Watching College Football

Yesterday was the ultimate in baseball with the World Series.  Today is college football.

The Oklahoma State Cowboys are looking pretty good against Baylor, but, I still think it is a Geaux Tigers kind of year.

Anyone who reads this blog occasionally knows that I'm a Texas Aggie fan.  I have to be loyal.  After all, when you have a diploma from there it is required.  This wasn't a good day for the Ags.  We have struggled with playing both halves of the game all year long.  I can't believe we let Mizzou do that to us.

My son is at LSU.  The Aggies are heading to the SEC.  If we don't get our act together before next year, I anticipate a bit of gloating on the part of my son.

I probably should be watching Oklahoma and K-State.  It looks like a better game from the score. 

What am I saying?  Why am I vegetating in front of the television?  I could be taking a nap instead......

Watching the World Series

I don't normally watch much baseball.  I don't necessarily dislike it, I just don't usually watch it.  It seems there is always something else to do that I prefer.

I've been watching the World Series pretty closely though.  Yes, I admit it's because the Texas Rangers are in it.  I am watching Game 7 right now.  It is the bottom of the 7th and the score is St. Louis 5, Texas 2.  There is 1 out and the count is 3-1.

I grew up with baseball.  My dad absolutely loved the sport.  He always coached -- everything from Pee-Wee to Little League to Jr. Babe Ruth to Senior Babe Ruth.  He was frequently the league President in our little town.  He worked hard to keep the sport alive, even when it seemed to elicit little interest from many of the parents who were so self-absorbed they didn't take the time to encourage their kids to become involved.  They would rather have their own fun and let the kids hang out and watch them.

If it wasn't for Dad, baseball in our little town might have died.  However, we spent hours working to get the ball parks in shape.  Dad took a lot of pride in making sure everything was perfect.  The parks in our little town became well-known for the quality of the facilities and the program.  Enough so that our little town hosted the state Senior Babe Ruth Tournament.

I wasn't a particularly gifted athlete.  Small, slow and less-than-perfect eyes generally relegated me to the bench.  But, I could keep score.  If we got way ahead I might get into right field for half of an inning.  That was about it.  But, I knew the game.  I knew the rules and I could kee score.

Many times I ended up as the official score keeper or as the announcer -- not when my team was playing, but, when someone else played I often went to the press box -- or, scorekeeper/announcer's box in our little town. 

I never grew to love the sport as Dad did but, as I sit here watching the Rangers, I realize that deep down, a little of that love for the sport must have permeated my bones. 

Last year my little home town honored Dad by admitting him into their baseball hall of fame.  They gave him a nice plaque and took his photo.  It was truly a gift to him. 

He still loves the game.  He doesn't get around like he used to so he sits in his chair and watches it on television.  It's one of the few things that engages him now.  It is a rare contact with the present.

Well, the 7th is finally over.  The score is now 6 to 2.  I have to watch but, I must admit that my feelings about this one resemble a sinking pitch on the outside corner. 

Office Time

I'm getting in a little office time from the motel today.  While I have been working, I've been listening to the news.  The more I listen the more I think people are crazy.  Or, perhaps more accurately, reactionary.  They react to things about which they know nothing in a way that makes no sense if they knew anything about it.  OK, I'm talking about the protests and rhetoric about the new fees being imposed by many of the big banks.  They don't need to be protesting Wall Street, they need to be protesting the folks in Washington.  You know, the ones who changed the rules that basically forced the banks to recover the loss of income due to those rules changes.  Oh, the banks even told them before they enacted the legislation.  Duh.

Delete

I hate it when I start a post and decided to not finish it.  Especially when I get several paragraphs completed before deciding that 1) I didn't like what I wrote because it was poorly done or 2) I probably shouldn't have written what I did for a public blog in the first place -- not that I would ever do such a thing.....

But, sometimes I just write and write what is on my mind and then when I finally stop and read it I think, hmmmm......delete.  At least it was therapeutic for a moment!

Chris

An Unusual Encounter (3)

Below is installment number 3 of this piece of fiction.  I probably won't post any more here.  Again, your comments, feedback and criticism are appreciated.

An Unusual Encounter (3)

Chance paused as he shook the old man’s hand and said, “Mr. O’Malley, I can’t imagine who it is that I remind you of.  I grew up a good bit east of here in Southwestern Oklahoma.  As far as I know I don’t have any relatives out this way.  Maybe I just have a common face.”

“Son, do you have any relatives by the name of Charles and Nancy Hunter?”

The muscles on Chance’s face tightened at the names.  It had been many years since he’d thought about his parents who died in a wreck back in the 60’s.  He had been raised by an aunt and uncle in Oklahoma after his parents were killed.  He could barely remember them.

The wreck had occurred on some back country road in the Texas Panhandle.  His parents had been on a vacation in northern New Mexico and were on their way home.  Chance and his sister Katie had been left with their aunt and uncle who eventually became their foster parents.  The casket wasn’t even opened at the funeral because, his aunt told him, it wouldn’t do to remember them this way.  His uncle later told him they had been so mutilated by the wreck that the mortician couldn’t make them look normal.  So, Chance’s last memory of his mother and father was a tearful farewell as they pulled away from the old farmhouse where his aunt and uncle lived.  He never understood why he and Katie couldn’t go with them to New Mexico.

The old man waited as the faraway look slowly faded from Chance’s eyes.  He knew the answer even before the soft reply, “That was my parent’s names.”

“Well, I thought it might be.  You look just like your father except your eyes.  They look like your mother’s eyes.”

“You knew my parents?”

“Yep, it was a long time ago.  Your dad, Charlie, and I were partners in a little adventure back in the mid 50’s.  When he and your mom got hitched, I got to know her too.  We were good friends even though I was nearly 30 years older than him.  I even saw you once when you were a baby.  You were born at the hospital in Hobart weren’t you?  I came and visited your folk’s right after that.”

“Chance, I’ve got a lot to tell you and it’s gonna take some time.  Why don’t you order something to eat and I’ll start.  We’ll see where things go from there.”

Chance grabbed the menu, relieved to have a minute to collect his thoughts.  He was having a hard time focusing on the items because his mind was reeling at the idea that this old man knew his parents.  He finally flagged the bartender and ordered a hamburger and fries.

The old man said, “Bring us a couple more beers with that if you would.  We may be here awhile.”

An Unusual Encounter (2)

Below is a continuation of the piece of fiction that I posted here yesterday.  I'm still waiting for input!

An Unusual Encounter (2)

Upon closer inspection, Chance noticed a few things about the old gentleman that made him quickly realize this was no ordinary individual.  The Levi jeans were ordinary, but the cuffs were turned up and he wore a pair of slightly scuffed black cowboy boots that were hooked on the rounds of the stool.  A pair of rainbow colored suspenders stretched over a rounded belly and connected the jeans to the rest of his body.  The long-sleeved white shirt was of the finest Egyptian cotton and probably cost a couple of hundred dollars.  On the lapel was a small gold cloverleaf and the cuffs were adorned with a matching pair of the same.  But the thing that caught Chance’s eye was the large nugget ring on the right hand.  It’s a wonder he can lift his hand was the thought that flashed through his mind.

The old man saw Chance glance at the ring and smiled.  He said, “Son, what’re you drinking?  I’m in the mood for some company and if you’ll sit and visit awhile the drinks are on me.”

“I’ll just have one of those like you’re drinking.  It looks like it ought to quench my thirst.”

The bartender brought the tall glass of Irish Ale and the two raised their glasses and said, “Cheers.”

For a while the two sat in silence listening to the quiet murmurings coming from the various customers in the pub.  The bartender brought a menu and told Chance to let him know if he wanted something to eat.

Chance pushed the menu to the side and continued to sip on his Ale.  He wasn’t sure how to begin a conversation with the quiet old man sitting beside him but, he felt that it was someone he needed to know.  It was one of those feelings that occasionally come over a person yet nothing he could put his finger on.  Fortunately, he didn’t have to; the old man did it for him.

Turning to Chance, the old man said, “Pat O’Malley is my name.  I own this old pub.  What brings you to town?”

“I’m just passing through.  I like to eat here in Old Town when I’m in the area, but, usually it’s Mexican food.  Tonight I just wasn’t in the mood.  My name’s Chance, by the way, Chance Hunter.”

“Good to meet you Chance,” said the old man, sticking out his hand.  “You remind me of someone I knew about 50 years ago -- spotted it when you walked in the door.”

An Unusual Encounter

A while back I indicated that I would be including an occasional piece of fiction on this blog.  Below is the beginning of one.  Your feedback in the comments section would be greatly appreciated.  Where should I go with the story?  What adventure will this encounter lead to? 

An Unusual Encounter

The little old man at the bar appeared as though he was pushing a hundred.  Perched on the stool with a tall glass of some dark beer in front of him, he looked a bit like a garden gnome except he didn’t wear a pointed hat.  But, the white beard and shaggy white hair peeking from under the black Fedora perched on his head made him look like a fictional character from a 50’s era movie – or, a garden gnome out of costume.

Chance Hunter was just passing through town.  It had been years since he had been in Albuquerque, but, here he was again.  Old Town had been calling his name ever since leaving Grants and he needed something to quench his thirst as well as his appetite.  He just wasn’t in the mood for New Mexico style Mexican food so he ducked into what looked like an Irish Pub.  Surely they would have a sandwich or something to go with a good drink.

Originally, Chance had intended to make it to Amarillo before stopping for the night, but, a flat tire had altered the plan.  It didn’t take long to change it, but, getting it fixed in Grants took a little longer than expected.

The transition from the bright sunshine of the New Mexico day into the darkness of the pub caused Chance to pause briefly just inside the door.  It was a typical pub with tables and booths of some dark wood and various signs clinging dustily to the walls advertising an eclectic collection of ales and stouts, most of which no longer existed except in memory.  The bar looked inviting and since there was only one other patron sitting there, it was easy enough to find a stool.

Chance eyed the little old man with curiosity.  The look wasn’t unnoticed.  With a twinkle that reflected a deep-felt joy with life, the old man said, “Sit down youngster and take a load off.”

“I don’t mind if I do,” said Chance.

So began an encounter that would change the life of Chance Hunter forever.

Grandchildren

Last week we had my daughter and grandchildren here all week.  I'm suffering from withdrawal already!

I still haven't figured this Grandpa bit out though.  I'm obviously not old enough to be a grandfather.  I look in the mirror and see the same person I've always seen, yet, when I look at my classmates or peers, I see people who are aging quickly!  But, in spite of the fact that I'm too young to be a grandfather, my classmates/peers obviously are not.  So, logically, in spite of how I feel, I must be old enough.  Besides, it sure is a lot of fun.

The other thing that really throws me off about the grandchildren thing is that I just can't seem to keep up anymore.  I'm actually in pretty good shape physically, yet, they can wear me out!  How can they have so much energy?!  I found that as the week went on my arms began to get really sore.  It took me awhile to figure out why.  At first I thought it was from picking them up.  But, no, I think it was from pushing the swing!  They couldn't get enough.

What is it about grandchildren that make them such a joy?  I'm sure there is some deep reason that is tied to our genetic need to replicate and perpetuate, but, surely there is a simple answer.  Maybe it is just God's gift to us that says, "Hey, you didn't do such a bad job with your own kids after all!"

Just thinking.....

Chris

Oh, My Achin' Foot!

I hurt my foot the other day,
Now it's all black and blue.
It was because of something stupid
That I knew I shouldn't do.

I was working in the attic
Where it was nice and warm,
Stapling up some insulation
And doing no one harm.

When I came upon a place
Right beside the open door
Where the ladder came right up
From below there on the floor.

I placed a board across the opening,
Just a place on which to stand,
As I hung the insulation
On the wall that was at hand.

And as I was reaching upward
Just as high as I could see
The board I'd placed down under
Seemed no longer to hold me.

And I came crashing down
Where my foot hit on the ladder
While the rest of me fell farther
But, it could have been much badder

For as I was passing through
The hole from which I fell
Both arms caught chunks of lumber
And now don't feel too well.

I guess I should be thankful
For the ladder that was there
'Cause it cushioned me while falling
Through about eight feet of air.

But, now I have to fix it
'Cause I guess I'm gaining weight
And the place wheron I hit it
Is now in a broken state.

And my foot just keeps on hurting
Though the swelling has gone down
And I'm too cheap to get it checked
By the doctor here in town.

So, I guess I'll quit complainin'
And hope the pain just goes away
'Cause every time I do I hear,
"Go and get an X-ray!"

Miles and Miles

"I saw miles and miles of Texas...."

Yep, another day of driving.  From Canyon to Shreveport dragging a trailer at 60 mph.  It was a long day and still about 5 hours from our destination.

It was a nice, cool morning when we left.  Most of the day though, we saw the temperature hover between 103 and 106.  The northern part of Texas is dry.  I didn't see much in the way of green grass anywhere.  Oh, there were occasional spots where water had collected in a low spot that had enough moisture to be a little green, but, in general, it was bad even in East Texas.

There are burns all across the state.  In fact, this afternoon the traffic was backed up several miles on I-30 due to grass fires east of Longview.  They were fairly well contained to the roadside, but, if the wind had been blowing like it does in West Texas, a lot of timber would have gone up in smoke!  There were close to a dozen fire-fighting vehicles working to contain it.

I sure hope tomorrow is cooler since we will be unloading the trailer.  I guess a little sweat cleanses the pores.....

Chris

Moody Recreational Writer

Sometimes writing just requires the right frame of mind.  It's not so much sitting down in front of a blank piece of paper -- uh, blank computer screen -- and experiencing that feeling that is often described as writer's block, it's more a matter of mental relaxation for me.  I'm sure that professional writer's occasionally struggle with getting going but, it's their job, they sometimes just "force" it to happen.  With us non-professionals (recreational writer might be a good term) it is more about being in the mood to write.

I haven't been there in a few weeks.

I suppose that might be obvious to those who follow this blog because I haven't written anything in awhile.  At first I blamed it on my travel schedule, but, that hasn't really stopped me in the past.  Then I blamed it on too much work load from my real job, but, really, it isn't much different than normal.  Then, of course, I used the usual excuse of "nothing" to write about (yeah, I know, it should say -- "nothing" about which to write) but, that's not true either.  I could write about a pen lying on my desk if I chose.  No, it's just that I haven't felt like it.

So, being the analytical sort that I am, I try to figure out why.  No luck.  I just haven't felt like it.  Oh, well.  Maybe this random post will break the logjam and get me back in the mode, er, mood, er, whatever.

Chris

Monument Hill

On a bluff overlooking the Colorado River and the city of La Grange, Texas, stands a monument that marks the location as hallowed ground.  The bluff is situated above a river crossing on what was once known as "El Camino de la Bahia" or The Bay Trail.  It was a trade route from present day Goliad to Nacodoches long before German and Czech settlers created the town of La Grange in the bend of the river below.

Although Texas gained its independence in 1836, on September 11, 1842, Mexican forces under Brigadier General Adrian Woll captured the city of San Antonio.  Texan forces under the command of Matthew Caldwell gathered at Salado Creek in order to repel the invading Mexican army.  Colonel Caldwell's troops were succeeding in the battle of Saldo Creek on September 18th, but, in response to his call for volunteers, a group of 53 Fayette county volunteers under the command of Captain Nicholas M. Dawson were marching down from La Grange to join in the battle. 

A short distance from the battle at Salado Creek, Dawson's group was intercepted by 500 mounted Mexican cavalry and pinned down.  In the ensuing battle, 36 were killed, 15 taken prisoner and 2 escaped.  A more detailed account of the battle can be read here.

In the winter of 1842, Texans set out to avenge the brutal Dawson Massace.  Over 300 soldiers ignored official orders and marched south down the Rio Grande and attacked the border town of Ciudad Mier.  In the battle, 250 Texans were captured and marched toward Mexico City.  Within 6 weeks of captivity 181 escaped.  176 of them only to be recaptured a few days later while attempting to cross the harsh Mexican desert.  These prisoners who were not executed were taken to the Perote Prison, the same prison where the 15 captives from the Dawson Massacre were being held.

In his outrage over the defiance of the Texans, Santa Anna ordered that 10% of the re-captured prisoners be put to death.  A lottery was held to determine who would live and who would die.  The escapees were forced to draw a bean from a pot in which had been placed 159 white beans and 17 black beans.  Those who drew black beans were executed.

The remains lying beneath the monument on the bluff overlooking La Grange are of the 36 who died in the Dawson Massacre as well as those 15 who were executed in the black-bean incident by Santa Anna.  You can read more about the black-bean death lottery here.

Changing Times

This is one of those days that I want to post but, don't know what to say.  In fact, this is my fourth start on a post.  I deleted the previous attempts.

I guess the thing that is on my mind is what I have seen this week.  It really is nothing new but, for some reason it stood out to me.

We have been holding educational meetings for ranchers in South and Central Texas.  The attendance has been good.  The faces are the thing that caught my attention.

I've been doing or attending these types of meetings for a lot of years.  It used to be that your crowd was going to be the old, grizzled, lived in the sun all his life rancher and his wife whose hands were just as work-worn and weary as his.  That's not the case anymore.  Oh, there are still a few sprinkled in the crowd, but, today I see bankers and lawyers and real-estate tycoons, environmentalists, city folk with a few acres in the country......well, I guess the best description is a lot of hobby ranchers.

The questions always amaze me.  Some of them are obviously coming from a person with little or no understanding of the cattle business.  Others come from a deep "book" knowledge but, little real-world experience.  And, yes, there are questions from the old guy who has lived it all his life.

Sometimes it is easy to tell which group a person falls into simply based on their question.  You know immediately whether they are a serious, make-your-living-off-the-land, in-it-for-life rancher, or a hobbyist.  Not always.

I am always amazed that there is occasionally one -- frequently a woman -- who asks exactly the right questions.  It is obvious that they are interested and knowledgeable.  You immediately think of, "she left him at home working and she's out gathering information to make it easier."  You think maybe she's the business side of the business and her husband is the get-it-done side.

Rarely is that actually the case.  More often than not, she has 3 cows, 2 llamas, and a couple of horses.  All of them have names like Daisy and Buttercup.  Her husband is a lawyer.  They live on an "estate" in the country.  They have no children.  Her animals are her life. 

This old world, it is a changin'.  I'm not sure it's for the better.

Chris

Across the Cradle

Yesterday morning as I headed out of College Station and drove to El Campo, I crossed the "Cradle of Texas Liberty" which is basically the area of the original anglo colonies between the Brazos and Colorado Rivers.

My route lay through some beautiful country graced with huge oak trees of many varieties.  My favorites though, are probably the live oak.

Some of the places I passed through:

Snook, where I sometimes went for kolaches made at the Snook Bakery when I was in school at A&M.  The community applied for its first Post Office in 1895.

Independence, founded in 1835, near Washington on the Brazos which is where the Texas Declaration of Independence was signed.  It is the original home of Baylor University.  Sam Houston and his family lived there in the 1850's.

Brenham, home of the Bluebell Creamery (best ice cream in the world), was originally known as the community of Hickory Grove before changing its name to Brenham in 1843.

Industry, was the first permanent German settlement in Texas.  It was established in the grant to Johann Friederich Ernst in 1831 (5 years before independence was declared).

New Ulm, originally known as Duff's Settlement, was re-named when the local settlers petitioned for a post office around 1840.  It was named after Ulm, Germany.

Columbus, established in 1821 by some of Austin's original 300 on the site of what was believed to be Montezuma's legendary Indian village.  One of the first ferrys across the Colorado River was operated there by Benjamin Beeson in 1822.

El Campo began as Prairie Switch when the Texas, New York, and Mexican Railway located a switch there in 1882.

El Campo was my destination for the afternoon.  We put on a producer meeting for the area ranchers.  It was very well attended and considered successful by all involved.

More to come.....

Chris

Fox News In The Morning

I woke up in College Station this morning.  I figure that's a good thing since that's where I went to sleep last night!

This place certainly brings back lots of memories.  It is the home of my Alma mater.

I was a little bit of what is referred to as a 2-percenter when I was here.  The rebellious part of my nature kept me from selling out 100% to the traditions.  I tended to stay a little on the outside.  Sometime after I graduated that changed.  I think in many ways I bleed maroon now.

A&M was always a place of conservative values, although I know it isn't quite as conservative as it once was.  I knew I was home though when they had Fox News going in the breakfast area of the motel I am staying in.  It seems like most places to which I travel tune to CNN or even MSNBC.  I guess many of the hotels are owned by those of a more liberal persuasion.  Strange.  I would think the entrepreneurial types would be conservative.  Maybe hotel/motel owners like all the government travellers.....

Just thinking.

Chris

Entering Into the Imaginary

The imagination is a wonderful thing.  It creates possibilities and dreams from experiences and knowledge.  It takes us to places we have been or to where we want to go.  It can take the daily reality and fill it with excitement.

Imagination is important to a writer.  Even when writing about real-world experiences it is necessary to allow the imagination to fill in the gaps of our mental pictures.  It can make the ordinary into something extraordinary.

I have written very little creative fiction in years.  Most of what is in this blog is based on something that occurred or, in the ordinary, everyday fabric of living.  Perhaps I will inject a little fiction into this over the coming months.  I will attempt to make note when I do so.  I certainly wouldn't want someone confusing some grand adventure with my ordinary life.....

Stay tuned.

Chris

Last Minute Preparation

Last minute preparation;
Things left undone.
Information untendendered;
Time becomes a gun.

Frantic dispositions
Become the moment's task
While thinking most acutely
Of what we failed to ask.

Have faith my child,
There's naught of fear
That makes a bit of difference
As the date draws near.

Your worry is no matter
In the greater scheme of things;
For it shall be what it becomes
When the fat gal finally sings.

No Silence Found Here

Sometimes when I seek
A quiet place of peace
I struggle with the sounds
That seem to never cease

The television plays
In a room that's much to near
And the hum of electronics
Is forever in my ear

All I want is silence
In which to contemplate
The things of this day's passage
Before it gets too late

So, here I sit composing
Seeking that which is profound
But, my thoughts are disconnected
And just go round and round

I think if it was quieter
I could likely do much more
But, then there in the quietness
I might just close my eyes and snore.....

Moving Pianos

If you have moved many pianos you will know what I am talking about.  If not, you may think I'm crazy.

The grand piano in our church is down for repairs.  It has taken a pounding for years and needed a good deal of TLC.  It is going to be out for awhile because several parts had to be ordered.  It will be as good-as-new (we hope) when repaired.

In the meantime, we needed a stand-in piano.  Tonight, after choir rehearsal, we moved one of the studio pianos from the choir rehearsal room downstairs to the sanctuary.  Our trusty director asked for 6 or 7 volunteers.  Too many!!

It is easier for two men to move a studio piano than it is for six.  It is designed to be moved by two.  there is a handle at the end on the back for one hand and you can grip under the keyboard with the other.  One person on each end.  Besides, we rolled it the entire way except for the steps up to the stage.  With people on the sides (like a casket) you have problems with corners, with doors, with needing a wide passage, with coordination.....with one on each end, you just roll it to the steps, lift and carry.

Of course there was a short elevator ride in the middle to get from the basement level to the sanctuary level.  How many can you cram into an elevator along with a piano?  Too many.  Oh well, we got it moved.

I'm sure there is a life lesson in there somewhere.  Committees come to mind.  Too many chiefs and not enough Indians also comes to mind.  You need the right number of people to do a job -- not more than enough and not less than enough.

It doesn't look quite as nice as the grand piano, but, I'm sure it will do the job.....

Chris

The List, ummmm....Lists!

I woke up this morning with the infamous "list" in my head.  You know, the never-ending, forever being worked on list of things that I need to get done.  I was thinking of all the things that I knew HAD to be done this week -- many of which weren't even on the list last week.  Thank you, holiday.

I hate it when that happens!  Four o'clock in the morning, the day after a day off, and I wake up thinking of what I need to get done.  So, before most sane people were at work, I was working on my list.  The list isn't the Master List -- it's the "This Week/Right Now" list.  The Master List is the big projects that are basically on-going, works-in-progress.  I guess you could call it my goals list.  I was just working on the gotta-get-it-done-right-now list and it was daunting.

How do you approach your list?  Do you start with the "easy" ones?  -- the ones you know you can get checked off fairly quickly?  -- or, do you pick the worst bugger on there and tackle it first?  Me, I go for a few easy ones.  That way, when I get them marked off it looks like progress.  Well, I marked 5 off and marked 5 others as having progress made on them.  Not bad for Tuesday after a holiday weekend.  Fortunately, everyone else must have been working on their list too because my phone was fairly quiet.  Tomorrow may be a different story!

Chris