The Importance of Keeping Up

I did a "new" resume today.

I've crafted and revised my resume over 30 years of hard work; job after job, place after place, experience after experience. It's hard to cram that down to less than 4 pages, but I'm kind of PROUD of those 4 pages! They represent years of toil and sweat; of good situations and bad; good bosses and bad; great offices and tiny cubicles and phones from Western Electric 565's to Siemens Optisets that do everything but burp you; manual, handwritten files to fully electronic (paperless) files; reporting traditions that stretched back over 150 years to Crystal Reports emailed to interested parties.

I'm proud of my 4 pages. In discussions with my friends (of the same age), they all feel the same way and have the same 4 pages.

Well, throw that all out the window. Nobody has time to read all that, and nobody wants to see all that. The new thing is a "skillset" resume, in which you B.S. your way through the things you know how to do. You then have the 4-pager to back up the employment history, IF anybody cares enough to look at it. Mostly they don't.

We were always taught to write well, in complete sentences. Now all they want is "bullet points". Eliminate everything but the essential. Make if snappy.

So employers are gauging my THIRTY YEARS of experience and knowledge and ability based on 3 or 4 bullet points on a single sheet of paper.

Somewhat disillusioning.

But hey! Upward and onward! I loves me some bullet points!

I'm reading a fascinating book!

I was first introduced to author Erik Larson via his book, "Isaac's Storm", a novel-like account of the dramatic and melancholy story of Isaac Cline. Mr. Cline was Chief of the Weather Bureau in Galveston, Texas on September 8, 1900, the date of the great hurricane of 1900, STILL the most deadly natural disaster in US history.

I love history. I love Galveston. The 1900 storm is part and parcel of Galveston, so of course I had to read Larson's book. It is fascinating and I recommend it (Cline knew something was wrong, but his higher-ups told him all was well, so he did less than he could to avoid the disaster. He lost his wife, his children, and his home in the storm, and was forever blamed for failing to warn the populace of the impending disaster. He did try, but too late. He is a compelling figure and his story still resonates; I recommend the book wholeheartedly, with the caveat that it is, in fact, melancholy).

(For the record, my other historical interests include the Tudor era, the American Revolution, the Napoleonic wars, the Civil War, the San Francisco Earthquake, the Titanic, the Depression/World War II, and the Kennedy assassination).

In any event, I flew to Chicago for a job interview yesterday (I'll let everyone know when I know something). Up and back in one day is getting harder and harder for fat old Uncle Nicky, but I digress.

I had lots of time to kill upon departure, so I went to the bookshop in the airport (surprised, right?) and happened on Larson's other book, The Devil in the White City: Murder, Magic and Madness at the Fair that Changed America. It tells, in novel form, the story of the Columbian Exhibition in 1893 Chicago. Mass murder??? Jack the Ripper??? Who knew????

I love stuff like this.

In defense of Wal-Mart

Nathan sent me this article today, and it set me off on one of my favourite rants.

I'm a fairly left-of-center Democrat, but I part the ways with the Unions. Just like many conservatives may be Republican but don't care for the Religious Right, I can be liberal without caring for the Unions.

Wal-Mart is one of those "too big to fail" companies; I worry about them getting so big that they effectively become part of the government (see citibank.gov), but they are big because they are successful at what they do.

I live in west Houston (yes, Virginia, there really is a "West Houston", it's that area of Houston west of Westchase, north of Alief, south of Northwest Houston, and not Katy. It's bounded by Katy Fwy (IH 10) on the north, Kirkwood Rd. on the east, Westpark Tollway on the south, and Highway 6 on the west). There are literally thousands of restaurants and individual proprietorships of all kinds (auto repair, computer repair, shoe repair, retail clothing; well, retail EVERYTHING). Many if not all of these places have "Help Wanted" signs in the windows. In this part of Houston, everybody who wants to work at minimum-level jobs is doing so.

Know where it's hard to get a job? Wal-Mart, Kirkwood Rd. I asked the manager there one time how many openings they had; the answer: they have about 20 apps on file for each open position.

Now, I've worked (at three points in my illustrious career) in a small business. In one, the proprietress (it was while I was in graduate school) was basically loony (I love her, but she's nuts). You never knew from day to day when you walked in the door which of her multiple personalities you'd encounter. Of course, she couldn't pay much and there was no hint of ANY benefits--and the way she ran her business, it was a day-to-day thing whether she'd have the money to pay me, so there was no security either). The other two were more substantial, but the security thing was nonexistent, as were the benefits.

Where else but Wal-Mart could you get a job paying you $10/hr (here) that offers health insurance (at all), sick days, profit-sharing, and job security (just don't screw up and you keep it for life)?

If you want to know how to kill a giant American institutional variety store with unions, you need look no further than Sears, Roebuck. Once one of the biggest companies in the world (and ubiquitous in the US), Sears couldn't compete with Wal-Mart, K-Mart, Target, and all the other discounters because the cashiers there were making $20/hour (THEN). They had to build those high wages into their prices. In order to try to compete, they kept lowering their quality; eventually, nobody wanted to go there.

They also goofed with their store strategy; they went heavily into the mall business (Simon Properties started out as a division of Sears), and tore down their existing stores in favour of the new mall stores. They were locked into expensive long-term leases and couldn't react when the discounters started putting big boxes into the suburbs.

Speaking of big boxes in the burbs, I don't notice many vacant parking places at Wal-Mart (pick one) on any given Saturday.

*****************************

Small towns: I lived in one for 15 years.

In my youth, I idealized Malvern, mainly due to the fact that, as a kid, I had tremendous freedom there, as opposed to "home" in Dallas or San Antonio or wherever. The big city is a tough place for kids to run around; there are these enormous thoroughfares, crazy drivers, and of course the crime is omnipresent. None of these existed in Malvern and I could go pretty much wherever my bike would take me. There were many stores in town where everybody knew me, my grandparents, and frankly my entire family (we were related to some of them). I could walk in, pick up an item, and charge it to my grandparents (and they never told me no, and I never abused the privilege because I knew how fast it could disappear). This seemed great to me, and was a powerful incentive when I moved home to Malvern in 1994. I'll call it the Mayberry effect.

Yeah, well, what Sheriff Taylor and Aunt Bea never told us is how difficult it can be to carry on MODERN life in a small town.

When I moved back in 1994, Mitchell's Model Market (owned by Mike Burris, my friend and Mitchell's son) was still in business. I had a charge account there (little green ledger cards at the register; they sent me a handwritten bill at the end of the month). THAT was fun!

Um, unfortunately, I was astounded at the prices; I'd been used to shopping at Tom Thumb and Albertson's in Arlington, Ralph's in LA, Kroger Signature in Nashville, and Rainbow in St. Paul. Mitchell's was much more expensive, and they had a bunch of "off brand" stuff; the produce aisles were sparse and the stuff they had was obviously and definitely of inferior quality (unless they managed to make a deal with some farmer on a load of locally-produced whatever, and then it was heavenly---local tomatoes, lettuce, etc.---but that was an INDIVIDUAL TRUCKLOAD. Once it was gone, it was back to the substandard stuff. When the Burris family sold the store, it went steadily downhill until I wouldn't even go in there.

So, when the local Wal-Mart upgraded to "Supercenter" status, that was the only place I shopped for groceries. I was sorry for the mom-and-pops, but geez Louise! Inferior goods at astronomical prices in small, dirty, crowded stores? Why should I do that to myself just to "support" them?

It was the same with clothing. Malvern used to boast several "nice" clothing stores. I went into Sampson's one time looking for a suit. I was determined to buy it locally instead of driving to LR to Dillard's or wherever. The one and only suit in my size (this was before I was fat) was (in 1994!) a brown polyester LEISURE SUIT (not making this up) with dirt/dust on the shoulders where it had been hanging for the past decade or so. Can I have some stack-heels with that, please, in patent leather? How about a pimp hat?

Went to buy a lawn mower. No Sears at the time in Malvern (they'd left Malvern about the same time as Penny's). Went to the local Ace Hardware store. Off-brand mowers for $500 and up! I STILL view this as very expensive, and this is 2009. So, off I went to Wal-Mart to buy a Murray (built in Nashville, Tennessee) for $200. The next one I bought was a Craftsman from Sears---in Hot Springs---.

*******************

Environment:

You know, I believe we should do what we can to protect our environment. It is, after all, the only one we have. I do not believe (as the wack-o's do) that mankind is the scourge of the earth.

Sprawl, while not really a good thing, is the current state of the country. We all live in the suburbs (or even exurbs), and drive our gas-guzzling cars individually instead of taking mass transit. We shop at these big boxes instead of charming boutiques, again driving our guzzlers over those brand-new, cool, 8 or 20 lane freeways, getting off on massive surface streets. Or, we sit stopped in traffic on something like Birmingham's 280 or Northwest Arkansas' Business 71, bumper to bumper.

I am a living example. I bought a 2,400 square foot house in the burbs instead of a charming 500 square foot 1 bedroom 1 bath condo in the Rice/West U, Montrose, or Heights areas---not to mention those charming bungalows in the Heights: 900 square feet, built in 1924, 2 bedrooms, 1 bath, ancient plumbing, no insulation, $350,000.

Why did I do this evil thing? Because I have dogs and want a back yard. Because I was tired of living in an inner-city neighborhood (as I've done several times) with the freaking crackheads, methies, etc. I was tired of worrying whether a stray bullet would get me while I worked in the yard. I was tired of the constant police presence. I was tired of the run-down look. (I drove to the Heights day before yesterday, and despite all the hype, it reminds me a whole lot of Malvern---bombed out and depleted). Because after living in NYC, I realized that I LIKE having my own car; it's a way-cool thing that I have these two steel conveyances that I can hop into and go anywhere I want, any time I want. If I need to go to the airport at 4:30 am (shudder), at least I don't have to wait on the platform for a train like I did in NYC.

I'm going downtown to the library in a few minutes. I can take the bus; it runs on Briar Forest right down the street from my house. I can hop on Metro on BF, ride to the transfer point, then transfer to a bus that lets me out at the door of the library. All for $1.00! Why don't I do it then? One hour and 10 minutes (according to the schedule), one-way. I can get in my car, drive downtown, park (for $2), go in, get my books, get back in my car, stop off at Starbucks for a latte', run by the cleaners and the bank, dash into Wal-Mart, drop the package I need to mail by the post office, and return home BEFORE I could complete a round trip to the library. That's why.

We live in the burbs because we LIKE it. Burbs = sprawl. Inescapable.

****************
Bottom line: The small businesses weren't all that great. Those I named above offered NO health insurance, NO benefits at all really, and job security (again) was a day-to-day thing. Their offerings were small (because they couldn't afford to maintain inventory), off-brand (same thing), and exhorbitantly overpriced.

Wal-Mart offers a decent wage and some pretty good benefits to its workers. Do I want to work there? HELL NO! But then, I don't want to work at a convenience store, either. I don't want to work at Disney World, but I sure love going there.

Wal-Mart offers a huge variety of goods at very low prices. Sorry, small locals, but if you can't compete, you just can't compete.

We live in the burbs and have houses, cars, and lawns. We do that because we want to do so. We go to Wal-Mart because we want those low prices (everyday!).

Wal-Mart is not the problem.


**********************

Addendum:

"Buy American"

Okeydokey, I'll do just that. Ummm, let's see, where exactly would I go to do that????

*Chevrolet Cobalt: Hecho en Mexico (all of them).
*Chrysler Sebring: Blame Canada! (South Park)
*Every television set sold in the US: Mexico or other Central American countries, or China
*(High quality men's)Shirts: Caribbean Islands, Canada. (Dillard's, Macy's, Nordstrom, Neiman-Marcus, Saks---all of them made elsewhere).
*Suits: China. Yes, China. They're sewn there. Then marketed here under some very large, very well-known brand names.
*Socks, all other sportswear: China.
*Lawn Mowers, other garden equipment: Mexico, China. Murray moved their plant to Mexico.

Sensing a trend?

Wal-Mart is but one of the American stores selling cheap foreign manufactured goods.

I've told my Hathaway shirt story many times: I loved Hathaway shirts. They were just the best. Well-made, beautiful, always starched up nicely, always sized appropriately, seams straight, hand-made look. Made in Maine by New Englanders.

The last one I bought was $97 (in about 1995 or so). $100 for a men's shirt! Dillard's started offering those very nice Roundtree and York shirts for a quarter of that (they're now up to $50). Made in China, but equivalent quality. Hathaway couldn't compete and went out of the shirt business (I think there is still a company with that name but it is not the same company).

Where do I go to "buy American"?

OMG!!!!

Are you kidding me!??!

I'm more "Arkansas" than Kathy B?!?! She got a mere 50 and I got a ***62***!!!

I was always an Arkie at heart.


(I reiterate my shock that this "survey" left out the most important festival of all: BRICKFEST!!!

How Arkansas are you?

I suppose I should post something...

...So I'll make this miscellaneous odds and ends.

I had a great weekend with Dad last weekend. I drove over to SA and nabbed him, then took him to Corpus Christi, where we spent a year and nine months when I was a kid. We talked a lot about our problems (despite the idea that we were going on the trip to try to get away from them).

Dad had a situation similar to mine in 1964, although I think (as usual) his was much more dire than mine. He had a wife, a 5 year old, a baby, and a dependent mother-in-law when he got "laid off" (he really didn't get laid off; he was in the USAF Reserves and working full-time at Hensley Field in Dallas; the USAF told them they were going to activate them and probably send them to this new hot-spot, Viet-nam. Dad determined that, at 40, he had been to Southeast Asia for two different wars and he'd sit this one out, so he was "retired" from the Air Force). Anyway, he worked 3 jobs till he found a new professional job, which happened to be in Corpus Christi. So away we went.

I was baptized in Corpus Christi, at First Baptist Church. Dad and I visited and it looked very similar to what we remembered, but MUCH smaller. Dr. Vernon O. Elmore baptized me; he also (while at Baptist Temple in San Antonio) baptized my friend Sabra; he also preached a revival in Shreveport where he baptized yet another of our friends. I tell this story to say: we were talking with a nice "church lady" who told us that Dr. Elmore donated his (enormous) library to the local University when he died, and they have a "Vernon O. Elmore" room containing his books. One of them is a large, leather bound, gilded ledger book in which he recorded every one of his baptisms, wedddings, and funerals. So sometime we'll have to go down there and find our names in Dr. Elmore's book.

******************************

It is very, very hard to find a job right now. I have never seen it like this in my 30 years of work; never has there been a time I couldn't find adjuster jobs all over everywhere. Even they are not there. And salary offerings are falling.

One of my fraternity brothers is also unemployed, laid off the same day as I. He, too, is finding it tough sledding, much tougher than he envisioned.

I also just found out that another of my friends, same experience level as me, is looking at a June layoff. She's got two degrees and 30 years experience. Doesn't seem to matter, if they're eliminating your position, they're eliminating it.

Moral: if you have a job, thank them kindly, do what they tell you to do, and quit griping.

******************************

Dad had a fender bender the other day. Nobody hurt but it messed up his front bumper.

So why did I have the same wreck yesterday? Looks like I'd have learned from his example.

******************************

All in all, a less-than-stimulating week. Let's see what the weekend brings.

Well, there's a first time for everything

And today was a first for me.

As everyone knows, I am normally a very shy, retiring sort who has no political opinions whatsoever and, even if I did, would never dream of sharing those political views with others.

Yeah, well, anyway, today I just plain boiled over and did something I've never done before; I felt moved to contact the Houston City Council.

It started when I read the Chronicle this morning. The Houston City Council was set, apparently, to consider spending the $440,000 we apparently have left over from the Hurricane Ike Emergency Fund (we had LEFTOVERS???) to pay $3,000 per individual on CREDIT CARD DEBT for people who ALMOST qualify for home loans, to raise their credit scores so they could afford entry-level housing. (The vultures are swooping in on the foreclosures, buying the houses for pennies on the dollar, turning them Section 8, and selling them to first-time home buyers). Now, mind, the City already has tax credits up to $37,500 for first-time homebuyers (!), while my taxes on this place are $3,500 a year AFTER my homestead exemption.

Now, I like to help people, and I feel government definitely has a role to play in that regard. This one just left me aghast, though. I mean, come ON.

First, a quick tour of Houston (any area, pick one: Galleria, Heights, Montrose, Medical Center, IAH, Hobby, Westchase, Greenspoint, Willowbend, Greenway Plaza, South Main; even Upper Kirby, Tanglewood, Memorial, Rivah Oaks, and West U, but especially southeast Houston) will show a LOT of Ike damage still existing. If you fly out of Hobby or IAH on a clear day (as I did recently) and your flight path takes you on the "round the world" tour (as it sometimes does), when you look down the landscape is dotted with blue.

Blue? Those would be blue tarps, still covering roofs, 5 months after the hurricane. Now, some of those are slumlords who won't or can't fix the damage, but many are honest, hardworking people who can't afford the hideous deductibles.

For those who do not live in coastal areas: when Hurricane Katrina changed all of our lives, one of the changes was this: all the insurance policies were re-written to include clauses which change the deductible in the event of "named storms". Since Ike was a "named storm", the deductible on my roof (had I suffered damage, and thank you God that I didn't) would have been almost $2,000.00. Many of the disadvantaged can't afford their deductibles (and had no idea that the deductibles had gotten that high).

So, we've still got a LOT of Hurricane Ike damage.

Plus, there's bound to be a lot of damage to institutional buildings. I know many commercial buildings (whose owners have a vested interest in "return to normalcy" as soon as humanly possible) are showing damage; Greenway Plaza, some Medical Center, some on Beltway 8. You know that the Houston Independent School District, the City of Houston, and Harris County structures have sustained some damage, and that some of that hasn't been repaired.

Add to that the crumbling situation with some of our older, inner-city schools; the need for more Police, more Firefighters (these gallant individuals are stretched beyond the level of endurance), and you see why I became enraged over this plan to PAY PEOPLE'S CREDIT CARD BILLS with tax dollars.

So, I got on the phone today and called every City Councilperson's office, as well as the Mayor's office, and voiced my outrage.

With two exceptions, all said they had not ONE call in support and THOUSANDS of calls against.

I realize my voice probably didn't make a difference, but I just didn't feel I could stand idly by while this travesty was foisted on the good people of Houston.

Hell, if you want to spend the $440,000 (and why not put it in a plain savings account at Chase Bank at .025% interest for the NEXT time we have a hurricane; in case nobody noticed, we haven't moved...), why not spend it on paying the deductibles for the low-income folks who cannot afford theirs and must live under a drippy blue tarp? I wouldn't really object to that (even though, if it were me, I'd have to cough up the $2,000.00 for my deductible on my own).

In any event, a first: I called the City Council.

Next up: my arrest for some trumped-up charge. Stay tuned! ;-)


******************

9:14 pm, addendum

Email I received from my own City Councilwoman:

The District G office received a large number of emails and phone calls today from concerned taxpayers of Houston, regarding City Council Agenda Item #21. This item, if passed, would have offered their hard-earned dollars to pay off the personal debts of those seeking affordable housing from the City of Houston. These grants would have been used to artificially increase credit scores in order to obtain mortgages. I adamantly opposed this item. Much of the current economic crisis is a result of encouraging those who cannot afford home ownership to obtain mortgages, without the ability to pay for or maintain the property. I am surprised the Administration would place an item on the Council Agenda without backup information, a committee meeting or any other prior discussion.



I am pleased to confirm that we were successful in having Item #21 removed from consideration on tomorrow's Council Agenda. As the District G Council Member, I will continue to advocate for you and oppose any action unrelated to providing high quality core services in a fiscally responsible manner.



Thank you,

Pam



Pam Holm

Council Member, District G

All-in-all, not a horrible evening

I'm sitting here, one scotch down, one to go (I stop at two...so far...); the good scotch, Dewar's---well, nice middle-of-the-road stuff, anyway---; door open to the night breeze, 63 degrees (perfect); dogs snoozing comfortably at my feet; listening to Wynton Marsalis blow at Lincoln Center, reading Jack Keroac's "On the Road", a book I've always promised myself I'd read but never have.

So, what do y'all think---should I chuck it all and just hit the road, conjuring thoughts for "the Great American Novel"?

All kidding aside, the thought has appeal...

(Don't be shy with your responses, it's a serious question).

(Aside: I got the book at the downtown Houston Library; beautiful, clean, spacious, airy, full of light, full of knowledge---for free. What a concept: they've got these books, and they loan them to you free. You read them and return them, no questions asked, no storage problems. I've been doing Barnes and Noble and Amazon so long I'd forgotten you don't actually have to BUY the books, you can just borrow them, read them, and return them. And I used to work at the library, 30 years ago...).

(Wynton Marsalis really is madly talented).

It's always interesting...

...when you get those little "a-ha" moments.

As all of my friends and most of my readers know, I'm going through a rough patch. Laid off from work, parents' health failing, all kinds of other issues, things just not quite going my way right now.

I got up and went to church this morning, hoping to hear something inspiring, something uplifting, something that would help me.

I was on time! (put that in your pipe and smoke it)

The first thing I always do is check to see if they're doing baptism. If they're doing baptism, I turn around and leave. No offense to you parents of small children, but unless I actually KNOW the child or its parents, I really don't care to sit there and try to make it through church while your babies wail. Further, I don't much care for the actual baptismal service itself. Being a 52 year old man able to do what I want, when I want, if it's baptism Sunday, I'm out.

But not today. Today was scheduled to be a nice, normal, Rite I Communion kind of day (the service in Elizabethan english that I love so).

Settle in the pew, and the other big buggerboo---some 8 foot tall person sitting in front---was taken care of by a nice young man and his wife, both short.

So it was with some disappointment that I discovered that today was the day for the "B" team---Fr. Nutter and Fr. Craven taking the day off from preaching, the two youngest members of the staff doing the preaching and conducting the service. They're both very sweet young folks, but dangit!

Sermon was ok, he's a really nice, sweet guy, but he's young and father of babies and is the Young People's minister---which is GREAT, FOR THE YOUNG PEOPLE. I was pretty impassive.

Music was fairly good (Palmer on a "fair" day is better than most churches on Christmas and Easter).

Then catastrophe struck (two times now since I've been a parishioner there). An elderly gentleman a couple of rows in front of me just slowly sank. His wife, obviously agitated, tried to summon help---which was quick to arrive.

If you're going to fall out, what better place than in a church at the front door of the Texas Medical Center, some of the finest medical care available anywhere. Church with multiple doctors, nurses, and paramedics as parishioners. And, of course, you're surrounded by priests as well.

So we stopped in the middle (which was weird) and the docs and priests attended to the gentleman; the paramedics (the ones on duty) brought the crash cart in and they got him up and out. The service then continued, albeit weirdly, and kind of absent-mindedly. We got through it, but that kind of stuff is always unnerving and you never quite get back "on track".

So, when I left, I really hadn't gotten what I came for; I was a little bummed. I drove home: Up South Main, left onto the ramp for the Southwest Freeway South (which runs east and west there), onto the Southwest Freeway to the Westpark Tollway (you have to "shoot the curl" right there, as we say---you stay left, then merge right across 5 lanes of traffic to exit. If you don't, you run into a "car wall" and you'll miss the exit).

On the Westpark, somewhere between Gessner and Beltway 8, I realized that I had a song stuck in my head. It was one of the communion hymns (we did "Amazing Grace" as one, but that wasn't it). It was a hymn we sang at least a million times in the Baptist church, but I've never heard the Episcopalians do it (and I've been an Episcopalian since 1983).

And then I realized, THAT HYMN is why I went this morning. I needed to hear it.

Guide me, O thou great Jehovah,
pilgrim though this barren land;
I am weak, but thou art mighty;
hold me with thy powerful hand;
Bread of heaven, Bread of heaven,
feed me till I want no more,
feed me till I want no more.

Open now the crystal fountain,
whence the healing stream doth flow;
let the fire and cloudy pillar
lead me all my journey through;
strong Deliverer, strong Deliverer.
be thou still my Strength and Shield,
be thou still my Strength and Shield.

When I tread the verge of Jordan,
bid my anxious fears subside;
bear me through the swelling current,
land me safe on Canaan's side;
songs of praises, songs of praises,
I will ever give to thee,
I will ever give to thee.


A-ha.

Stay tuned for coming attractions!

Big news on the home front: I (along with Nathan--Coco was "his" rescue, these are "mine", but it's mainly "ours") rescued two Border Collies yesterday. The situation was very bad and they are pretty skittish, but we are making friends. Absolutely BEAUTIFUL dogs, very sweet, typical BC temperament (Kathy, Marty, and all my old Razorbacking friends, this means they are a lot like Frank).

I'm not putting much on here right now, but stay tuned. We're socializing them, then next week the vet, then they'll be ready for "prime time".

Annaclairs

Now that my birthday's over, the next item up on the family calendar is Mother and Dad's anniversary. They eloped on Valentine's Day, 66 years ago Saturday. While that wasn't exactly planned, it's been easy for Dad to remember his anniversary every year, and it was easy for us kids to remember as well.

In years gone by, we had a "Birthaversary" party every year. Since Phil came into our family, it's a "Birtha-birthaversary" party, since he's NEXT up on the list, next week in fact.

One of the features, year in and year out, of Mother's and my relationship has been Annaclairs. I bought her the first box of them when I was about 3 (Dad assured me she loved them, so I splurged on the 2-piece box: one for her, one for me. She did, in fact, love them, so I just kept on giving her box after box, year after year (the boxes have increased in size).

Lately they've been hard to find in the stores, but lately we have the trusty INTERNETS.

Come to find that they are made by the Price Candy Co., formerly of Ft. Worth, TX but as of last year, of Mt. Pleasant, Texas (a nice little east Texas town to/through which I've been at least a million times).

Also, I learnt that Annaclairs got their name from the two ladies who worked in the back, who came up with the confection: Anna and Clair. Annaclairs.

So, now that I know where they are, I'm once again on the hunt for Annaclairs. I may be back to the two piece box at these prices and not knowing whether Mother will even be interested or not. But, we shall see.

Let the hunt begin! (After tomorrow, I could literally say, "Release the Hounds!" and it would be a true pack, but for today it's more "release the cell phone!")

52...it just doesn't seem possible...

That's how old I think of my father as being. I've become "Mr. Jones" instead of "Nick".

When I was in my 20's, and somebody called me "Mr. Jones", I looked around for my father and grandfather. No way *I* could be "Mr. Jones". Now, I expect it and am annoyed when people I don't even know (especially young people) brightly chirp, "Well, NICK, ...." It's Mr. Jones to you, twerp, until I give you permission otherwise.

I'm just not as good at driving as I used to be. I have to make myself be extra careful in parking lots, at corners, even on the freeway, because I'm not as alert as I used to be.

Don't get me started on short-term memory. I can't remember ANYTHING that's happened in the last week. I'll start on some story and Nathan just rolls his eyes, meaning I've already told him that. Yet I can remember the distant past with such clarity....

One of these days, I'm going to kill myself on that little step from the den to the living room. I have a sunken living room (disco '76, baby!), through which you must pass to get from the den/kitchen area to the bedroom area (note: formal living and dining. Nobody has those any more). One of these days I'm going to miss that step and go down in a heap.

Tasks that used to be so effortless now require effort.

On this recent trip to Salt Lake City, you bet I let the nice porters handle my bags. Tip = no problem. I've always been one of those guys who, "can handle them myself, thanks!" Now, I'll let anyone who wants to load my bags.

I started watching the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show when I lived in Dallas, before I moved to Nashville. That was 1989, so I've now been watching that show 20 years.

I graduated from college 30 years ago May 21. It's been 27 years since I lived in Los Angeles, and (most startling to me), it's been 18 years since I lived in Dallas, which I always considered home along with Malvern. Neither the Malvern I remember nor the Dallas I remember are there any more. Both long gone. I'm not fond of the city and town which have taken their place. Malvern is just plain crap ("What can I say about say about --Malvern-- that hasn't already been said about Afganistan - it looks bombed out and depleted" to misquote Dave Chappelle) and Dallas has become this huge thing.

It was always "Big D", but the "Big D" I remember isn't there any more. Sanger Harris, Bek's Charbroiler, Sonny Bryan's (Sonny smoked like a stack; he always had a cigarette dangling from his lip. The cig moved every time Sonny talked, and Sonny talked constantly. Accordingly, the cigarette ashes went in the barbeque. Sonny didn't care. The crowd didn't seem to mind. Those of us who were there then say Sonny's ashes made the difference in the taste of the bbq, though honestly, it was Sonny's know-how that did. There's still a BBQ place called "Sonny Bryan's" there, but it's not Sonny's any more). Reunion Arena (brand new) being "Barnhill South". The Sportatorium. The "Dallas Palace" (Ladies, don't worry about the Dallas Palace. Guys, you should have been there....).


Men in "LBJ" hats.













DEFINITELY different than those worn by "Ol' J.R.", whose exploits we always followed. Hilarity: on the pilot episode of "Dallas", Sue Ellen, Miss Ellie, and Pam are held hostage by gunmen as Jock and J.R. are desperately trying to get back to the SouthFork---in a HURRICANE. Yup, a hurricane hit Dallas! (Trivia: the pilot and first 8 episodes were filmed on location in Stephenville, Texas at a real working ranch; the ranch was the home of Blake Box, who was a friend of mine at Baylor. "Hurricane" aside, the first 8 episodes were MUCH more realistic than the show became. You can see the "REAL" SouthFork ranch here). Note that Linda Gray (Sue Ellen) and Ken Kercheval (Cliff Barnes) aren't even in the opening credits!.)

The "real" Neiman-Marcus (Mr. Stanley wouldn't recognize it now, and I don't think he'd like it). Lunch at the Zodiak Room at Neiman-Marcus downtown (Helen Corbitt managing the kitchen), with fashion models modeling Dior and Balenciaga walking up to your table, describing the gown they were wearing to the women, giving meaningful looks to the men (you need to buy this for your lady!) and sailing off to the next table.

Riding the elevator at Republic Tower and bumping into "Mr. Stanley", Stanley Marcus, one of the most charming and gracious men I've ever met.

"...and Republic National Bank IS Dallas!" "Mmmmomen-tum!" "The Spirit of Texas on 8" featuring Tracy Rowlett, Iola Johnson, Verne Lundquist and Troy Dungan (and for my young friends who don't believe me when I tell them Verne Lundquist not only was the sportscaster on Channel 8, but used to have a full head of hair and be skinny, here you go.)

Turquoise and orange Dallas Transit buses rather than the bright-yellow "DART" trains (they were the old GMC buses, and about 3/4 of the air conditioners were broken, so mostly you rode---in a 3 piece suit, starched collar, and tie---in the heat, with no a/c, but with the windows open. I'm told the ladies were in dire straits with the pantyhose as well). Central Expressway BEFORE they fixed it, with the world's shortest entrance and exit ramps. Plano was about as far north as it went. Oh, hell, who am I kidding: I remember Dallas when Central Expressway went to Richardson (a country village) and stopped; when you went out East Grand to get on the 24 miles of what would become IH 30; when "South Stemmons", IH 35 E South, ended at Illinois Avenue

Ah, the good old days (that weren't really as good as we thought...).

But there are some compensations. As I told a friend (also my age) the other day, I wouldn't trade the knowledge and experience I have for youth. I would only want to go back if I could KEEP the knowledge and experience; to live that all over again? Uh-uh. Nope. Wouldn't be prudent.

********

It's not all bad. Last night I was sitting here watching the CBS Evening News (which I have done since Walter Cronkite anchored it), when Nathan walked in with groceries. He went in to put them away, then in a minute here he came with a Lemon Cream Icebox pie (otherwise known as "Eagle Brand Pie" at our house because the recipe came on the can of Eagle Brand milk) with lots of whipped cream and "5" "2" candles (the numbers themselves), while his computer played a jazzy version of "Happy Birthday to You". He bought the pie at House of Pies (my favourite pie from my favourite Pie Hole---see "Pushing Daisies" for reference---) and fixed it up to cheer me up.

It worked.

Unfortunately, the cocktail I had already consumed, combined with the sugar from the pie (after we've been off of sugar for years) gave me pretty much a diabetic coma and I went to sleep in the recliner---another sure sign of old age---and missed the end of Westminster.

Thank God for TiVo...and thoughtful friends...and soft, comfortable leather recliners...and memories....

Ok, God, I can take a hint!

Ok, so here I am taking this -dreadful- class in Salt Lake City (I won't call it a mistake; I got 24 hours of CE for my Texas adjusters' license; made a new friend; found out something I always wanted to know--how exactly Risk Managers DO go about making decisions on insurance coverages vs. retention vs. self-insurance; I gained a LOT of knowledge; and I found out that my previous plan to do all of these courses in February = FAIL--it's not happening--thus saving me a lot of money and effort)(Why is it a dreadful class? Because I haven't done statistical analysis since 1977, and I might have slept since then. Actually, I slept THROUGH that class, which I HATED. A Math major I am not...to those of you who think regression analysis is fun, finding the standard deviation is child's play, and showing net present value before and after taxes with a 10% cost of capital and to within a 95% interval is fun, GOOD FOR YOU. I'll stick with correcting everyone's grammar and historical inaccuracies...).

So I had been to Buca di Beppo, which is a couple of long blocks down the street from the hotel. I was walking back and talking to a friend on my cell phone. Actually, I was crying on his shoulder about my job situation (I'm actually getting pretty nervous; many companies have hiring freezes and I've been rejected for several jobs---ok, I wasn't qualified for a couple of them, but two of them kind of stung a bit).

My exact quote: "Man, I just don't know what I'm going to do." As I uttered these words, I looked down at the sidewalk and there, stenciled on the sidewalk, was this:



Ok, Jesus, I'm a-trustin'! Don't know what You've got in mind, but I'm open.

(Anybody who knows me knows of my belief that any good story can be "improved" a bit, but this one is word-for-word true).

Coincidence? You decide. I know what I think.

Random observations from Salt Lake City

1. I was surprised to learn that all but 3 of the Subaru Outbacks ever sold in the United States were located in Salt Lake City, Utah.

2. The other 3 are in Colorado.

3. The people here are very friendly and nice. I was asked for a handout last night by a very polite bum. Unlike the usual variety, he was actually nice. I wish (a) I had had some change to give him (all I had was a $20 and that's too much) and (b) I had stopped and talked with him. He was cultured, sounded educated. How did he come to be begging on 500 South in Salt Lake City? (The nearby liquor store is possibly a clue).

4. My seatmate at the seminar I'm attending is a very nice Mormon gentleman named Jim. Despite our religious differences, he and I have struck up a nice acquaintance. I needed a calculator (who knew we were going to need to do square roots?) and he drove me to a nearby Wal-Mart (see #5 below) today at lunch to buy one, then took me to a nearby Thai place (it was good; not as good as our fabulous Singha Thai in West Houston, but certainly better than average). He surprised me by speaking Thai to the staff; seems his "mission" when he was the young man in the white shirt, black tie, and black trousers on a bicycle was in Thailand and he learned the language. His birthday and mine are 3 weeks apart (he's older...) and we discussed old age and the fact that, contrary to popular belief, we would not trade our knowledge and experience for the 25 year old slender bodies with dark hair that we used to own.

5. Ok, so I'm an Arkie. We can't go ANYWHERE without going to Wal-Mart for SOMETHING. This one was a TWO STORY Wal-Mart Supercenter! I'd never seen a two story before; very strange. Nevertheless, there was a line to check out....

6. The air quality here is worse than Houston (which is saying plenty). There's been a temperature inversion here the past week, and the air is Los Angeles brown. You can smell it everywhere. It'll go tomorrow, though, because of the...

7. SNOW. It's supposed to start snowing tonight, higher elevations first of course, then working its way down into the valley. The peak of the action is supposed to be Saturday at noon.

8. I am scheduled to fly out Saturday at 1:30.

9. Have had several excellent dining experiences here: Buca di Beppo (I realize it's a chain and there are two in Houston, but I'd never been and it beat all Hell out of Denny's...again...). Had the proscuitto stuffed mushrooms and a meatball (the meatballs are 1/2 pound). Tonight, went to Squatters Brewpub here in downtown Salt Lake. Terrific atmosphere, enjoyed visiting with the other people around me while downing their excellent specialty brews (my favourite: "Chasing Tail", featuring a large yellow lab).

10. Toured the Mormon stuff here in downtown Salt Lake City the other day. No offense, but I find their beliefs incredible (SYLLABICATION: in·cred·i·ble ADJECTIVE: 1. So implausible as to elicit disbelief: gave an incredible explanation of the cause of the accident. 2. Astonishing: dressed with incredible speed.
ETYMOLOGY: Middle English, from Latin incrdibilis : in-, not; see in–1 + crdibilis, believable; see credible. Courtesy American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language, 4th Ed.)

That doesn't stop me from admiring their unique architecture, their dedication to their cause, and the tenacity it took for them to eke out an existence here while building their own "Heaven on Earth". I don't believe as they do, but their accomplishments cannot be denied. You can see my pictures with captions here.

11. I'm not really sorry I made the trip, but the course is not what I expected (not sure what I did expect, but this ain't it) and I've been turned down for several jobs for which I applied. Kind of a downer, and the mormon stuff was kind of creepy. I won't be sad to be on the plane headed back to Houston and civilization.

Kathy's blog post on "The Day the Music Died" got me thinking about "Hi-Fi"

I had an RCA Victor "Combination" with an AM Radio AND a turntable, both in Hi-Fi; it had the "big" adaptor and I could play my 45's (which I still have) automatically (about 5 or 6 was the total amount it could handle at any one time; usually the 6th one would "slip").

It was very similar to this one. Its fate? Ever the woodworker, my Dad took the guts out, cut the speaker part out, and put the top and doors on the legs. Mother then painted and stained it chinese red. It is sitting in my entry hall in Houston right now with a lamp on it.

Now, Granny and Gramp had one of those big Magnavox jobs. I love that stereo (my cousin Jack still has it and it still works). This is an ad for the very one; note the classically understated beehive on the beauty selecting the record...

We went with them to Haverty's on Main Street in downtown Little Rock to buy it; Granny fretted severely over spending so much money but Mantovani and 101 Strings (not to mention the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and Lawrence Welk!) just sounded so much better on it that she gave in. It had two small "remote" speakers that could be plugged in, so the sound surrounded you (not to be confused in any way with modern surround sound).

I will say this about the old Magnavox: It had the greatest tonal range (they had a unique sound), the smoothest tuner (I have no idea what the mechanism was, but it glided), and a beautiful cabinet (Mediterranean, of course...).

I was torn when Granny would go to the beauty shop. Many times, I would get to drive her (I was a better driver at 13 than she was at 65), so there was that. On the other hand, if she went by herself, I was guaranteed a couple of hours with the Magnavox, and I could (and did) crank it to the skies with the Beatles, Badfinger, the Stones, and even Elvis. Only got caught once.

Meanwhile, in Gladewater, Texas, my Aunt Virginia had the ULTIMATE combo: the Magnavox stereo WITH BLACK AND WHITE TEE-VEE! And yup, I found a picture of one very similar to it. You could watch TV and the sound would kind of sound like "stereo", almost.





I know CD's and a modern surround system are better, but those huge old boxes made some great sounds.

The bizzarre thing about Facebook

is that it doesn't neatly compartmentalize all your friends (it probably can, but where's the fun in being organized?).

So, I've stumbled into the idea that I could possibly contact some of my fraternity brothers (as Kathy did with her sorority sisters). WOW, I hit a motherlode of them today! We've been having a ball trading insults (it's the way of guys; ladies, don't even try to understand. It's like we don't understand baby showers and wedding showers---just don't get it.) all day. Many of them have beautiful families, while others are like me, just themselves.

It's funny though--even though we're all "older", I would have been able to identify every single one of them (and if I pledged under them, their hometown, major, girlfriend's name, etc., and probably what kind of car they drove in 1975 since I washed enough of 'em).

The funny thing is, when I'm going over my "friends", there are my Razorbacking friends, my Trinity Baptist Church/San Antonio friends, my non-Razorback-related Arkansas friends, and my current friends. All jumbled together.

It's kind of a collage of my life---different parts, all pasted together.

AAARRRRGGHHH

Quote from a news article, the topic of which is the dramatic decline in auto sales:

"“It’s done a 360. I don’t think anyone was prepared for it,” Morgan said."

Well, GREAT! If it's done a 360, then it's gone in a complete circle! Things are now booming just as much as they were when the circle started, right?

You meant "IT'S DONE A 180"; meaning it's now the exact opposite of what it was before.

Position markers

There are markers everywhere that tell us about things.

There are markers on the highways that tell you how many miles this point on the Interstate is from its western or northern state border; there are markers that tell you "Houston 100" or "Austin City Limits".

There are markers on the oven dial to tell you what temperature you're setting; there's another "marker" called a timer that dings after a certain amount of time to tell you it's ready.

The major markers are "Milestones"; the original Milestones were exactly that; stones the Romans placed every mile to tell you where you were. Now we use that term to describe certain major markers: our 50th birthday, a Presidential Inaugural, etc. Some of them are important enough to be recognizable simply by the date itself: December 7, 1941; November 22, 1963; December 6, 1969; September 11, 2001.

Then there are the MINOR markers, the cultural ones. I have a theory (aren't you surprised?).

When a new thing is introduced, it goes through phases:

First, you have the early adopters---the brave ones on the cutting edge, who try some brave new technology or food or style.

Then (marker) the item is picked up by some news outlet or other, or just starts spreading through the population. This is when the item is still restricted to people who are innovative (though not crazy-try-anything, like the early adoptors.)

This is when the item is considered "COOL".

Now that it's "COOL", the early adopters begin dropping out, heading for the next new thing.

Then (marker) the item becomes widespread through the population, and "COOLNESS" begins to wane a bit, while popularity is at an all-time high. SATURATION is reached and the "Cool kids" start heading for whatever the early adopters are doing NOW.

Finally, (GRAVE marker) the item arrives at Wal-Mart and/or the Manufactured Housing Association (nothing wrong with manufactured housing, just saying...).

So, you'll have a certain, say, style of furniture. The early adopters start it (they're in Architectural Digest). It's picked up by the "Cool Kids", and suddenly there are spreads on it in the newspapers or the magazines and it's carried by your local Haverty's.

Finally, the style shows up in the furniture section of Wal-Mart and in mobile homes. It's at that marker that you know: the style is DEAD DEAD DEAD.

*************************************

What's the point of this little exercise?

Facebook.

It started out as JUST college kids FOR college kids (it replaced the Freshman Annual, for those of us old enough to remember those) at one or two campuses. They were early adopters and it rocked.

Then it went widespread on all the college campuses and it was COOL.

Now it's at mass-market stage. You can tell because all of my age group has discovered it.

It's one foot out of the grave! ;-)

Politics and Religion

If you want to have and keep friends, it's better to just leave the subjects of Politics and Religion alone.

I am thrilled

I am thrilled, and delighted, and elated, and excited, and otherwise pumped about the fact that on Tuesday, January 20, 2009, we will swear Barack Obama in as the 44th President of the United States.

The obvious fact that Mr. and Mrs. Obama and their two beautiful daughters are African-American speaks volumes about where we are now as a country. The fact that Nathan's (and Kathy's sons', and the entire Millenial Generation's) views on the subject are NOT that we've got a black President, but that we have an excellent lawyer, Harvard Law grad, highly intelligent, seemingly competent, articulate (something that has certainly been lacking these last 8 years....) gentleman as President---that's a very exciting thing.

We're turning the page.

When I was a boy going to see my grandparents in Malvern, Arkansas, Malvern was basically "Mayberry". We were all influenced heavily by The Andy Griffith Show, and Malvern seemed to me (being raised on Air Force Bases) to be "Mayberry". I'll never forget as long as I live, walking downtown to the Bank (where Grampy was President) and passing the barber shop. There was this old black gentleman (no idea what his name even was! But he knew ME!) who, every time I'd pass, would say, "Mawnin, Mister Nick!" I always returned the greeting, but one day I stopped and said, "Sir, you shouldn't call me "Mister", I should call YOU "Mister"---I was honestly confused, he was older than me and I respected my elders!). He said, "Naw, suh, I'm nigh 70 year old, and you's white. You's Mistuh Nick and ah's (name, which I have shamefully forgotten)." Well, I couldn't figure that one out, but ok....

How far we've come. And a damn good thing, too.

I am so glad that we've got a man the caliber of Barack Obama taking the reigns. I feel much more confident, even though his task is heavy. I'm glad it's him and not me; I'm not nearly smart enough to cope with the challenges we face.

The Texas State Song actually is appropriate here (paraphrased):

God Bless You, Mr. Obama, and keep you brave and strong!

May God give him the discernment to make the difficult decisions that face us; May God give the lovely Michelle Obama the grace to stand the pressures of Presidential life; may God keep the two beautiful little girls in the palm of His Hand.

TURN THE PAGE. A NEW DAY DAWNS. THE TORCH PASSES.

Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.

What an amazing weekend

Leroy's death was pretty traumatic to all of us who were involved with him. What's fascinating is just how large a number that was. Leroy had touched literally thousands of people during his life. He was one of those incredible, rare people who really was close friends with thousands of people. Each individual became his personal project, to be loved on, corrected when necessary, doted upon, supported. Each one of us had an individual relationship with him.

This weekend, we all came together in San Antonio to celebrate his life. Leroy was cremated and has already been interred in First Presbyterian Church's columbarium, so this was literally the Celebration.

Many of us arrived Friday night and went to Mi Tierra's (Leroy's favourite Mexican restaurant in a town full of them.) Leroy loved him some Mi Tierra's. How he maintained his slender shape I'll never understand; the only explanation is the incredible amount of energy he had. He never sat still, he was always DOING something.

The pictures are on my facebook page and can be found in my Picasa albums here.

It's funny---when you really are truly close friends with people, you can go 35 years without seeing each other and pick up your conversations with the very words you left them off with (I know, grammar; sue me). That was certainly the story at Mi Tierra's as we all hugged, cried, told funny stories, laughed ourselves sick, ate ourselves sicker, and wound up (ONCE AGAIN! SOME THINGS NEVER CHANGE!) getting kicked out of the restaurant for (a) being too loud (b) taking their tables for too long and (c) being general nuisances. I can proudly state that we have been kicked out of restaurants literally worldwide for these same offenses---we were just much younger.

I stayed with my lifelong friends the McCarty's, and can report that the couch sleeps as well now as it did when I was 16.

This morning, Robert and I picked up our old buddy Keith at the airport, ate lunch at EZ's (San Antonio institution), and headed down to First Pres.

I should probably explain that we all met in Leroy's youth choir, the Mainstream. There were other groups, the Majority and The Sound Foundation, but we were ALL in the Mainstream. We had 125 people in a church youth choir!

When we arrived at First Pres, there was a movement afoot for us to sing two of the songs Leroy wrote (well, wrote one and arranged one). Many of us were -very- apprehensive about this, having not sung together for 35 years and some having not sung SINCE we last sang together (I was in church choirs for 25 years). We were to sing at the reception (maybe). Rehearsal was, um, -GULP-.

On to the Celebration.

Simply, it was the best "funeral" I've ever attended. The music (carefully selected and planned by Leroy himself) was flawless, executed flawlessly. The speakers had many interesting things to say; one made a particularly good point: many ministers of music/choir directors/church musicians are in it for the beauty of the music, or the aggrandizement of themselves. Leroy was a MINISTER who USED music as the medium to touch other people's lives. The fact that he demanded excellence and gave excellence himself was a by-product.

We were touched when Mike Fanning (son of our old Pastor, Buckner Fanning)(Mike is our contemporary; knowing what I know about some of his dates, his Baylor experience, and some of the things we did while there, it's hard to think of him as DR. Michael B. Fanning, pastor of his own church now and well-known middle-east expert, fluent in Greek and Hebrew, and respected member of the community). In any event, we were especially touched when Mike gave his portion, stating that he stood there representing not only his father (who had emergency eye surgery yesterday or he'd have been the one standing there), but also US, Leroy's "kids".

We know Leroy loved all the choirs he had, and all the kids he taught---but we also know he loved us BEST (a la Tommy Smothers). Actually, Edy told me one time that that was literally true, that we were his favourites. Maybe she was just being nice...

Anyway, the Celebration was just that, a Celebration of his life. We laughed some more, cried some more. It was hard to get through "It is Well With My Soul" due to choking. The final congregational act: we stood, faced the choir (in the loft at the rear of the church) and sang (resoundingly) the Hallelujah Chorus, with brass and strings.

After the last Hallelujah, the family left and we stood to leave. The brass started up again. Leroy spent a signficant part of his life in New Orleans. We were delighted when the brass started up with "Just a closer walk with thee". I wish I'd a white handkerchief, I'd have waved it.

On to the reception. The string quartet played tastefully; there was a tremendous spread of food/snacks (all fattening and carby), and literally thousands of people. We all visited and enjoyed---until the quartet quit and packed up to leave. This was the big moment.

Amazingly, as soon as we formed up, and Lee Hinson (our ol buddy Lee, who married his sweetheart Jan James; who is now DR. G. Lee Hinson, Chairman of the Music Department of Oklahoma Baptist University) raised his baton, and the pianist hit the first notes---amazingly, amazingly, we immediately were transported 35 years back in time. It was as if we had had one of Leroy's legendary practices the day before. We were a bit worried about how Edy, Melody, and Gina would take it---till I looked over and saw them, and they were obviously delighted. When we stopped, there was a thunderous round of applause and the three Yarbrough ladies rushed over and started hugging us. So there was that.

Tonight, we went to the Barn Door, a well-known steak place here. Buckner, Martha, Edy, Melody, and Gina joined us and it was magical. Once again we told stories, some funny, some serious; we sang (again, at the request of the Fannings, who weren't able to be at the Celebration due to Buckner's eye condition), we laughed, we cried, we held hands and sang Amazing Grace.

None of us were really close to our High School crowd. Oh, we had friends at school, but our real friends were at church. We couldn't wait for the weekend so we could see all our friends again.

**********************************************

You know, lightning never strikes twice, but for one more weekend we felt it.

We didn't realize this growing up, but we had a MAGICAL experience. We thought this was "just how it was" (if we thought about it at all). We never knew this would be a truly magical, once-in-a-lifetime, wonderful time. We had no idea then (really) how much we loved each other.

We have realized that now. We all just wish it hadn't taken us 35 years and a death in the family to bring us all back together.

We were blessed.



It's true! It's true! The crown has made it clear.
The climate must be perfect all the year.

A law was made a distant moon ago here:
July and August cannot be too hot.
And there's a legal limit to the snow here
In Camelot.
The winter is forbidden till December
And exits March the second on the dot.
By order, summer lingers through September
In Camelot.
Camelot! Camelot!
I know it sounds a bit bizarre,
But in Camelot, Camelot
That's how conditions are.
The rain may never fall till after sundown.
By eight, the morning fog must disappear.
In short, there's simply not
A more congenial spot
For happily-ever-aftering than here
In Camelot.

Camelot! Camelot!
I know it gives a person pause,
But in Camelot, Camelot
Those are the legal laws.
The snow may never slush upon the hillside.
By nine p.m. the moonlight must appear.
In short, there's simply not
A more congenial spot
For happily-ever-aftering than here
In Camelot.

"Let us now praise famous men"; In Memory of a Great Man

This one is hard to write.

I rise to honour the memory of a great man; my friend, Leroy Yarbrough.

I can't speak for the ladies, but for men, male role models growing up are a critical part of our development. We watch them; we want to be like them; we emulate them.

When the role model is a positive one, we owe them a large debt of gratitude. If, as adults, we can also count our role models as friends, that means even more.

Leroy was the Minister of Music at Trinity Baptist Church in San Antonio, Texas, during the 1960's and 1970's. He was a strong influence for literally hundreds of young people (including me), an impeccable role model; indeed, the strongest male role model in my life after my Dad, his father, and Robert's Dad. He served that role for ALL of us in the youth choir (125 strong at all times), and was a friend and companion to all the adults with whom he had contact.

He was a true Southern Gentleman, a Christian of the highest order (I don't throw that one around lightly).

Leroy had more energy than anybody I have ever known. He was "more fun than a barrel of monkeys"; always instigating some kind of fun activity, always cracking jokes, always clever and witty.

He was an absolutely brilliant musician. The finest. He had impeccable taste and class, was a fabulous organist, and fantastic conductor. He was also one of the most organized people I've ever known.

He was born and raised in Georgia, married his high school sweetheart (the only woman he ever dated) Edwyna, and they had two nice little girls, younger than me, Melody and Gina.

After he left Trinity, he wound up at Southern Baptist Theological Seminary in New Orleans, where he influenced ANOTHER generation of young people.

He retired and planned to just come "home" to San Antonio and live, but First Presbyterian was without a Minister of Music and begged him to come on an "interim" basis while they searched. The "interim" stint lasted 11 years, through three senior ministers (all of whom begged him to stay on "just one more year.")

Leroy loved to travel. He literally went around the world more than once; was well-known in Europe and especially England. He finally reached the point where he could tell First Pres, "No, this time I mean it." They had his retirement party in February, 2008. He and Edy planned to hit the road; they had a number of stops to make in the US but were planning to hit some of the more exotic locales they had missed along the way. After 52 years, their kids were grown and married, they finally had enough money and time, and were going to "do it right." All that remained was a trip to the doctor the next day. At that visit, the doctor told him he had a fast-growing, almost always swiftly fatal, abdominal cancer.

Leroy approached everything he ever did with as much energy and intensity as he possessed (and he possessed a formidable amount of both). When he was directing us, he demanded no less than perfection. Now, if your best gift was to "make a joyful noise", that was ok by him---but he demanded that you make your BEST noise. WOE unto he or she who slacked, or didn't quite make the right pitch, or entered or cut off at the wrong time. Memorably, he stopped us more than once DURING A PERFORMANCE, turned to the audience, told them we were going to try again, and started us over. He delivered nothing less than his own personal best every single time, and expected no less from everyone around him.

When he got the cancer diagnosis, he attacked it with his customary freight-train-subtle manner. Unfortunately, this time he had run into something that was impervious to his icy glare, his razor-sharp criticism, or his gentle correction. He fought valiantly, but lost. After San Antonio exhausted their bag of medical tricks, he was transferred to M. D. Anderson here in Houston.

I was privileged to see him one last time at M. D. Anderson, just last week. He was very weak and tired, and I humiliated myself by bawling openly throughout the visit; nevertheless, he greeted me with his usual warm smile, twinkly eye, and humorous remarks.

Leroy: Nick, it's great to see you, man! How have you been?!

Me (crying, but smiling): Oh, Leroy, you know, the usual, fat, dumb, and happy (patting belly).

Leroy: Well, you sure don't want to try the diet I've been on...

Here's his obituary from the San Antonio Express-News.

By the way, the SA Express-News and Porter Loring Mortuary had better be glad Leroy's in Heaven, instead of here. They called him "Harold", which was his real first name. Want one of those icy stares? Go ahead and call him "Harold" and see what happens. If you do, though, I want to know ahead of time so I can be away from the general vicinity when it happens.

*********************************************************************************

The "Celebration" of Leroy's life (which he planned down to the last note) is this Saturday, so back I go to San Antonio.

I don't know what they're thinking, having it at First Pres. They'd better see about the availability of the Municipal Auditorium or even Freeman Coliseum. We're all going, and so are all his kids from Seminary, and at least 1,000 from the old Trinity congregation.

A life truly well lived.


Ecclesiasticus, Chapter 44

Let us now praise famous men, and our fathers that begat us.
The Lord hath wrought great glory by them through his great power from the beginning.
Such as did bear rule in their kingdoms, men renowned for their power, giving counsel by their understanding, and declaring prophecies:
Leaders of the people by their counsels, and by their knowledge of learning meet for the people, wise and eloquent are their instructions:
Such as found out musical tunes, and recited verses in writing:
Rich men furnished with ability, living peaceably in their habitations:
All these were honoured in their generations, and were the glory of their times.
There be of them, that have left a name behind them, that their praises might be reported.
And some there be, which have no memorial; who are perished, as though they had never been; and are become as though they had never been born; and their children after them.
But these were merciful men, whose righteousness hath not been forgotten.

The Good Physician

Mother has been in hospital here in San Antonio (I write this from Dad's apartment, where we are getting ready to go to midnight mass on Christmas Eve); she's been treated at the South Texas Medical Center by a dazzling array of doctors in a variety of specialities---none of whom have been able to help her at all.

Since she's been in the nursing home, she's been confused, whacked, and otherwise "out of it". She has slept the past two months away.

Enter H. Edwin Tamayo, MD. Dr. Tamayo is a Board Certified Internal Medicine Specialist with impeccable credentials (University of Texas Health Science Center San Antonio Medical School; Internal Medicine specialization same institution; Board Certification Exams, then faculty teaching physician at University Hospital, Audie Murphy VA Hospital, and UTSA).

In September, 2007, Dr. Tamayo resigned his teaching position at UTSA. Effectively, he jettisoned the traditional medical practice (the financial end, including an office in a medical tower, a receptionist, nurse, transcriptionist, records clerk, and a veritable phalanx of insurance filing/billing experts) and treats people strictly at their homes. He does ONLY housecalls!

He started treating Mother about 10 days ago. He arrived at the nursing home wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and sandals on his bare feet. It was freezing outside. My sister asked him what was up with the sandals. He stated, "Well, if your feet are cold, your hands will be warm. Since I'm going to be touching my patients, I want my hands warm, so my feet need to be cold." An unconventional approach, to say the least.

He immediately determined that Mother's meds were TOTALLY wrong; he took her off almost all of them. He changed her diet and the entire approach to her care.

He has called the nursing home every day since he started treating her; every day. He checks on her progress and makes recommendations for her care based on what they tell him. How many doctors do you know who do that?

When I last saw her (Thanksgiving), she was barely conscious, almost catatonic in bed; she slept the whole time I was here except for the last day.

When I walked into her room today, she was SITTING UP ON THE SIDE OF THE BED, DRESSED, and TALKING. Not talking well, and she'll never walk again---but WE ARE TAKING HER TO MY SISTER'S TOMORROW FOR CHRISTMAS DINNER! She was coherent, though she had trouble with speech. It was a dramatic turnaround, which wouldn't have happened without the intervention of Dr. Tamayo.

So much for traditional medicine.

So, this dude must charge a fortune, right?

Here's what he does: when he walks in the room, he hands you a self-addressed stamped envelope, empty. He says, "Pay me whatever you think I'm worth; if you don't send anything, I'll never know. If you send thousands of dollars, I'll never know. This goes straight to my bookkeeper; I'm relying on God to provide for my family, and so far it's working."

He accepts no insurance, no medicare, no traditional payment schemes.

Hats off to The Good Physician. I hope he lives a long and prosperous life. He's certainly helped Mom.

Quality

You know, my parents preached "quality" to me my entire life, and sometimes it just didn't sink in.

My Dad always believes in buying top quality, even if you have to pay more, even if you have to wait to save enough or you have to buy used to get better quality.

He's always used Craftsman tools, for example. While Snap-on might be better, they don't sell Snap-on at retail stores. Craftsman power tools may have been eclipsed these days, but their hand tools remain the same. (They may be eclipsed, but I have a garage full: lawn mower, blower, edger, trimmer, weed eater, all Craftsman, all excellent).

For years and years, I wore Hathaway shirts. I just loved them; they were beautifully made, by hand, from fine materials. When they got up to $100, I started wearing Turnbull and Asser (shirtmakers to HRH Charles, Prince of Wales). Hathaway went out of business; couldn't compete with cheap chinese labour (Hathaway proudly made in Maine, USA).

These days, I like Rountree and York (Dillards' house brand); the closest thing to the old Hathaways I've found. They just look and feel nice.

I bought a Countess Mara tie the other day, and it felt the same as they always have: thick, expensive, luxurious.

Johnston and Murphy and Cole Haan shoes: you get what you pay for. Eccos, too. You buy cheap shoes and that's what you've got. You buy quality, and not only does it hold up better and look better, it's more comfortable. Quality shows.

Which brings me to Calphalon cookware. I used Mother's hand-me-downs, then bought myself a set of Farberware which I used for years---right up until I discovered Calphalon.

There may be better cookware, but I'm not aware of it. It distributes heat properly; things do not stick; neither have I burnt anything yet. Cleanup's a breeze. My first few pieces were "Simply Calphalon", the cheapest they make; I now have a pretty extensive set of Calphalon Contemporary.

I've succeed in getting Nathan hooked on the above brands just like me.

There's a Calphalon outlet store here. I drove over there today to buy Nathan's Christmas present (Contemporary 8, 10, and 12 inch omelette pans). So he gets home from a date and promptly says, "Hey, let's go to the Calphalon store!" Yikes. So I went and got the shopping bag out of the trunk of the convertible, handed it to him and said, 'Merry Christmas". We then went out there and promptly exchanged for the ones he really wanted (fine with me, I want him to have what he wants). It was worth it, he was so proud of them.

I love buying quality goods.


(After I posted this, one more thing: I inherited my grandmother's cast iron skillets. I inherited them through Mother and Dad, who themselves inherited them. I now have ALL the cast-iron skillets, plus my aunt's cast iron Dutch Oven. I use the Calphalon for practically everything, but NOTHING tops a cast iron skillet for certain tasks, period. Bacon, sausage just tastes better from them. It is not possible to make cornbread without one (you are making corn cake if you make it in a cake pan, not cornbread). Speaking of quality--no idea how old Granny and Gramp's skillets were. Older than me. Possibly older than Dad. Many a delicious meal has come out of them. 85-100 years old and still work great? THAT's quality!).

8 things

Ok, Kathy tagged me. Here we go:

8 TV Shows I watch:
1. Morning Joe on MSNBC
2. Pushing Daisies
3. How I Met Your Mother
4. Two and a Half Men
5. The Big Bang Theory
6. The CBS Evening News
7. The History Channel (too many individual shows to name)
8. Modern Marvels
9. West Wing re-runs
10. Testees

(I Love Lucy and Star Trek left off intentionally; I've seen all of them so many times I don't actually watch them much any more).


8 Favourite Restaurants

1. Perry's Steakhouse
2. Edomae Sushi
3. Singha Thai
4. House of Pies (Houston institution)
5. Palazzo's Italian (Westheimer location)
6. Molina's Mexican Cantina
7. McClard's, Hot Springs
8. El Fenix, Dallas
9. Panchito's, San Antonio
10. Snuffer's, Dallas


8 things that happened to me today
(I'm using yesterday as it's only 10am as I write this)

1. Started in on re-writes of resume
2. Perused Monster.com again
3. Called Dad
4. Surfed internet
5. Figured out formatting issues with Word 2007
6. Talked with fraternity brother
7. Groomed Coco (see below)
8. Groomed everybody else (jealousy)
9. Ate some chili I had made (too much chili powder! yuk!)
10. Went with Nathan to take Coco to his "forever home", which was 25 miles from here through some of the densest traffic in North America. By the time we were done, Nathan and I were both nervous wrecks.


8 Things I look forward to

1. GETTING A NEW JOB!!!!
2. Getting the house back to "normal" after Coco's departure
3. Learning how to cook the new "breakfast" recipe I just got
4. Learning how to grill steaks as well as Nathan
5. Getting more involved with some of the stuff going on at my church (they have a number of interesting ministries)
6. Surviving the Holidays
7. Football: all the Bowl Games on TV!!! Not to mention cheering on the Cowboys!
8. Possibly attending either the Alamo Bowl or the Houston Bowl or both
9. Did I mention getting a new job?
10. Getting back into a normal routine. One week of unemployment and I'm going nuts.


8 things I wish for:

1. Health, happiness, and peace for all my friends
2. New energy and vigour in Washington to rid the world of the Bush errors
3. A return to prosperity for our country
4. Sunshine. It's been cloudy and foggy here all week, which doesn't help.
5. NO MORE HURRICANES FOR 2009!
6. "Smooth sailing" for Mother and Leroy
7. Ease of transition for Dad and Edwyna
8. Salvaging everything I can
9. To stay in Houston in my house
10. A new job.

If the Razorbacks would win the SEC, Baylor would go to a Bowl game, and the Cowboys would return to the Super Bowl, that would be just so much more icing on the cake.

It's not what happens to you

it's what you do about it that matters.

The layoff was unexpected and traumatic. I believe---and was told by my boss (the Risk Manager) and HIS boss (VP-HR) that I had done an exemplary job. Both of them offered to write me glowing letters of recommendation, and that they would be glad to act as references for me.

My boss told me privately, as he took me to drinks and dinner, then helped me clean out my office, that (a) he fought like a demon to try to keep me, (b) offered up another employee instead--who unfortunately made less than half my salary, (c) didn't know what he was going to do without me, as he freely admitted that he had no idea how to do my job. The VP-HR told the President and CFO of the company, while they were in the meeting deciding who got the axe, that I had cleaned up the mess and gotten the department turned around and headed in the right direction.

It was strictly a numbers game---they had to find salaries that fit their requirements, and mine was one. (They also fired our Director of Training and our RECEPTIONIST, one of the best I've ever personally seen and a single mother with two little kids, along with two regional management staffs and regional managers, as well as demoting a VP to "Manager").

So, I wasn't mad. I mean, what does that get you? I had several interesting moments. I was calmly cleaning out my desk, putting stuff in boxes, and my boss was standing there looking like he had been punched in the stomach. He was not addressing me, he looked at the floor and said, "I just hate this."

When we loaded the last box in the car, he said, "You have handled this with more class and dignity than anyone I've ever seen." I said, "Well, I've always believed that a Gentleman loses with the same grace with which he wins; gracious in victory, gracious in defeat." He replied, "Well, then you're more of a gentleman than I am, because I'd be mad as hell."

I repeat: I'm not mad. Mad does no good. Just gets the blood pressure going. Unhappy, certainly. Frightened out of my wits. Determined to land on my feet. I will find a job, even with the recession/depression.

I have to believe the hand of God is in all this. It is that belief that is keeping me going.

I was working in the same job I'd had for 15 years in Arkansas. This came along out of the blue, was a vastly bigger, better opportunity (and has enhanced my resume) and I took it.

Two weeks after I got here, our biggest client at my little company in Arkansas went belly-up. So I would have been on the street then, totally unprepared, weighing 60 lbs more than I weigh now, with no clothes, no resume, no nothing.

It got Mother, Dad and me out of a declining (to the point of criminality, crack houses, gunshots, etc) neighborhood and into a better area.

It got Mother and Dad to San Antonio, where they have better medical care and better access to it, and my sister and her family to look after them, with me 3 hours away in Houston.

It got Nathan out of a tough situation in Arkansas and launched him on what I believe will be a spectacular career. He can now hold his head up with every member of his graduating class when he tells them of his job, his company, and where he lives. All he has to do is keep working with the same diligence he is applying now; keep his education going; keep after it, and he's going to wind up very, very well off. He'll be able to buy one of my friend Kathy Beaumont's houses and write a check for it by the time he's 40.

I was able to buy this house, which just "fell out of the sky", on an incredible interest rate with a loan I could not now get. Since I hadn't sold my Malvern house, and wasn't going to get anything for it anyway, I got one of the very last -0- down 30 year fixed rate loans offered before the collapse.

I just don't think all of these things were coincidental; I see the hand of God in them. If you want to laugh at me for that, go ahead.

If God has brought me this far, why would he desert me at this point?

When God closes a door, he opens a window somewhere else. I've just got to find that window.

Keep Looking Up!

From Malvie's Musings

Well, easy come, easy go

I was laid off today (nice way of saying, "fired"). They had a 10% reduction in force, and I was one of the lucky ones whose number was up.

So, if anybody needs a top-notch Claim Manager, I'm available.

I'll be doing a nationwide job search; I can't be picky about where I wind up. At 51, I've got to max potential, so wherever the job is will be where I go.

Sometimes life just really does give you lemons.

Middle Aged Crazy, Convertibles, and Route 66

From Route 66

All my life, I've been fascinated with the legend of Route 66.

There was the popular TV show when I was an impressionable kid, aptly and simply titled "Route 66". In this show, two guys travel the country in a sharp Corvette convertible, to a sharp theme song. There is the other song, notably by Manhattan Transfer and Harry Connick, Jr., "If you ever....plan to motor west...". Lucy, Rick, Fred and Ethel kinda-sorta took Route 66 (at least part of it) on their epic trip to California. More recently, the movie "Cars" (one of my favourites) paid homage to the great "Mother Road".

Although I lived in California, I never DROVE there. I had a company car in Dallas which I turned in (Buick Skylark, burgandy/tan interior), and a company car which I picked up in LA (Chevrolet Caprice Estate Wagon--I was an "Assistant Associate Junior Executive" (Dagwood Bumstead's official title), so I got hand-me-down company cars...). So, as much as I've been to California, I've always FLOWN.

I'm bad about cars and shoes. Shoes, just call me Imelda. I have to stay out of DSW Shoe Warehouse like a drunk has to stay out of Spec's.

My (partial) list of cars (includes some, but not all, of the company cars; I can't remember them all): 1955 Dodge Royal Lancer 1966 Chevelle SS 396 1974 Vega 1975 Nova LN 1978 Chevrolet Malibu 1979 Ford Fairmont 1982 Toyota Celica 1980 Buick Skylark 1980 Pontiac Bonneville Brougham 1980 Chevrolet Caprice Classic Estate Wagon 1983 Cadillac Sedan DeVille 1984 Cadillac Sedan DeVille 1985 Chevrolet Caprice Classic 1987 Volvo 1987 Ford Taurus 1989 Lincoln Town Car 1990 Dodge Dynasty 1993, 1994, 1995 Chevrolet Cavalier 1996, 1997 Dodge Neon 1999 Chevrolet Monte Carlo 1998 Dodge Ram Quad Cab 2004 Dodge Grand Caravan

I've always been car-crazy. My Aunt Shorty used to tool around in a Cadillac Convertible deVille. One of our neighbors growing up had a red Mustang convertible. In 1975, when I was a senior in high school, my cousin Jim's wife Marshall (whom I still think is one of the most gorgeous women I've ever personally seen) drove up at a family gathering in a 1975 Cadillac El Dorado convertible, powder blue, white leather interior, with her hair tied in a scarf a la Audrey Hepburn. I thought she was a movie star. Speaking of Audrey Hepburn, she drives a convertible in Roman Holiday and is gorgeous as ever... My brother in law, Phil, had a Miata convertible that he loved knocking around in. I thought that thing was GREAT. He sold it to his brother, drat the luck.

In any event, I have always been fascinated with the West, Route 66, and cars, especially convertibles, although I never owned one. I love travel, always have.

>>o<<

Fast forward to 2007. I was living in Malvern, Arkansas, doing the elder-care thing with Mother and Dad. I was running Compensation Managers (which was pretty easy to do). I was bored, depressed, and fat. On February 11, 2007, I turned 50 years old and pretty much had the standard American Male Middle Age Crisis. I was casting around for something (anything!) to break the monotony. Bored, lonely, depressed, fat. I had about $3,500 in a savings account, just little bits and pieces I'd saved. Figured I'd use it in an emergency. Well, if Fat-n-Fifty, bored, lonely and depressed isn't an emergency, what is? ;-)

So, what to do about it? I could have a helluva trip to Europe on $3,500, but then the money would be gone and I would be home and nothing would change. I was surfing the internet and got to thinking about convertibles. I'd just always figured them to be out of my league financially, and of course impractical as well. But the internets is an amazing thing. You can find all sorts of websites featuring all sorts of things. Cars.com, for example. AutoTrader.com for another. So I typed in "Convertible" and "$3,500" just to laugh at what jumped up---and was very surprised to learn that I could get a --not too old, not too worn-- convertible for LESS than the money I had available.

After considerable shopping (and not telling a soul), I settled on a black 1997 Chrysler Sebring jxi, gray leather interior. I called the lady up, she was most anxious to sell, and I agreed to come look at it. One thing: it was in Corona, California (Los Angeles). So what? I had some free Southwest tickets, so why not? Worst that could happen, I get there, don't like the car, and fly back home having had a weekend in SoCal. SoI told everyone I was taking Friday and Monday off. I declined to say where I was going.

>>o<<

At 6:00 am, I departed Little Rock Adams Field for Ontario Int'l Airport; she met me in the car. As soon as I drove it, I was shocked: it drove amazingly well. I loved it immediately. The previous owner (long story about not much: the lady owned a mechanic shop; the guy had a lot of work done and then didn't pay; he signed the car title over to her and she was selling) had taken the radio, so she and I drove to a stereo shop where I had a new Pioneer stereo put in.

I paid her cash and she signed the title and there I sat in Corona, California, at 1:00 in the afternoon PST, under a gorgeous Southern California sunny sky, in my brand-new-used 1997 convertible (License plate: "40 Oz"; the prior owner had been a young african-american gentleman, and I think he liked the 40 ounce beers ;-), thinking, "My GOD, what the HELL have I done!??!"

God not deigning to answer that question (knowing full well what I had done), I took the car to the nearest Jiffy Lube and had the oil changed while I sat at Denny's and had lunch. I then located a Wal-Mart, bought a flat of "Sam's Choice" water, a new Rubbermaid ice chest (gray, to match) that just exactly fit the right rear seat; ice; sunscreen; a floppy hat with a tie underneath, tasty snax and a Rand McNally atlas.

Thus equipped, I mapped my route from Corona to Palm Springs (more about my love affair with Palm Springs in another post), and set out for one of my favourite places on earth. Traveling through San Bernardino, I arrived in Palm Springs, top down, tunes blasting, feeling great. Sat by the pool taking in the ambiance and several--ok, many-- lovely views and lovely martinis, got to bed relatively early. Here is my photo of Palm Canyon Drive, taken standing up in the driver's seat:

From Route 66

The next day, I got up, got ready, and went out to the car. Looked at the tires; while they weren't bad, I decided a visit to Sam's in Palm Desert was a good idea. 2 hrs and 4 new Michelins later, I was on the road.

I took the I-10 to Phoenix; that's not strictly "Route 66" but it's the route I decided upon. Crossing the desert, car made it great. 108 degrees in the desert; top up (sun was shining brightly and I'm not THAT stupid), a/c blasting, radio blasting. I actually had the a/c on LESS than the top setting (good old Chrysler AirTemp Air Conditioning, baby).

From Route 66

Cruising along in the desert, I was struck by the austere beauty of the region. Some of the sand looked like it had lain undisturbed from the beginning of time. There was a strong sense of "purple mountains' majesty" as the mountains rose from the sand on either side of the interstate.

From Route 66

Arriving in Phoenix, I was struck (as I always am) by the lack of vegetation in a large, modern, beautiful American city. Every place I've ever lived has had vegetation all over the place; Houston, my current home, is basically where the Piney Woods of East Texas merge with the Coastal Plains grasslands. There's enough vegetation here for the entire STATE of Arizona.

From Route 66

Left Phoenix, headed north on IH 17. It was 115 degrees when I left Phoenix. You climb and climb and climb and then climb some more. 40 oz made it just fine. I was having a grand time, snapping pictures WHILE driving (we will not discuss motoring safety; I am an insurance professional!). Verde Valley was one of my favourite stops.

From Route 66

By the time I got to Sedona (another one of my favourite spots on the planet), it was 60 degrees and I had the top down as the stars were coming out. I had this very loose plan about returning. As an Aquarian, I don't like things just TOO planned out. My Virgo cousin is the exact opposite; any deviation disturbs him greatly. Me, I like to wing it.

From Route 66

So my vague plan was to stop at Flagstaff, Arizona for the night ("Flagstaff, Arizona, don't forget Winona..."; I was actually on IH 40 now, the freeway which replaced the "real" Route 66). What I failed to take into consideration was that (a) it was the height of the tourist season, and (b) Flagstaff is the jumping-off place for people touring the GRAND CANYON. Yikes. Every hotel was full, without exception. The restaurants were full of "typical Americans"---white (I saw no blacks at all), fat, and towing a passel of fat white kids with them.

So, I drove on, finally stopping at the Super 8 motel in Winslow, Arizona. I was standing on a corner in Winslow, Arizona, such a fine sight to see; unfortunately, there was no girl, my Lord, in a flat-bed Ford slowing down to take a look at me. So, I ate at Denny's (there are millions and millions of Denny's in the west; kind of like McDonald's or Jack in the Box here, they are literally everywhere you look) and went to bed. Next morning, still no sign of the girl, my Lord, in the flat-bed Ford, so I left Winslow and headed east.

Passing across the Painted Desert, again I could not possibly describe the beauty. It was just plain fabulous. I nearly broke my neck and shutter-finger, along with just about wrecking the car, snapping my head right and left and taking pictures. Top down motoring, baby!

From Route 66

At the border of Arizona and New Mexico is the magical place called Window Rock. While the actual "Window Rock" is off the freeway, the range of which it's a part is cut out FOR the freeway. Beautiful. It's also the tribal capital of the Navajo tribe and their sacred ground. A word about the Native Americans: I have in my mind the commercial from the 70's featuring the chief with the single tear running down his cheek. Yeah, well, the modern image is a huge truck stop featuring !!!!INDIAN SOUVENIRS!!!! There are thousands of them. Every gas station. I guess everybody's got to make a living somehow...

From Route 66

Crossing into New Mexico, there was a distinct difference in the desert: LOTS more vegetation. Still just clumps of grass, but it RAINS there. Got to see Gallup, New Mexico. Nothing special, but I've heard about it all my life and it was fun to go there. Made it to Albuquerque and couldn't help but remember another American Icon: Bugs Bunny ("I KNEW I should have taken that left turn at Albuquerque!"). Well, Bugs, I felt the same way, as the freeway system there is not exactly easy to figure out. I made it though, and when I came out of Albuquerque's valley on the other side of the mountains, suddenly things looked more familiar: it began to be the rolling grasslands of the Great Plains.

From Route 66

I've lived in Texas and Oklahoma and this was starting to look a LOT more familiar.

From Route 66

>>o<<

From Route 66

Crossing into Texas, I had a strange mix of emotions:

• Relief, because I was at least back in Texas and the trip was going to be ok. I figure, if 40 oz had made it this far (and it had done beautifully, averaging 24 mpg, a/c flawless, water temp gauge straight in the middle of "normal", transmission shifting smoothly, top operating flawlessly), it would get me home.
  
• Sadness, because the trip was more than 50% over.
  
• Strangeness, because while I was in Texas, all right, I was in the PANHANDLE, with which I have limited experience. My part of Texas is the Dallas/Houston/San Antonio triangle, with Corpus Christi, the Hill Country, and East Texas thrown in. This might be Texas, but it was a long way from anything with which I was familiar.
• And, finally, Gladness because suddenly, instead of Native Americans and fat white people, there was the more familiar mix of white, black, and hispanic. I stopped at Whataburger (good ol Whataburger!!!! Not Denny's!!!) and the young lady who waited on me was black. Her manager (about 5 minutes older than her) was hispanic. The gal working the window was white. Ahhhh, home at last!
  

Left Amarillo by sunset (not morning) and headed for Oklahoma City, top down. Thunderheads were brewing (until then the weather was flawless), lighting all up in the 40,000 foot clouds. It never rained on me. I was flying along with the top down, and truly, up there in the clean panhandle air, with no city lights and about 12% humidity, THE STARS AT NIGHT ARE BIG AND BRIGHT, DEEP IN THE HEART OF TEXAS. Millions of stars, the big thunderheads in the background, with lightning. It was breathtaking.

Stopped at a rest area in Texas, near the Oklahoma border. Styled up in my convertible (darkness helped 40 oz's looks a great deal). There was an African-American family in their minivan, top piled with luggage, who stopped at the same time I did. The Dad looked longingly at 40 oz, and said, "Man, I sure do like your car." I thanked him and we got into a conversation (as often happens with me). The family was from CORONA, CALIFORNIA (from whence I had just come). They were headed for PINE BLUFF, ARKANSAS (45 miles from Malvern, where I was going). We laughed about the coincidence, I let his 8 year old son sit behind the wheel with the top down pretending to drive (I remember doing that as an 8 year old), and we were all on our way.

Once I arrived in Oklahoma City, in my mind I was "home". I had spent a LOT of time in the City; knew it well; had stayed in the same mom-and-pop hotel for years and years.

Got up the next morning and drove the 6 hours home to Malvern, top down all the way.

So, that was my Great Middle-Aged Adventure, featuring completely unplanned, spur-of-the-moment, off-the-cuff trips, convertibles, glacial martinis, Palm Springs, Route 66, deserts, moutains, Indians, new friends, and all the associated memories. It was one of the great adventures of my life. 40 oz and I have parted company; I have a newer convertible now, but I'll never forget her.

It was the cheapest $3,500 I ever spent.

From Route 66

(If you want to see ALL the pictures, they're HERE).

If you ever
plan to motor west,
travel my way, take the highway that's the best!
Get your kicks on Route 66!
Now you go through St. Looie, Joplin, Missouri; Oklahoma City looks mighty pretty!
You'll see Amarillo;
Gallup, New Mexico! Flagstaff, Arizona, (don't forget Winona!) Kingman, Barstow, San Bernardino!
If you'll give into this timely tip,
when you make that California trip---
Get your kicks on Route 66!
Get your kicks on Route 66!
Get your kicks....on Route 66!!!