways? When we went into Chuy's the other evening and asked for a particular waitress, the hostess said, "Yes, she told me to save this table for you. She's expecting you."

Read an article on the dangers of eating bacon. It scared me so much I vowed to stop reading.

Bumper sticker: "My honor student has a career in the service industry."

And sometimes life takes a little effort:

The Mouse Trap - stories for my grandchildren

2011-09-16T05:44:00.001-05:00

No. Not Agatha Christie's long-running play (more than 24,000 performances and counting). The small contraptions used to control rodent population. But I'm ahead of the story.

For a period of time Barb and I made regular trips to Colorado. I wrote about the Trekking era here. But there were many other trips as well. Once we flew to Colorado Springs, rented a car and drove a grand loop through Colorado (640 miles) one weekend just to look at the Aspens. Glorious.

Often we made our way to the Leadville area, where friends had a Bed and Breakfast in a wonderful old restored mansion. One summer we imposed on these same friends and stayed in a pop-up camping trailer they had parked on property near Twin Lakes. It was a very pleasant accommodation, until night came and we bedded down, only to find the trailer had mice. Wee little creatures that scampered all over, gnawed noisily on the foodstuffs, and delighted in running up and down your prone body as you tried to sleep.

Tried is the operative word - I found sleep to be impossible when, just as you are about to doze off, some little critter runs over your head! So after a sleepless in Twin Lakes night, we journeyed to the Safeway in Leadville in search of mousetraps.

With such a wide variety of animals in Colorado - bears, mountain lions, bob cats, wolves, coyotes - I guess mice were not considered much of a problem in Leadville; the only traps we could find were tiny little imitations of La Brea tar traps. Little trays of a very sticky substance with a few grains of some kind of seed sprinkled in the middle. The idea was the mouse would be attracted to the seed, step into the sticky stuff and remain fast until disposed of later. So, we bought some, brought them back, and when bedtime came, placed them in appropriate locations. Problem solved.

Having been up most of the previous night, I had no trouble dropping right off to sleep. But after a short time, I awakened to a little "swish, swish, swish" sound. Found the flashlight, and discovered that a mouse had indeed taken the bait, but with only his two left feet in the trap. With the other two, he was pushing the trap in circles in his attempts to escape. Sort of like a little surf board. Swish, swish. Round and round.

Nevertheless, the mouse was caught! Now, all I had to do was... was... what was I going to do with this very alive mouse? The first inclination was to just toss him outside. But wait. Our hosts had a couple of dogs, who largely fended for themselves and would make a meal of a mouse, BUT this one had a little tar pit attached. I could just picture one of the dogs showing up at the house the next morning with a tar-pit mustache securely attached to his lips! No, I couldn't just throw it out the door.

But it's the middle of the night at elevation in Colorado and it is cold out there, dear hearts. I'm not going to go wandering around looking for a humane, effective way to dispose of this mouse! Wait! There's a bucket by the door. I'll put mouse and trap under the bucket, put a big rock on it and deal with it all the next morning.

This story would end nicely if we had had more little tar pits than there were mice. We didn't. And in spite of my best efforts, the bucket was overturned and all the traps were gone the next morning. I don't know if the dogs got into them or not. Perhaps there was a coyote or two wearing tar-pit embellishments the next morning. We didn't stick around to see.

Life imitates art

2011-09-14T05:27:00.090-05:00

I have recently been reading some little books by Clyde Edgerton, an author who has been described as belonging to "the genre called 'Southern Writers.' Say the phrase and one immediately thinks of Faulkner, Williams, Wolfe, Welty, Morris, Styron and, increasingly Clyde Edgerton." His work is delightful - I encourage you to try him out.

Most recently, I read a story called "Walking Across Egypt" which features an elderly, widowed lady of the South, Mattie Riggsby, who - forgetting that she had sent her chair seats out to be recovered - accidentally sat down in her favorite chair and got stuck. Really stuck. Mattie was not rescued until the next morning when the dog catcher she had summoned the previous day came out to the house to pick up a stray. It's only a small part of Edgerton's story, an accident that turned out well and plays a bit part in the rest of the novel.

But the other day, there was a story in the American-Statesman about Evelyn Rogers, 75, of Liberty Hill, who had gone out to water her plants one evening, sat down to rest on a canvas bottom-chair, and when she absentmindedly pulled on a piece of plastic sticking out underneath the chair's bottom -- the bottom ripped out and she fell through the opening and became stuck. Just like Mattie Riggsby!

Here's the newspaper account:

"I couldn't get out of it, and I couldn't turn it over,"

Her son and his family, who live in the house in front of hers, had left that morning for the beach at Port Aransas, she said. She didn't go with them because she thought it would be too hot. All she was left with was her Chihuahua, Lucy, who stood by her, she said.

"I screamed until I couldn't scream anymore. I told myself I couldn't scream anymore because it wouldn't do any good because there were no real close neighbors. I told my little puppy, 'We got to wait for the paper boy, because Mama can't get out of the chair.'"

So they waited.

Rogers said she wasn't afraid of the dark. She didn't even care that ants were biting her. But she was afraid of dying. "I didn't want the kids to come home from vacation and find me dead in the yard!"

And the paper boy did show up, early the next morning. Ethan Mueller, a 30-year-old student at Austin Community College, was delivering the American-Statesman about 5 a.m.and heard Rogers' dog barking "pretty furiously." He got out of his car and found Rogers "just sandwiched between two bars of the chair." A call to 911 brought help, and after treatment at the hospital, Rogers is back home.

Perhaps I should send her a copy of "Walking across Egypt" so she can find out what happens next.

Monday Meanderings, seriously - 9.12.2011

2011-09-12T05:26:00.031-05:00

If you've been here before you know that Mondays are usually devoted to random thoughts and odd happenings. In a sense, today's offering is still a random thought, but a serious one. It has been a serious week in Central Texas.

The week before Labor Day we watched the "101 Ranch" fire, so named by the Texas Forest Service, that was burning in the southeast area of Possum Kingdom Lake. It had the potential to change our holiday plans, or at least the route, so I regularly pulled up Google Earth with the Forest Service overlay and checked that fire's status. No big deal. At the Lake Cabin, hanging out on the Internet is discouraged (easily so - there's almost no access), so we were surprised to see plumes of smoke all around the Central Texas area as we returned to Austin. Then we caught up on the news and were floored at the devastation that surrounded us!

It only got worse as the week went by. The destroyed home count at the weekend is approaching 1,500; Bastrop - 1,400 homes, still only partially contained; Steiner Ranch - 23 homes; Spicewood - 45 homes; Lake Travis - 11 homes, arson suspected. Two have perished. Everyone knows someone affected. Church email messages have been flying - some news is good. Much is bad.

The newspapers, TV stations and websites are overflowing with news and information. A huge response effort is being mounted with the same types of stories that were so touching and poignant during the PK fires in April; volunteers setting up rest stops, kitchens, aid stations. Officials setting up information networks - where to go, who to see, what to do. Unlike the PK fires, in this metropolitan area information abounds. Ariel photos and maps have provided good and bad news quickly. The only thing they can't tell the displaced is when (and the weekend has provided even that answer for many).

I've posted no pictures. I'm picture weary. You can easily find them if you want.

But all that is table setting. I'm finally down to my random thought, and it is -

What would you take with you?

When they come to your door and tell you that you have 15 minutes to grab your most cherished possessions and go, just what would you reach for?

I know that you can find guides and helpful hints on planning for such an eventuality. The newspaper is full of suggestions and Internet references. Bank safe deposits, off-site storage, fire-resistant lock boxes. All good ideas. A Reading Ally co-worker saw the hand-writing on the wall (or was that smoke on the horizon?) and moved a lot of his more valued possessions to a storage facility in town. Things like paintings, a stamp collection, photos, etc. Unaffected to this point, he says he'll keep them there until it rains.

Some friends of ours who live in vulnerable locations, have mapped out an exit strategy, and packed suitcases that stay by the door or in the trunk of the car. When Roger and Marybeth were in Guatemala during particularly scary guerrilla and insurgent uprisings, they kept their "escape" trunk packed for immediate evacuation (and it almost came to that). Planning ahead is a good thing.

But most of the thousands and thousands of families affected this week had no warning. Most had, literally, 15 minutes. Or less. Many, if not the majority, walked out with the clothes on their backs and a few things in their hands. What were those things? Many pets. Many photo albums (when we thought the Lake Cabin was gone we all rejoiced to learn that Rozanne had taken the Cabin photo albums home). Many walked out with useless, nonsensical things, things that were nearby when they fled: a coffee cup, a library book, a pillow.

What would you take? Photos? Laptop? Your mother's favorite vase that was bequeathed to you? The family Bible? The ashes on the mantle? Really? Yes, I know, it's all just things that in the end don't go with you anyway. Walking out the door is the most important accomplishment. But looking around, is there something you would grab that would get you through the hardships of the next few days, weeks, years?

What would you take?

You can get anything you want - at Mary's Cafe in Strawn

2011-09-09T05:25:00.136-05:00

"Walk right in, it's around the back, just a half mile from the railroad track." -- With apologies to Arlo.

In Strawn, Texas, population 739 people, about a half mile from the railroad track on Highway 16 is Mary's Cafe, widely acclaimed to have the best chicken-fried steak served anywhere. Anywhere. Mary's has been written up in most of the major Texas newspapers; Texas Monthly named it one of the best, and its fame has circled the globe (one family from Abilene heard about it while visiting in China). And Strawn just happens to be on the way to the Lake Cabin at Possum Kingdom. Heh, Heh.

I carefully set our departure time on our recent trip to put us in Strawn just about 1pm - late enough to miss the church crowd. What I didn't realize was that Mary's IS the church crowd in Strawn. We got there at 1pm to find that about 80 of our closest friends were standing at the door, waiting for a table!

I asked the guy at the desk and the liar said the wait was 20 minutes, so I convinced my already-dubious wife that this was a wonderful opportunity to check off a bucket list item and besides it's not that hot, sitting out here on a pipe rail, breathing in the smoke from the latest wildfire thirty miles up the road. Thirty-five minutes later, we got 2 spots at a table, along with another couple.

The waitress took our order - "Two small chicken-fried steaks, please." I knew better than order the large; that's multiple pieces of steak that cover a platter about the size of a large pizza. Barb was not present when the waitress said, "Hon, we're short-handed in the kitchen today and this will take a while, but I'll get your order out the instant it is ready." Later, when I fessed up about the delay, she said, "So what? This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and by that I mean we aren't ever going to do this again."

Mary's will seat, by my estimates, about 100 diners. There is a patio around back that will seat many more. For some reason, it's very popular with the biker crowd, and I'll admit that timing our trip to coincide with the opening of dove season was not a good idea. The menu is extensive and the reviews say that all the grub is good at Mary's. Almost all the tables are the standard 8-foot banquet table; the decor is early remodeling. In the picture above, you can just see the front desk and cashier stand on the left, plus the drink fountain area behind it - glasses of ice and canned beverages of your choosing. And I think about half of the population of Strawn works there.

The couple at our table both ordered large orders; the waitress brought the take-home boxes at the same time as the steaks. Turns out that they live in Ft Worth and come down every couple of months to eat their fill and cart the rest back for sandwiches for the next couple of weeks.

Was it worth nearly two hours added to our trip to dine on chicken-fried steak named the best anywhere? I'll be honest. It is very hard to ruin chicken fried steak, and I'm not a real gourmet. It was good. It was very good. The steak was thin and cooked nicely, with crisp highlights of batter. The pepper gravy (served on the side) was excellent - really the best part of the meal. The sour cream and butter for the baked potato came out of plastic packets; the salad dressing was in a ubiquitous squeeze bottle. But when all was said and done it was a chicken-fried steak. A very good chicken-fried steak.

And I'm thinking, if the next time we drive by Mary's and the line is down to oh, 40 or so, and if they say the kitchen is fully staffed, I'm thinking... I'm thinking... how am I going to convince my wife we should stop again?

The Real Hatch Green Chile Festival

2011-09-07T05:34:00.110-05:00

One of the reasons that Chuy's Green Chile Festival is so anticipated and enjoyed is the handful of new dishes they come up with each year - all featuring, of course Hatch Chilies. Barb is not so fond of the Fest, being less a fan of the burn than some of us. She doesn't try the new recipes and she has to stick to the blandest dishes because there is a certain proximity effect during the Fest. For the duration, the output of the kitchen is just plain hotter. The queso is hotter, the tortillas are hotter, the water is hotter, so she says. This is the 23rd year of Chile Fest for Chuy's.

Except for longevity, however, Central Market embraces the new crop of Hatch Chiles to a greater degree than Chuy's. CM still roasts them daily, in big, electrically-rotated cages over a roaring fire (Chuy's gave this up several years ago - at least at our location), and the list of products offered featuring the chiles is incredibly long.

They have Hatch Chile chips, dips, and sips (okay, I made that last part up); the bakery goes wild and you can get a dozen different types of chile-infused bread (Hatch demi-baguette, Hatch cheddar loaf, Hatch Challah). The salsas and spreads are legion (Hatch salsa, Hatch remoulade, Hatch goat cheese spread). Game for some Hatch chicken salad? Hatch crab cakes, Hatch sausage, Hatch turkey breast? I even saw a Hatch Cobbler. And of course, you can buy the chiles themselves, fresh or freshly roasted. Mild or Hot. This was the 16th year for Central Market's Fest.

But the real Hatch Chile Fest, is of course, in Hatch, New Mexico. Every Labor Day weekend for the last 40 years, this sleepy little village of 1,600 residents (four banks, two grocery stores) hosts a festival that now attracts as many as 30,000 visitors. Every way that the chile can be incorporated into some edible (?) form is at hand; green chile cheeseburgers, gorditas, enchiladas, burritos, etc. Dozens of vendors offer every chile-related product known to man, and a lot of other stuff, besides. Those big roasters at Central Market? Made in Hatch, of course. And this close to the source, you can get your chile in red as well as green, and they can be mild, medium, hot and "must sign the release" before eating.

Sounds like an event that should go on a bucket list.

Monday Meanderings on Tuesday - 9.6.2011

2011-09-06T05:32:00.023-05:00

What's with the MM on Tuesday, you ask? Well, I was away for the weekend but I had faithfully prepared this MM - and scheduled it for the wrong day! Doh! Oh well, it gives me a chance to tweak it.

Hope you ~~are having~~ had a good Labor Day. On Labor Day, I got my coffee, went down to the patio at the Lake Cabin, got my feet up...and nearly froze!! Below 70 in North Central Texas, sitting out in the breeze in metal chairs, deliciously cold. After so much heat and humidity this was heaven...this was delightful...this was too cold to stay out here! Ahh, up on the portch with a couple of windows open. Now that's more like it.

Yes, this is the Lake Cabin that was lost to wildfires in April, but miraculously survived. And the scars of those fires are all over the area, and within mere feet of the cabin, but it is well on the way to being a far nicer place than pre-fire.

Last week, I told the nurse at the allergist's office that I was allergic to the heat; was there a shot for that? She said, "Yes. A shot of whiskey." Doctors orders?

Our librarian was commenting the other day about the long line of people that would be waiting at the door to get in after an extended Labor Day weekend. Anxious to check out a book? No, anxious to get to the free computers. She said, and I quote, "The drug of choice in the 21st Century is the Internet."

Got a "text to land line" message on the phone the other evening. Some one texted me at the home number, and an automated female voice called and read the text aloud. Come to find out that's a feature for some phone companies. Not mine.

The heat has been hard on the birds, too. About the only ones that are showing up at the feeder are grackles and house wrens. But I have begun to see some finches lately after a long, long absence.

All of UT Nation has been holding their collective breaths to see what the Longhorn football team would be like this year, after last year's debacle. Saturday night's opener was a reasonable effort, and they won by an appropriate margin. Another Shipley, Jaxon, scored a touchdown (two, actually - they said he stepped out of bounds on one of them). But of course all this was against lowly Rice.

And did we get to see this game? Indeed not, because it was on the new Longhorn Network, WHICH NOBODY IN AUSTIN CAN GET! But some enterprising fans found that the game could also be viewed live via an online UStream channel — as long as you had the protected password, which hundreds of people, perhaps thousands, did, after the link and password began showing up in Tweets and on Face Book. Score one for technology and social networking.

So, one more home victory and we will have tied last years record.

We lost Cactus Pryor last week. His was the first face seen when TV was first broadcast in Austin. Humorist, broadcaster, friend to Presidents, Crown Prince of Denmark (one of his many spoofs), legend.

Prior to the Labor Day weekend, there was another wildfire at Possum Kingdom Lake, but at the opposite end from where the Cabin is (it's a BIG lake, 310 miles of shoreline). We kept tabs on it to see if it would interfere with our travel plans by way of closed roads. No problem. But when we returned to Austin, we could see smoke from fires on all sides of the city. As of Monday night, nearly 600 homes lost in multiple thousands of acres afire. It's a very scary time in Texas right now.

Stuck in traffic

2011-09-02T01:04:00.000-05:00

The Texas Department of Transportation on Thursday released its annual list of the 100-most-congested roads and highways in Texas and Austin bagged 10% of the list. It is no surprise that IH35 - right through the heart of our fair city - is close to the top of the list in 4th position.

All the other major thoroughfares in town made the list too; US 290, Mopac, US 183, South and North Lamar, Loop 360 and Parmer lane, among others. It is comforting to know that the roads I travel daily have been recognized as among the most congested in the State. The rankings are based on "annual hours of delay per mile" and if you put a dollar value on the time lost, IH35 costs Austin motorists $133.13 million dollars a year.

But Austin is actually in good shape, compared to Dallas and Houston. The Woodall Rodgers Freeway, just north of downtown Dallas leads the pack. In fact, Dallas has the top 3 offenders on the list and the time lost for all three of them comes to $276 million dollars a year. Houston doesn't weigh in until #6 with US 59, but it makes up for it by claiming more than 1/3 of the spots on the list. I drove down to Houston a few years back late on a Sunday evening and got stuck in traffic on US 59 at 11:00 PM at night.

But there is more. Another survey, this one by AllState Insurance, says Austin drivers have improved their ranking for best drivers in the country - from 170th (out of 200) to 150th. That's right, by measuring collisions in 200 cities across the nation, we are the 150th best drivers on the list! That's right, only 50 other cities have worse drivers than Austin, including, Dallas and Houston. The best? Fort Collins, CO. The worst? Washington DC

You gotta love this town.

More "Why women live longer than men"

2011-08-31T05:55:00.000-05:00

In honor of the very last day of this way-too-hot-month...

Monday Meanderings - 8.29.2011

2011-08-29T05:30:00.004-05:00

Y'all, it's too hot to blog! Here's proof:

And actually it reached 112 at Camp Mabry, one of the official measuring places. The same is expected for today. Come on, Thursday and Friday!!

Evidently Austin likes it hot - inside and out. Yesterday a few thousand gathered in Waterloo Park in record-setting heat for the 21st annual Hot Sauce Festival. Hot sauce vendors put out their hottest concoctions and everyone got to sample and judge. I'm told they disqualified the fan favorite - the vendor that was passing out ice cream.

Our pulpit minister took his oldest boy to Pepperdine this week - first child to leave for college. He said that he and his wife shed a lot of tears when it was time to go. No, the boy was fine, but it was 78 degrees in Malibu and 108 in Austin.

We are now only allowed to water one day a week, unless it is by a hand-held hose. Barb says having the hose pass over your lap while you are sitting on the patio does not count.

Went out to get the paper the other morning and found a large limb from the pecan tree broken completely off and hanging down perilously close to the garage doors. A bit more and the cars are not coming out. Now you may recall that something similar happened a couple of years ago. I solved that problem by climbing up on the roof with the chain saw and dispatching the errant limb. You may also recall the new problem that created of my not being able to get down off the roof because the limb I used to get up there in the first place was now firewood on the driveway.

This time there was no advantage to my getting on the roof, but for some reason Barb was really adamant about my climbing into the tree with a chain saw. So adamant that I called a man and paid him a large sum of money to have his guy climb into the tree with a chainsaw. I do admit that it was nice that when they left they took all the limb parts with them - and swept the driveway to boot!

And you have seen this before, but it is so nice to think about. Right?

Cool places I've been.. Stories for my grandchildren

2011-08-26T05:30:00.041-05:00

That's cool as in not the 71st day (and counting) of triple digit temperatures. Cool as getting snowed on on the 4th of July. Cool, as in needing to snuggle down in the sleeping bag. Ahhhh. That's more like it.

Other than the obvious 108 degrees expected today, my nephew John, blogging about his recent trek to the top of Pikes Peak got me to thinking about Colorado. If you check out his story, you will see that his mountain-climb was inspired by an even greater feat - the discipline to lose 120 pounds of excess avoirdupois! Way to go, John!

My mountain-climb could be attributed to not having a clue about what was involved in climbing one of Colorado's fourteeners. What were you thinking, Bob?

Way, way back - the summer our son graduated from high-school - the new youth-director told the kids that they were going on Trek that summer. Here's the info, we need your money by this date, and oh-by-the-way we need a few adults to go and drive and be responsible, (because the YD certainly wasn't). For some reason, Barb said she would go. After I recovered from the shock of her going, I realized that meant I had to go too - if for no other reason than to bury her body by the side of the trail!

To be fair, the materials pointed out that even though there was no technical climbing involved, one was expected to be reasonably fit, and a good exercise regimen would be helpful in achieving this fitness. So we exercised. We walked, and jogged, and carried backpacks full of rocks around, and after the second day of this nonsense declared ourselves fit as we were going to get.

The afternoon of departure, we loaded up two church vans, split the driving duties between the five adults, and headed for Twin Lakes, Colorado. We got as far as Abilene before we had to stop several hours while one of the vans had some repair work. Back on the road, we were not out of West Texas before the air conditioning quit on the other van. The plan was to drive straight through. The plan was stupid.

Breakfast at a Hardees in Hereford, forcibly make the kids trade seats in air-conditioned van for seats in non-air-conditioned van, forcibly make one of the adult drivers who refused to be relieved to step away from the van, and we were on the road again.

As part of our conditioning regimen, both Barb and I had given up caffeine; we recognized that we were headed for a wilderness area, and a caffeine dependency just wouldn't do, would it? Never mind that when we finally made it to base camp in the hills above Twin Lakes, we met the Dr Pepper truck coming out of the gate after the driver had restocked the vending machine in the dining hall.

We got there on Saturday afternoon and spent the rest of the day in instruction and orientation. Bobby Wood was running Wilderness Trek at that time, and as he told us what to expect for the rest of the week it was at that point some of the young ladies realized there would be no restrooms on the trail. The expression on their faces was worth the trip.

Sunday morning was worship out on the point - looking across the valley at Mt. Elbert and Mt. Massive. Seeing the two tallest mountains in Colorado from that perspective inspired a lot of prayers that morning. Sunday afternoon we went to rappel. All of us. Even Barb. She was not too keen about the idea of stepping off the face of a 100 foot cliff with nothing between her and the ground but a couple of thin ropes. She was less thrilled when the ropes got tangled and she was stuck on the side of the cliff. While Bobby climbed down to get her going again, I was looking around for a shovel and a good burial plot.

One of our group refused to rappel. Absolutely. Refused. No. The youth director talked to him, the adults talked to him, the other kids talked to him. Not go down that rope. Finally, Bobby told him that he had a choice: he could rappel, or he could rappel. That was the only way he was going to get off the mountain. He rappelled. And loved it! We saw lots of changed behavior that week, but that fear turned to victory moment was priceless.

Monday we divided the tents, cooking gear and food among us and set out for high camp on Mt Elbert. Never mind that our backpacks were already stuffed full before we distributed another 40 pounds of gear per person. Tie it on and hit the trail.

The "back" slope of Elbert - our approach that morning - starts out with a significant segment of scree - loose, slippery rock. Easily displaced, we spent the morning yelling "Rock" to those coming along below us, and dodging the rolling boulders from those above us. We finally reached vegetation again, and began following an old logging trail upwards.

About mid-morning, it began to rain. Now ponchos were on the list of things to bring, but Bobby had already pointed out that they are next to useless in keeping you and your pack dry. Garbage bags work for the packs, and some of the kids resorted to using them for ponchos as well. But the fact is we got wet. And cold. And miserable. And did I mention wet?

High camp is at about 11,000 feet - right at treeline. Some of us got there with everything, Some of us got there without our back packs, and some didn't get there at all. The stronger ones of the group went back to collect packs and trekkers and bring them up. I was not among that group. It was still raining, we were still wet, and we were still miserable. Finally, someone got a non-Forest Service approved fire started and we huddled around that for a time, and then the sun came out.

I cannot describe to you the sheer joy of that group upon seeing the sun. Never was a little sunshine received with more delight and adulation than at that moment. All became well with the world again, and we almost forgave Bobby for dragging us up here. Supper that night included fried Spam, a delicacy that most of the kids had never experienced. One of the guys was so excited, he said he couldn't wait to tell his mother about Spam. I was pretty sure she wouldn't share that enthusiasm.

It rained again that night. Unfortunately, our Trek Director believed in letting Trekkers make non-fatal mistakes (and we are suspicious about the other kind), so no one told a certain group of girls and the female adult sponsor that the door of their tent should not open on the uphill side of the mountain. If you do that, water flowing down hill rushes in the tent door and fills the tent. Someone who shall remain nameless will forever be remembered as shouting at the Trek Director, when he explained the mistake the next morning, "We could have stayed at home and gotten wet for a whole lot less money!"

Tuesday was acclimation. Above high camp the slopes were still covered with snow, and we climbed up onto those snow fields and glissaded down them. Glissaded is a technical term that means we sat down on the snow and tobogganed down the side of the mountain, dragging an ice axe behind us in the mistaken belief that it would a) slow us down, b) help steer us, and c) allow us to stop when we ran out of snow.

Wednesday, early Wednesday was summit day. Up at 4am, eat a dry breakfast and begin a death march to the peak. From high camp to the peak of Elbert, there are 7 false summits; you see what you think is the top and put everything you've got into making that, only to find that there's more mountain ahead of you. It was at this point one of the kids asked how we would know when we got to the peak. Bobby, said, "You'll know when there's no more up." Above 11,000 feet breathing is labored. The least exertion winds you. At some point you realize that you are taking a step, then taking a breath. Step. Breath. Later in the morning, it has become step, breath, breath, breath, step, breath, breath, breath.

And then there's no more up. You are sitting on the rock pile that is the top of Mt Elbert, elevation, 14,440 feet! We sing a couple of songs, take the group photos, and it's time to head down. Storms come early at this elevation and to be caught on the peak is to risk becoming a crispy critter. So we start the descent.

And that's when you realize that you have given everything you have to get to the top. You are completely exhausted, and going down the mountain is just as hard as going up the mountain. You just use different muscles. There's no elevator, no road, no snow field to glissade down. It's just one foot in front of the other. It was the hardest thing I've ever done.

Thursday was the trek down from high camp, where we found out there was a logging road that completely bypassed the dangerous scree. Back to trail head, back to base camp, wonderful feast waiting for us and then the Thursday night bonfire.

You had to be there to fully appreciate the bonfire. So many attitude changes. So many life-lessons. The Thursday night bonfire is the reason you go through this hell.

One of the hardest things I've ever done. So hard, that we went twice more - La Plata and Mt. Harvard, and timed a vacation trip so we could be at another Thursday night bonfire. And forever more, our family had a mantra: "You've been wet and cold before. You will get over it."

Hatch Green Chili Fest - 2011

2011-08-24T05:45:00.001-05:00

If you don't live in one of the 27 Chuy's cities - I'm sorry.

From the fields of Hatch Valley, New Mexico, emerges a hero with uncanny super powers - none other than the amazing "Super Pepper!" Hero to Tex-Mex fans everywhere. Well, almost everywhere.

Monday Meanderings 8.22.2011

2011-08-22T05:54:00.035-05:00

Seen recently on Facebook:

The economy is so bad that I got a pre-declined credit card in the mail.
CEO's are now playing miniature golf.
Exxon-Mobil laid off 25 Congressmen.
Angelina Jolie adopted a child from America.
Motel Six won't leave the light on anymore.
A picture is now only worth 200 words.
They renamed Wall Street "Wal-Mart Street"
...And finally, I called the suicide hotline; I got a call center in Pakistan and when I told them I was suicidal, they got all excited, and asked if I could drive a truck!

I don't mean to play the "My city is hotter than your city" game, but tomorrow Austin will tie the number-of-triple-digit-days in a summer record of 69 days, set back in 1925, and there is no end in sight. I'm seriously considering doing the rain dance out on the front lawn, but then, of course, we would probably have to move. Even if it brings rain, there are some things the neighbors just can't deal with.

School starts today for much of the area. Yesterday in church we blessed the kindergartners... Mr. Adam made a big deal about how the kids would meet new people, and be in a new place, and it will all be new and diffeent, and a toddler piped up and said, "Nuh huh. I'm going to home school."

So. Governor GoodHair has announced his bid for the presidency and every. word. he. says. is now subject to the utmost scrutiny in the media. I am going to be so sick of this campaign! This past week someone ran a full-page ad in the Austin Chronicle, the alternative, free newspaper in Austin. The 40-point bold-face headline said,

HAVE YOU EVER HAD SEX WITH RICK PERRY?

It went on to say. "Are you a stripper, an escort, or just a 'young hottie' impressed by an arrogant, entitled governor of Texas? Contact CASH and we will help you publicize your direct dealings with a Christian-buzzword-spouting 'family values' hypocrite and fraud."

However, KLBJ Radio voluntarily took down their big billboard that said, GOD, GAYS & GUNS along with the names of the talk jocks on the station. They said the billboard was intended to show that the station did not avoid controversial subjects, but it had been widely interpreted as "God is going after Gays with Guns."

You gotta' love this town!

More quotes from friends on the Internet. this from Trey Morgan: "Why are there never any good side effects to meds? Just once I'd like to read a medication bottle and see "May cause extreme handsomeness."

Nostalgia trip

2011-08-19T05:43:00.000-05:00

I have posted about my home town of Breckenridge before - specifically about how it was a powerhouse of high school football in the late '50s. That's a by-gone era that cannot be duplicated today. But I ran across a newspaper clipping that sent me down memory lane, so this blog is a little indulgence on my part.

Jake Trussell was a sportswriter of some minor note in the Kingsville / Texas A&I area and this was his response to the State Championship game in 1958 - my Senior year. As you might expect, the article was not well received in Breck - especially the vivid descriptions of the barren wasteland and the "Gunsmoke" references. I recall that the local paper sent someone to Kingsville to report back on the ugliness of that area. Alas, Kingsville, while not in the Rio Grand Valley per se, is located in one of the more verdant areas of South Texas. Mr. Trussell may have had a point. For the record, we won 42-14.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
The Kingsville Record
Wednesday, December 24, 1958
---------------------------------------------------------------------

Breckenridge Was Tough And Mean Last Saturday As Buckaroos Beat Bulls

by Jake Trussell

For years I'd heard of Breckenridge and its high school football team, but not until Saturday did I learn the facts of life. I finally made a pilgrimage to Breckenridge, and as a long time writer on the the subject of high school football I think “pilgrimage” is the right word to use. No football fan will ever know how great high school football can be played until he's seen the Breckenridge Buckaroos perform on their home field.

After the Kingsville Brahamas beat massive Cleburne, I just couldn't imagine Breckenridge being any better than that giant Cleburne team. So I picked Kingsville to knock off Breckenridge 24 to 20. It was a classic example of ignorance being bliss.

I felt sure of my prediction until the fans' bus upon which I rode to the game came in sight of Breckenridge. But as I saw Breckenridge as the bus approached the town and then drove through it, I became vaguely uneasy. By the time I had gotten out of the bus, entered Buckaroo Stadium, and climbed to the press box, I had a deep down aching feeling that Kingsville was going to get the axe.

Mean and Tough

Breckenridge Saturday was the meanest, toughest, rawest, ugliest looking town I have ever seen – and it had a football team to match. The comparatively small town was sitting on barren, wind-swept, frost-bitten Northwest Texas hills. There wasn't a speck of green in sight anywhere. Separate portions of the town actually looked like sets out of “Gunsmoke.”

As our bus wheeled through the streets of this God forsaken-looking community, we noticed that there were no automobiles, pedestrians or stragglers on the streets. Everything appeared to be closed down. Breckenridge actually looked like a ghost town. “Where is everybody?” someone asked. A few minutes later we discovered the answer to that question. They were all at the football stadium, preparing to watch another slaughter. Once again, I use a word advisedly. “Slaughter” is the right verb-adjective to describe the way Breckenridge dismembers a visiting football team. And the staging is absolutely perfect.

What A Stadium

The Breckenridge football stadium looks like a combination rodeo chute – slaughter pen – concentration camp. Old, rough wooden bleachers surround the playing field on three sides. The football field itself doesn't have a single blade of grass on it. The softest thing on that gridiron Saturday was the line markings. It was as barren, and almost as hard, as if the two teams had been playing on a tennis court.

The football field is surrounded by a concentration camp-type fence, right off the edge of the field, and immediately behind the fence the thousands of screaming Breckenridge fans roar their approval of the Buckaroos and their disapproval of the visiting club. No wonder the the Buckaroos are almost invincible at home. The opposition is intimidated before a single play is ever run. If I was a coach and took a team into Breckenridge seriously expecting to win, I wouldn't step into that stadium without sub-machine guns and hand grenades. The implication automatically is that if you ever win a game there you'll have to fight your way out of town.

Quick, Quick, Quick!

On the field of play itself, the Buckaroos present the quickest, fastest, hardest hitting high school team you will ever see! The secret of their success is mainly two-fold. A great tradition of being a football town, and team speed as an eleven-man unit that is absolutely amazing. On their home field, the Buckaroos play as if they knew that, if they lose, they will each and every one be run out of town. Those Bucks aren't just playing football. They're fighting for a happy home and the right to walk down the streets of their own city.

Breath-Taking

Their speed as a team is breath-taking. One Kingsville fan came through with the best description of the way the Bucks operate. Said this fan, “They come up to the line of scrimmage, squat down, and then take off like a covey of quail.” Actually, the Buckaroos moved quicker erecting their offensive plays than any team I have ever seen, high school, college or pro. They waste no time at the line of scrimmage. They work the plays through the middle so fast that neither the fans nor the opposition know what's happening until the runner is in the secondary.

On the field of play the Buckaroos are good sports. They didn’t try “to get” Kingsville's colored athletes, as had been rumored in advance. They simply knock you into the middle of next week, then run back to the huddle to call the next play. They are too great a team to wast time on dirty football.

Prefers Kingsville

After it was all over Saturday, my reaction was as follows, I knew I'd finally seen the greatest in high school football. But if I had to live in Breckenridge to be state champions, I'd just stay in Kingsville and be runners-up. For one of the reasons the Breckenridge boys play great football is because of the simple and obvious fact that they have nothing else to do. The isolated, forlorn, and desolate cowtown-oil-town sits alone and overlooked by the rest of civilization. Until somebody mentions the game of high school football!

Oh, give me a home...

2011-08-17T05:50:00.001-05:00

The conservationists at the Ladybird Johnson Wildflower Center have been hard at work on a 16 acre restoration project that will feature different kinds of native grasses and trees in Central Texas as they might have existed 200 years ago - when the buffalo roamed. In a case of "if you build it they will come," a female bison showed up at the project the other day, and felt right at home.

The conservationists were elated; the Center managers less so. Families on picnics and a 2,000 pound ungulate don't mix well. There's a State Farm TV commercial that suggests that. So efforts began to "dart" the bison and deliver her back to her owner, a rancher in Manchaca who was unloading the buffalo, which he had just purchased in Colorado, when it broke loose and trotted away.

Only problem was, aptly-named Liberty, the bison, liked the meadowland, and she was reluctant to be trundled off to some old cow pasture. Some animal control workers (read dog catchers) darted her but the dose was inadequate and Liberty just trotted off. So the next day they called in Animal Protection and Control for Austin and Travis County. They, in turn, called in a National Guard helicopter and sent "buffalo hunters" out to finish the job. It may interest you to know that a 2000 pound bison can effectively hide from searchers in a helicopter in a landscape dotted with scrub oak and ceder trees.

Since this is Austin, it didn't take long for a groundswell of support to appear on Liberty's behalf. There were at least two Twitter accounts set up for her, @BuffaloAustin and @southatxbuffalo with tweets like:

BuffaloAustin Wildflower Buffalo
Don't taze me, bro! Don't taze me! #PoliceBrutality

BuffaloAustin Wildflower Buffalo
Listening to @Austin360Radio on my Android and they're playing Buffalo Soldier by Marley. Great way to start the weekend!

BuffaloAustin Wildflower Buffalo
@UTexasMBA Do you offer advanced degrees for advanced bovines? #EducateTheBison

BuffaloAustin Wildflower Buffalo
Yes, I am here, and I'm here in ATX. Many have tried and failed to find me. Bring it on, slugger! #BisonCamo #sillyhumans

So after almost a week of playing an embarrassing game of "Where's Liberty?" the officials called in a "consultant" to find the scofflaw. What that actually means is they hired a local hunter who put boots on the ground, tracked Liberty down the old-fashioned way, and helped her take a nap while the officials huffed and puffed and loaded her on the trailer and took her to her real home in south Travis County.

I'm just wondering; once she's seen the Wildflower Meadowland, are they going to be able to keep her down on the farm?

Monday Meanderings - 8.15.2011

2011-08-15T05:26:00.005-05:00

Well, it finally happened. They had me read a phone book at Recording for the Blind. No, not the one with everyone's numbers - the one that comes with your phone, the user's guide. This was for a Samsung smartphone; I told them that if it had been for the Apple iPhone the recording would have been only 4 pages long instead of 128 for the Samsung phone.

The dental hygienist that Barb and see (when we need some guilt and verbal abuse) recently entered an Iron Man competition in Austria - and won it! Not sure what age group she competes in (she has grandchildren) but the fact that she finished the competition is awesome enough. This qualifies her for the big one in Kona in October. The bottom line is, when she says "Open wide" you do exactly that.

I find it odd that okra - long a staple in the below-the-line family's diet - costs $2.00 a pound.

Bad pre-season football is better than no football at all. But just barely.

Weatherman says today is the "tipping point" for temperatures; on average temperatures are lower after this date. Good to know since the forecast calls for 105 degrees today.

So. Governor Good-Hair has entered the presidential race. For someone who claims to dislike Washington so much he sure seems to want to get there.

A new twist on the Tower

2011-08-12T05:51:00.002-05:00

Recently a production company shot promotional footage for UT's brand new Longhorn Network and used the Tower as the backdrop. Not unusual, but they added their own twist - a laser light show that had the building whirling like a Rubik's Cube. Interesting.

According to the Statesman, the footage will be broadcast on Aug. 26 when the Longhorn Network launches.

Chuy's dirty little secret goes public

2011-08-10T05:14:00.091-05:00

It hasn't been that well hidden, this dirty little secret of Chuy's. I've known for quite some time. I just convinced myself that it didn't make any difference. Nothing has changed. Now the whole world knows, or soon will. Chuy's, that bastion of Austin-style funkiness, shining icon of what's right about this town, is owned by a corporation. That's not the bad part. The bad part is that this corporation is based in New York City. Get a rope.

Yes, in 2006, Mike Young and John Zapp sold the business to Goode Partners, a New York based private equity firm. To be sure Mike and John seem to be still involved, but make no mistake. The suits are in charge.

I was okay with private, because truthfully, you can still get a Chuychanga with Queso that is identical to those those that have we feasted on for more than 25 years. But now Goode Partners has filed for a public stock sale. And a lot of the revenue from that offering is slated for expansion. Oh, I know that there are already 27 Chuy's restaurants located in Texas, Tennessee, Alabama, Kentucky and Indiana. But next thing you know there will be one in Oklahoma. Or College Station. Is nothing sacred?

But wait, you say. Isn't this good news? Isn't this a chance to become a shareholder, a part owner, as it were? Isn't this like the oil bidness and everybody needs a few shares of Chuy's? Even if it is only .0084151%?

Folks, there's only so much disposable income. Which would you rather; have a chicken fajita burrito for dinner or file away a piece of paper? And before long folks from these far-away places - who think beef tips in brown gravy is a Tex-Mex dish - will be standing up at shareholder meetings calling for bell peppers instead of Hatch chilies, 'cause they like it mild!

I think I have to go drown my sorrows in some creamy jalapeno dip.

Monday Meanderings - 8.8.2011

2011-08-08T04:21:00.055-05:00

Have I mentioned that we are reading literature books at Learning Ally? Only the last 27 Monday Meanderings? This week I got a high-school-level American Lit book and lucked out with two wonderful, complete stories, "The Magic Barrel' by Bernard Malamud and "The Rock Pile" by James Baldwin. Both were rich in dialect and language and I loved the experience of reading them! We were one page from the end of the second story when we reached the time for a shift change. My director said, "You have to finish this. You MUST finish this." So we did.

With the temperature above 100 degrees for more than 50 days thus far, I was expecting the electric bill for July to approach the national debt. The electric portion was reasonable, however. It was the water portion, and waste water, and trash and drainage/street service (whatever that is), and all the other things they ding you for that really ring it up.

An event that really makes you feel old is to have a grandson stop by on his way to visit another part of the country. Where is the toddler I played cars with for hours on end? Somehow it is fitting, however. We have been greeting him and saying goodbye to him at airports all his life.

And Barb was afraid that we might not have enough for him to snack on while here. So she stocked up. And you should see the refrigerator!

Of course we went to the movies while he was here. We have to keep our record intact of going to the movies at least once every 3 or 5 ... years. Saw Captain America. Cool movie, but a really, really terrible ending. I'm told you have to be really up on the Avenger comics stuff and then you would know that the terrible ending is to set up next summers follow-on. I also came away with questions based on what I learned in World History. What's that? It's based on a comic book character? I knew that.

I understand President Obama turned 50 this past week in spite of the Republican's objections.

Tee shirt seen on a large man: "I am winning the battle against Anorexia."

I attended a funeral this week. There was congregational singing and we sang several familiar songs. One of them was "Red River Valley." Don't recall ever singing that at a funeral before.

And would you rather see temperatures like this -

Or like this?

I found this setting that says "C" or "F." "C" obviously means "cooler."

Random wierdness

2011-08-05T05:25:00.002-05:00

From Wikipedia:

Pareidolia ( /pærɨˈdoʊliə/ parr-i-doh-lee-ə) is a psychological phenomenon involving a vague and random stimulus (often an image or sound) being perceived as significant. Common examples include seeing images of animals or faces in clouds, the man in the moon or the Moon rabbit, and hearing hidden messages on records played in reverse. The word comes from the Greek para- – "beside", "with", or "alongside"—meaning, in this context, something faulty or wrong (as in paraphasia, disordered speech) and eidōlon – "image"; the diminutive of eidos – "image", "form", "shape".

Here's an example - the "man in the moon" referenced above:

And it also encompasses things like the next picture; a religious image in something trivial, like toast.

Or the Virgin Mary - very popular among some ethnic groups:

Some claim there's a cat's face in this piece of toast. You be the judge.

Panhandler profiles

2011-08-03T05:51:00.076-05:00

You have them where you live, too; the ubiquitous street-corner panhandler, flying a cardboard flag and dealing for dollars. Seems like every corner has one, from early morning's light until late in the night. And after long and careful study I find most fit in some definite categories. Maybe you've noticed:

The happy guy - He waves at everybody, change or no. Big smiles and eye contact, not a care in the world, he's just out there to make his little corner a better place. Very few women in this category (with a notable exception discussed later).

The mannequin - Not a twitch. This one stares off into space with no interaction at all; depends on peripheral vision to catch proffered change. A lot of women use this style. Not to be confused with the next type:

The zombie - You are not sure this one ever moves. At all. I've seen one guy hunkered down in front of a guard rail for weeks on end. Sometimes you wonder about calling EMS...Wait! Was that a blink?

Crying girl - I thought this was unique to one person, but I have now seen others using the technique; tears run down her cheeks, face turned away, humiliation almost more than she can bear. Crying on demand is a very useful ability for a panhandler, but I wonder if she gets dehydrated in this heat?

Life history on the sign - Vietnam Vet, ex-Marine, Paratrooper, Child of God, Peacenik. Needing a bus ticket/cheeseburger/tank of gas and 39 cents short. The sign is a work in process; every square inch covered with symbols, scriptures and pleas.

The real pros - Usually a couple, they have worked a particular corner for years. They live in the minor-league motel down the street, and take vacations.

Hears the voices - You are never quite sure about these these guys. It's not just a drummer; there's a whole band playing in there. Just for them.

Hears the voices and argues with them - I have been known to run red lights rather than have to stop next to one of these guys.

Bikini Babes - The before-mentioned female counterpart to the Happy Guy. They are smokin' hot, happy to see you and you can even get your picture taken with them for a donation toward their rent money. Sadly, I've encountered only one instance of this type (and they got arrested for creating a traffic hazard). Seems hardly fair. I didn't hit the guy stopped in front of me that hard!

Windshield washers - What can I say? They work for their money. I just wish it wasn't on the car in front of me when the light has long since turned green.

The band between gigs - There's 3 or 4 of them and twice that many guitars. Loser has to panhandle while the others get to practice their art. Walked by a group of these on the Santa Clara boardwalk and got a custom four-part harmonized appeal.

The gang - Similar to the band, above, but with no discernible musical talent, these guys have staked out an intersection, or patch of concrete next to a panhandle stand and that becomes the boys club. Everybody congregates there, passing the paper bag, taking turns holding the cardboard.

The squatter - A plastic crate to sit on - or even a lawn chair - appears first. Then there's a few plastic bags of assorted stuff, a backpack or two, assorted water bottles and oh yeah, don't forget the dog. And the dog dish, and...

The invalids - Pick your affliction. They look up new diseases on the Internet at the public library and have half-a-dozen signs to choose from. Some use props like crutches - until they have to run for their bus. Yes, I did see that. For some, they are not props. We regularly see a one-legged woman with a sign that reads "On my last leg."

How about the folks on your corners? Any new categories?

Monday Meanderings - 8.1.2011

2011-08-01T05:28:00.045-05:00

I read some F. Scott Fitzgerald at the studio last week and realized that somehow I'd never actually read any of his work. Now I know why.

Tee shirts: The 1st 50 years of marriage are the hardest.

So far this is the oldest I've ever ever been.

I'm retired and you are not. Na na na na na!

Austin puts on the Cow Parade beginning this week. Fanciful fiberglass cows decorated by local artists and auctioned off for charity. You will recall the guitars from a couple of years ago. Lots of cities have done the Cow parade. Here's one from New York City:

Cowabunga!

But no other city has the Thriller jacket! A guy in Austin paid $1.8 million for the original, for the express purpose of loaning it out for charitable projects.

This week, for a modest donation, you can get your picture taken with the jacket at Dell Children's Medical Center.

Why is it that the TV remote is never where I am?

Having gone through all the summer sports (baseball College World Series for men and women, Women's World Cup, Cupa America, Tour de France) we are now down to... football. Certainly glad the pros worked out their little differences (maybe they can help Congress), so let's get ready for some football.

Serve Out

2011-07-29T05:20:00.024-05:00

Well, with the heat, things spoil pretty quickly around here. Better to get them out and serve them up.

Another reason I'm avoiding Twitter

Some serious lightning!

Though you don't think so, this is really flat on the ground.
Use the trees on the "globe" to gain perspective.

The first riding lawn mower?

Okay. I did that. Now what?

What are the chances of a good night's sleep?

No. It's a balloon animal.

Beach sand.

Nervous bladder?

New Texas rain guage

Not ride that roller coaster!

I'm told that this is an NES Nintendo game controller.
I'm not going to touch that.

How to fix anything

If this is the photo for this family's Christmas card, we are NOT exchanging gifts this year!

Maybe the best prayer ever?

2011-07-26T05:57:00.001-05:00

Monday Meanderings - 7.25.2011

2011-07-25T05:42:00.008-05:00

I was rather taken aback while scanning recent visitors to this blog to find a look from someone at usdoj.gov - the Department of Justice. First the Nuclear Regulatory Commission, now the DOJ. It was two other guys, honest. Then I saw that the DOJ had entered the search term "why was Rachel Bueller issued a red card." Good to know that others thought that was a suspicious call from the referee.

Everyone at Learning Ally is all a twitter; two of our readers are engaged to each other. I guess they have been reading between the lines.

Have I mentioned Bert and Ernie? Two large ducks that hang out in front of Mimi's restaurant? There's a pond nearby but evidently they decided Honey Oat Bran muffins made a better meal than pond fare. According to the manager, that's the only flavor of muffin - out of seven or eight choices - that they will eat. If offered anything else, they just stand there and quack at whoever offered the offending food.

Had an earache this past week, so went to see the Doctor, expecting drops. He gave me pills instead. Said to start with two, then 1 a day. Not working out well. Two is all I can get in the ear at a time.

While watching women's softball this weekend I happened to see part of a Team USA (men's) slow-pitch game. Takes you back to the church-league days, except most of these guys were old geezers. Well, compared to the 16-year-old girl pitching for the women's Canadian National team, mid-40's is geezer-hood. And they kept talking about the 10 Home Run Rule. It seems that it is so easy to slap the ball into the next county that after 10 home runs, each ball-over-the-fence counts as an out! Tends to keep the ball in play.

Don't send me anymore "It is so hot..." jokes. I've lost my sense of humor in that regard. I'm just hunkered down under the fan for the duration, with nothing to do.

Ah, are you digging on my grave?

2011-07-22T05:23:00.010-05:00

The State Board of Education in Texas has adopted a plethora of new books this year (after deciding to go with revisionist history, rather than actual events, but that's neither here nor there) so everyone at Learning Ally (formerly RFB&D) is slogging through these new texts so as to have recordings ready for the start of the school year.

Today I was working on about page 950 or so of a 1,400 page book (I pity the poor tykes that will have to lug these home and back) in a section of British Poetry. The featured author was Thomas Hardy, and the poem was "Ah, are you digging on my grave?" - written about the turn of the century after the death of his estranged (for many years) wife. Perhaps that should have been a clue. The poem is a set of questions by the deceased herself, about who it is that is disturbing her grave. Each question is answered, beginning at the "--". It begins:

"Ah, are you digging on my grave,
My loved one? -- planting rue?"

-- "No: yesterday he went to wed
One of the brightest wealth has bred.
'It cannot hurt her now,' he said,
'That I should not be true.'"

"Then who is digging on my grave,
My nearest dearest kin?"

-- "Ah, no: they sit and think, 'What use!
What good will planting flowers produce?
No tendance of her mound can loose
Her spirit from Death's gin.'"

"But someone digs upon my grave?
My enemy? -- prodding sly?"

-- "Nay: when she heard you had passed the Gate
That shuts on all flesh soon or late,
She thought you no more worth her hate,
And cares not where you lie.

"Then, who is digging on my grave?
Say -- since I have not guessed!"

-- "O it is I, my mistress dear,
Your little dog, who still lives near,
And much I hope my movements here
Have not disturbed your rest?"

And at this point, I choked up, thinking about the faithful little dog, there at the mistresses' grave. The directors I work with on a regular basis are used to this behavior on my part, but I had someone new and a trainee, so they were rather alarmed until I gathered myself and said not to worry, it happens all the time. And then I went on reading.

"Ah yes! You dig upon my grave...
Why flashed it not to me
That one true heart was left behind!
What feeling do we ever find
To equal among human kind
A dog's fidelity!"

But get this!

"Mistress, I dug upon your grave
To bury a bone, in case
I should be hungry near this spot
When passing on my daily trot.
I am sorry, but I quite forgot
It was your resting place."

And at this point I just lost it! Here I am feeling so sad about the faithful little dog, and the &%*# mutt is just trying to bury a bone!

Moral: you can never trust a British Poet!

Things your kids may not know about - or will soon forget about

2011-07-20T05:45:00.061-05:00

I wrote last week about the near-disappearance of the drive-in movie theater. That got me to thinking about things that we once knew as familiar parts of our lives, but are no longer around, or are on the brink of vanishing.

To be sure, there are a great many more things that could go on this list, like milk being delivered to your doorstep in glass bottles (with cardboard disks as stoppers), or telephones with no dials or buttons that required the operator to complete a call, but I've tried to focus on the things that were familiar to me as an adult. Some of these things might still be in your closet or attic, and they may even be for sale somewhere. Perhaps the litmus test is, do your kids know what these are or were used for?

Here's what I came up with:

VHS tapes.
VCRs to put them in.
Playing music on an audio tape using a personal stereo (i.e. Walkman).
Ditto the Discman.
Transistor radios.
Rotary dial televisions with no remote control (the kids were the remote control).
Black and white televisions.
Snow on the TV screen (now it's digital artifacts).
Outdoor TV antennas.
Tubes in radios and TVs.
Tube testers in most drug stores.
Analog TVs.
TV stations that signed off after Johnny Carson.
Scanning the radio dial and hearing static between stations.
Shortwave radio.

Wires. OK, so they’re not gone yet, but it won’t be long.
The distinctive noise of a dial-up modem connecting.
Spending many minutes (or even hours!) to download something.
The sound of a dot-matrix printer.
5-inch and 3-inch floppies, Zip Discs and countless other forms of data storage.
Having to delete something to make room on your hard drive.
Booting your computer off of a floppy disk.
Finding out information from an encyclopedia.
A physical dictionary — either for spelling or definitions.
Using a road atlas to get from A to B.
Doing bank business only when the bank is open.
Shopping only during the day, Monday to Saturday.
The four-pound Sears catalog.
Ads on the back of comics for "X-ray glasses."
Filling out an order form by hand, putting it in an envelope and mailing it.
Carrying on a correspondence with real letters, especially the handwritten kind.
Airmail letters on a wafer thin blue paper.
Smoking allowed on airplanes.
Kentucky Fried Chicken, as opposed to KFC.
Real keys for the motel door.
When Spam was just a meat product
Typewriter erasers (round eraser wheel with an attached brush).
Typewriters.
Dittos - spirit duplicated pages.
Mimeograph machines.
Carbon paper.
Fountain pens.
Super-8 movies and cine film of any kind.
Putting film in your camera.
Sending that film away to be processed & mailed back.
Snapshots (on paper) in your wallet/purse.
Polaroid cameras.
Carousel slide projectors.
CB radios.
Green Stamps.
Using a stick to point at information on a wallchart
Walk-in telephone booths.
Rotary-dial telephones.
Pay phones.
Paying for long distance in the US.
Phones with actual bells in them.
Remembering someone’s phone number.
Not knowing who was calling you on the phone.
Trig tables and log tables.
What a slide rule is, let alone how to use it.
Actual card catalogs at the library.
Swimming pools with diving boards.
See-Saws or Teeter-Totters.
Lawn darts (okay, that was a bad idea anyway)
Chemistry sets.
Clamp-on roller skates (with steel wheels)
Cap guns with paper caps.
Juke boxes (yeah, but I don't go into those places).
Having to manually unlock a car door.
Gas station attendants.
Coin operated scales to weigh yourself on.
Bottle caps with cork liners
Barbershop poles.
Leaded gasoline.
Running boards on cars.
Fender skirts.
Flash bulbs and cubes.
Standard shift automobiles.
No power steering or power brake assist.
Side vent windows in autos.

What can you add to the list?

Monday Meanderings - 7.18.2011

2011-07-18T05:26:00.089-05:00

I was really excited when I saw that the visits to this blog shot way up after posting my "Deep thoughts while watching a soccer game." I thought, man, people really liked this blog and they sent the link to all their friends, and their friends liked it, and so forth! It was exciting to see. Then I looked at the Google statistics and saw that the majority of the visits were hits from Google searches for "why was Rachel Buehler suspended" and "Erika Brazil soccer flop" and "how long is Buehler out for her red card" and many other similar questions. Oh well. A little lesson in humility now and then is good for you.

And I'll just say that a penalty kick shootout is a lousy way to end a soccer match. Bring back the Golden Goal.

Speaking of visitors, I just want to say to whoever checked in from the Nuclear Regulatory Commission, I swear I thought that I left that extra dosimeter behind after visiting A&M's research reactor those many years ago.

And while we are on the subject of Google, I have mentioned before that I browse through a Google-selected list of blogs, looking for the strange and ludicrous. And I also mentioned that in spite of my efforts to persuade Google otherwise, they sent me lots and lots of horsey blogs. Then they decided that I was interested in weaving and textiles in general and for a while everything dealt with yarns and dying of fabrics and what kind of loom to buy. That's okay. I just ignored all that. But I draw the line at child-birth and midwifery and nursing and such. People! I don't want to see those pictures! So it may be a while before I do another serve-out. Just wanted you to know the reason why.

Early pecan crop. They are all on the ground already; green, about the size of small marbles and just as hard, thanks to the drought.

I told you on Friday that it was an urban legend about the teens in the trunk being surprised when the driver made a complete circle back to the ticket office. But I heard from someone in Breckenridge, my hometown, who swears the following is true:

"Two little old white-headed ladies went to the Coral drive-in. While stopped to pay for their tickets. another car pulled up & ran into the back of their car pretty hard. The little old ladies got quite excited and jumped out to open the trunk, exposing 2 other little old white-headed ladies! When asked what they were doing back there, they said 'We had heard that the young kids do that & we just thought we would have some fun!'"

Like I said, she swears it's true.

GQ magazine says Austin is only the 18th "Best Dressed" city in the US. That's okay. According to Travel and Leisure magazine Austin is the 8th best "Best Beer" city. It's all about priorities, folks.

The Drive-in theater - Stories for my grandchildren

2011-07-15T05:32:00.011-05:00

I was surprised to learn that there are still 370 operational drive-in theaters in the United States. Haven't given it much thought, but I know that it has been years since I have seen even a deserted theater, screen towering tall over an abandoned car park. Most have been torn down at this point.

Growing up, the drive-in was an integral part of the social fabric for me and my friends. It was the place to take a date because, not to put too fine a point on it, it was a great place to make out. Oh, and they showed movies, too. Mind you, we took dates to the down-town theaters, too, but those were...well, more formal dates. A certain decorum was expected there.

The drive-in had a broader appeal than just as a passion pit; it was a favorite family destination. There was a playground up front, just below the screen, and you could turn the kids loose for the evening, or bed them down in the back. Baby-sitters not needed. Though Barb and I found out that sometimes that didn't work out well. Our small son showed a great deal of interest in the controversial (for the times) Midnight Cowboy while we desperately tried to get him to go to sleep. Some week-day nights were Dollar Nights - the whole car for one dollar. If you had a pickup, you backed into your space, and sat in lawn chairs in the bed of the pickup.

And don't forget the concession stand, purveyor of some really bad food. It was in the building up front, usually dug into the ground somewhat so you could see over it.

I am told that some kids, to avoid the cost of a ticket, would crawl in the trunk of the car and pass through the ticket line undetected, emerging only when the car had come to a stop. I assure you that it is an urban legend that sometimes the driver would circle completely through the drive-in and stop in the ticket line again, whereupon the hidden miscreant would emerge in full view of the ticket taker.

And if you forgot to put the speaker back on the pole when the movie was over, either the speaker or the window would lose the ensuing tug-of-war. At the drive-in of my youth, the speakers were connected with steel cables in addition to audio wires. No contest.

In 1958, the year of my high school graduation, there were 4036 drive-ins open in the US; 382 of them were in Texas. This marked the zenith of the industry. Twenty years later there were only half that many drive-ins, and they were closiing at the rate of 150 theaters a year. In 2007, the latest year for statistics, there were 17 theaters in Texas; 18 in California.

Two things killed the drive-in theater; rising land values and daylight savings time. Most theaters were close to, if not in, the communities they served. Urban sprawl made the land so valuable the owners could not pass up the chance for a windfall profit. Daylight savings time, though enacted long before the heyday of the drive-in, was spotty at best until the 60's. Summertime was drive-in time, and waiting until dark meant a 9pm or so start. Too late for most folks.

Deep thoughts while watching a soccer game. Really.

2011-07-13T06:00:00.136-05:00

Our family has been involved in soccer for many years. We have all participated in various ways - as players, referees, and coaches. Barb and I have been to matches of every level; youth league, high school, parks and rec, inter-mural, college, professional and even to a men's World Cup match with Brazil and the Netherlands. Now we are ardent spectators. Wide-screen high-def TV was invented to show the Beautiful Game, as far as I am concerned.

So this week we watched the US Women beat Brazil in what may have been the best sporting event I have ever seen. USA! USA! And it dawned on me after watching that game that it demonstrated a number of truths that can be life-lessons for all of us. Really.

#1 - When life gives you a red card, play harder. When Rachel Buehler was shown a red card in the 65th minute, the US team had to play the rest of the game with only 10 players to Brazil's 11. Brazil is not a team you want to meet down a player. The US team simply stepped up the level of play. Nobody in that spot where Buehler was? Cover it, as well as your own position. For the rest of the game. And the extra 30 minutes of overtime.

#2 - Never, ever, ever give up. Regulation play ended with the score tied, so 30 extra minutes were added and the teams went back on the field. Two minutes into that extra period Marta scored, putting Brazil up a goal. Remember; the US has been with only 10 players for 25 minutes now. They played 31 more minutes - down a player and down a goal - impossible odds against Brazil.

In the 122nd minute of 123 minutes played, the US scored the tying goal!

#3 - Things not going your way? Keep on keeping on. Abby Wambach, the US team's leading scorer has been in a terrible slump! Coming into the Cup she had scored 1 goal in 11 games! Lifetime, in international play, she has 120 goals in 158 matches. She scored 1 goal in the losing cause against Sweden, so she was 1 for 4 games in the Cup, and had not scored in this game. Abby never pulled back, never quit trying, and in the 122nd minute of 123 played, after running the entire length of the field on a bad ankle, took a long crossing ball from Megan Rapinoe and headed it into the back of the net! Tie game!

#4 - Knocked down? Get up. Quickly. A Brazilian player, Erika (Brazil is a poor country - the players can only afford one name), flopped to the ground near the end of extra time, to run time off the clock. TV replay showed her walking around long after the play was over, then she abruptly fell down and began screaming about her back. The referee sent her off on what has famously been called "Brazils's magic stretcher" (do you think this has happened before?) and play resumed. Once the stretcher reached the sideline, Erika hopped off and ran - ran, mind you - to the official on the sideline to be readmitted to the match. The referee then did a couple of things right; she carded Erika when she reentered, and promptly added minutes 121 through 123 stoppage time to the play. And we all know what happened in minute 122.

#5 - Don't moan about life not being fair. Australian referee Jacqui Melksham botched call after call during the game. Both teams suffered from her inadequate, nit-picking officiating, but USA got the short end of the stick. It would have been so easy for the US team to take the "life's not fair" road, but they did not and today no one remembers the referee's name (I looked it up). They only remember what was accomplished in spite of the referee.

#6 - The best team can beat the best player. Number 10 for Brazil, Marta, is arguably the best woman player in the world. She has been awarded FIFA Women's Player of the Year for the last 5 years running! She has no equal in the game today. But she has never won a World Cup or Olympic gold. Why? It is a team sport. For Brazil there's Marta, and maybe Christiane, and... and... It's a short list. For the US, there are 21 team players. Yes, we know some names better than others, but there is a cohesion there missing in Brazil's team. Abby scored the tying goal, but Megan volleyed it to her perfectly after she received the ball from Amy Rodriguez in the midfield, who received the ball from Christie Rampone, who took the ball away from Marta in front of the US goal. Teamwork. Need help? Get on a team, or get others on your team.

#7 - There is life after messing up. Hope Solo (was there ever a better name for a goalkeeper?), who stopped Daiane's shot in the Penalty Kick phase of the game, setting up the win, was kicked off the US team during the 2007 World Cup! Then-coach Greg Ryan (remember him? Me neither.) replaced unbeaten Solo with Briana Scurry, who had not been in goal in 3 months. Brianna promptly allowed 4 goals and gave the game to Brazil. Hope angrily and publicly criticized Ryan and Scurry - something unheard of, and unacceptable in the world of soccer where teammates are often more family than blood kin. Hope apologized publicly and privately, served her penance and was re-named the keeper for the 2008 team. She is currently considered the best goalkeeper in the world today.

#8 - Be prepared. For each game the US coaches prepare a list of 5 players who take penalty kicks when that becomes necessary. They are all forwards and strikers, people used to placing the ball accurately. Lauren Cheney was on the list, but had been substituted earlier in the game and was not available. Paul Rogers, the goalkeeper coach, spoke to a defensive player, Ali Krieger, about taking the fifth and final kick. She accepted the challenge and made the kick that sealed the win. Later Krieger said "I'm not the best shooter. That's why I play in the back. If you see me in practice, you'd probably wonder why I was in the top five. But I can hit a PK." And she did.

And think about Becky Sauerbrunn. After not having played a single minute in this World Cup, center back Becky Sauerbrunn is starting today in place of Rachel Buehler, who's suspended after her red card. At the time of the carding, a teammate on the bench turned to Becky and said, "Are you going to be ready?" Sauerbrunn said, "If they call my name, I'll be ready." They called her name.

#9 - Play nice. Soccer is a contact sport. By rule, you are allowed to dispossess the opponent of the ball, and if they trip over your clean tackle, or fall down when you put your shoulder to theirs, tough. In this game, the fouls and penalty cards were very evenly matched (though often poorly given). The US gave as good as they got. But Brazil has a way of flopping (see #4 above) and whining and just exceeding the boundaries of "fair play." They learned it from the Brazilian men's team.

There was so much of this over-the-top play that the crowd in Dresden became solid supporters of the US team - and in general the US team is not well-liked in Germany. But chants of USA! USA! rang through the stadium, and shrill whistles (Europeans show displeasure by whistling - not booing) ensued whenever the Brazilians had the ball, especially Marta, who became the focal point of the wrath of an angry, noisy crowd all afternoon. It obviously disturbed her; she began yelling at her own players to give up the theatrics and play the game.

#10 - You cannot rest on your laurels. In fact, no laurels have been awarded yet. The Brazil match was the quarterfinal. Today, perhaps even as you read this, USA is back on the field, facing France. On paper, the US should win, but that's why they play the games. We should have beaten Sweden too, but we didn't. That's how we got to meet Brazil in the quarterfinals and not the championship game. And after France there is Japan or Sweden. Again. It was a great victory, but the fact remains the US has to get up and go back to work. And when this tournament is over, team preparation starts for the 2012 Olympic games.

Those are the life-lessons I saw during this game. What did you see?

Monday Meandering - 7.11.2011

2011-07-11T05:33:00.010-05:00

Wow. Busy week just past, 4th of July holiday notwithstanding. Of course it's hard to distinguish the 4th of July holiday from every other weekday, from our perspective. Retirement is a wonderful thing!

Where to start? I guess with the Doorman. I tried really hard to get a picture of this guy, but it really would have been in poor taste to just blatantly snap his picture and I wasn't able to pull off a hidden camera shot, so imagine if you will a doorman like you might see outside the Waldorf Astoria - gray pants with a dark stripe down the side, coat with braid and epaulets and some additional piping here and there. Dapper little fellow with a handle-bar mustache. Okay? Got the picture? Now place this guy at the door of a funeral home here in Austin Texas. Walk up to the door for a visitation and Adolph opens the door for you and graciously invites you in. A uniformed doorman in Austin Texas? No, I don't think so. But it does KWA (Keep Austin Weird).

I pulled a calf muscle the other day ~~while training for the Olympics~~ ~~during a Tae Kwan Do match~~ ~~on my 5K-marathon run~~ when I stepped up onto a stool. Felt like a very painful cramp in the muscle, except it wouldn't go away. Ouchie! Spent a day in the recliner with ice and heat and maid service. Made the mistake of saying it was better the next day. Now I have to fetch for myself again.

We're watching World Cup soccer. At all the venues, they have microphones stationed around the field to capture the sounds of the game - each with a huge fuzzy dust-mop looking cover to cut down on wind noise. The mics are positioned close to the ground on little tripods and they look for all the world like sheep grazing on the perimeter of the pitch. Or maybe little critters out of Star Wars. See?

They are positioned at various places around the field, and there is one at each corner, and when players come to take corner kicks, the "sheep" are often in the way. This is not a problem for a soccer player who is used to kicking things with her feet. Some audio technician somewhere expresses himself in fluent German every time one of his sheep/mics gets booted into the cheap seats to make way for the corner kick.

We pulled the old washer and dryer out of the way so the contractor could work in that space. That's when I noticed that I could see daylight through the dryer vent connection that goes through the wall to vent the exhaust outside. I never thought much about it, but there it was - a big 4" hole into the house by way of the dryer. I wondered if critters ever considered exploring that hole. When the dryer was not running, of course. Then when I disconnected the vent hose from the old dryer and discovered a large stash of pecans - roasted pecans, I might add - in the hose I realized yes they do! One wire mesh squirrel guard coming up.

And all the stars fell into alignment and the contractor finished and the Salvation Army picked up the old and Sears brought the new and we got all the shelf pieces in place and our laundry center is complete and we've washed everything in the hampers. Twice. Hooray!

Morning seranade

2011-07-08T05:34:00.078-05:00

If you are a faithful reader of my ramblings - either one of you - you know that I love to sit out on the patio of a morning, drink my cup of Community brand Cafe Special coffee and survey my kingdom (aka my back yard). I have surveyed more striking kingdoms, but this one works just fine for me. Of course, here of late it has been hard to be comfortable while engaging in this practice. Some hot, sticky mornings it's just not worth it.

But on those occasions when I can stick around for a while I am rewarded with a morning serenade from a very vocal mockingbird. I recognize very few bird songs; the angry chatter of the jays, the liquid warbling of the red birds, the little tweets of the finches about sums it up. I could use an app that does for bird songs what "Shazam" or "Listen" does for song songs. But the mockingbird cannot be mistaken. It is loud, has an astounding repertoire, and loves to sing. Oh, how it loves to sing!

There are other mockingbirds in nearby trees that add to the melody, often by repeating exactly what my bird sings. At first you think it is an echo, it is so true and faithful, but you soon realize it is another bird or two. Perhaps they are mocking the first. Do you think?

I would not make a good bird-watcher - those dedicated individuals with binoculars and life-lists. I can't spot them in the trees. I look and look, but I just can't do it. That's one reason for the feeders. If they are sitting two feet from my window I can spot them. Up in the tree? Perfect camouflage, as far as I'm concerned.

The Northern Mockingbird, Mimus polyglottos, is of course, the state bird of Texas. And of Arkansas. And Florida, Mississippi, and Tennessee. It lives year-round in this part of the country and we know that it aggressively defends it's territory and does not hesitate to harass cats and people that it thinks are intruding, especially if it is nesting. It is well known for its copy-cat bird song and the male of the species often has more than 200 distinct songs in its repertoire. All this from a bird that seldom measures more than 8 inches beak to tail feather.

And it has a place in literature. In the namesake book To Kill a Mockingbird, two of the major characters, Atticus Finch and Miss Maudie, say that it is a sin to kill a mockingbird because "they don't do one thing for us but make music for us to enjoy. They don't eat up people's gardens, don't nest in corncribs, they don't do one thing but sing their hearts out for us."

And in lullabies:

Hush little baby, don't say a word,

Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird.

And if that mockingbird don't sing,

Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring.

Probably a safe promise.

The California Pizza Kitchen discount conundrum

2011-07-06T05:24:00.075-05:00

We enjoy eating at the local California Pizza Kitchen. We like the food, and it's right on the edge of the hoity-toity Domain, so we can get to it without having to wander too far into Yuppie-dom but we still can look at all the beautiful people in pursuit of material happiness. Neat. And I may have just picked up two more corporate readers. Welcome CPK and Simon Property Group. But I digress.

On a previous visit we had one of those discount coupons that you can open only at the completion of your meal to see what the discount on your check will be. The manager comes and makes a big deal of it (it was only 5%. Big Deal) but then he gave us a couple more coupons for later visits.

Now I say that we like CPK, but we don't go there all that often, because it is a bit pricey and we usually order the Spinach/Artichoke dip for an appetizer and sometimes that's not so good on the diet. All that to say that the two coupons we had were on the verge of expiring when we went there last week.

So. We had two coupons, but only one dining experience to use it with. No problem, we'll just choose one and give the other one to some near-by diner. But which one? The coupon could have as much as a 25% discount. If I gave one away, and our coupon was only 5% and the nearby diners was 25% I would harbor some angst there, I tell you! Okay. We will give one away as we are leaving. That should take care of the problem. I would never know that they out discounted me.

But wait. It says on the coupon that one of them could be worth $100,000! What if I read in the paper the next day, "Local couple receives $100,000 gift from total strangers." Oh, no. that would not do!

I was hanging there, on the horns of my dilemma, when the manager came to my rescue. He saw that I had two coupons and said, "I'll open them both and sign them and then you can use the one you want and do whatever you want with the other."

So, if you are reading this, Mr or Ms CPK corporate executive, please be aware that you have a very nice, customer friendly manager at your Austin location and he should get a raise, and oh by the way if you have some more of those nice shiny coupons and wouldn't mind sharing...

The coupons? Both 10%. We enjoyed the discount and so did the couple with all the kids at the next table.