TAOS SKI VALLEY, N.M. — It was 41 degrees when we awoke on a recent morning in the second-story condo we had rented. The balcony door was open, as were the kitchen windows. When one lives in Texas, it is a luxury to sleep in summer under a blanket, windows open, no air-conditioning whirring. Actually, AC was not an option but at 9,400 feet altitude it was blessedly unnecessary. I had installed an altimeter app on my phone to satisfy my inner-nerd self, and regularly announced the altitude as we traveled through the west.
The Arroyo Hondo River runs behind the property where we stayed from...
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EL PRADO, NEW MEXICO — We arrived about 6 p.m. at Taos Mesa Brewing, a funky brewpub called the “Mothership,” since there are two smaller locations. The Mothership is built of rusted steel, glass and translucent plastic, with a large amphitheatre in back. Next door is an RV park filled with old Airstreams and other trailers for rent.
El Prado, a rural suburb of Taos, is 10 miles southeast of the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge, the second-highest bridge on the U.S. Highway System. The view from the bridge is beautiful, a bit scary to walk across, with the canyon bottom 650 feet below. Warning...
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As do many of us, I own a smart phone. Mine is beginning to act too smart, anticipating where I’m going, and when I’ll arrive. I got in my car to head to the CrossFit gym the other day, as I do most weekdays about lunchtime. My phone buzzed and announced that I would arrive at the gym in seven minutes and that traffic was light.
Who asked? Not me. For one thing, it’s Longview, Texas. Odds are overwhelming that traffic is going to be light, even at noon. Second, I do not schedule gym classes on my phone calendar. There’s no need. I know what time class starts and whether I am going...
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“Anyone who does anything to help a child in his life is a hero to me.”
— Fred Rogers
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Fifty years ago, a children’s show titled Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood was added to what would eventually be known as the Public Broadcasting Service — PBS. The Rev. Fred Rogers, an ordained Presbyterian minister, had been producing and appearing in a number of children’s television shows in Pennsylvania for 15 years. Rogers had a degree in music and was an accomplished pianist and song composer.
My two oldest daughters watched and loved Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood. I remember them sitting...
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For the past week or so, thunderstorms have rolled into East Texas about 3 p.m., lasting at most an hour. After, the air is so heavy you can almost taste it, but at least it’s not 100 degrees. The heat will soon return, so no complaints from this quarter about these brief, soggy respites.
Sometimes it rains, sometimes not, but thunder invariably rumbles. The family mutts, Sam and Rosie, are usually sound asleep on one couch or another, their heads resting comfortably on pillows. How dogs understand that pillows provide a comfortable resting place fascinates me. These two have the run of the lower...
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I spent a summer morning hiding out in the library, looking at 1933 microfilms of the Longview newspaper, trying to get a sense of this town 85 years ago when in the midst of the oil boom.
When I have a few hours to spare, I dive into microfilms, no specific purpose in mind just yet. Here’s a sampling of what I found the other day:
The paper reported in January 1933 that the newly sworn-in district clerk, Dozier Skipper, Jr., while organizing old court files discovered that the first legal action filed in Greg County was by a woman seeking a divorce. Mrs. Samantha Harty sought a divorce...
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FORT WORTH — At 11:30 a.m. and 4 p.m. each day, the Longhorn steers at the Fort Worth Stockyards take a leisurely stroll down the brick streets of Exchange Avenue, flanked by cowboys on horses keeping a watchful eye on the herd — and the folks gathered on the sidewalk to watch. I suspect the cowboys are more worried about the two-legged creatures doing something dumb than the Longhorns making a break for it. It is obvious these magnificent creatures are well fed. Other than two 15-minute (at most) walks in the searing heat, life is pretty darned good for these bovine.
Somehow I have managed...
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Fifty years ago this week, our family left New Hampshire and crossed into Texas, pulling a U-Haul trailer with our teal-green 1964 Mercury Comet. It took about 10 days and nearly 2,000 miles on the road. The first stop was for lunch at a café in downtown Linden since, as usual, we three boys — 12, 10 and 4 — were hungry. (I’m the oldest.)
We all ordered hamburgers and fries. When the food arrived, I was non-plussed to find my burger loaded with lettuce, tomatoes and onions. What? A salad on a hamburger? My mother informed me that was a “Texas burger.” I picked off the offending vegetables...
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Summer officially arrives next week, about three weeks after it actually showed up, following an unusually cool and wet month of May. After a half-century enduring Texas summers, the heat and humidity still compel me to go into endurance mode for about four months. I continue to work outside in the yard or around the house, come back soaked from CrossFit, and gulp down tumblers of unsweet iced-tea. About 5 o’clock each day, I jump into the swimming pool, trying in vain to get my money’s worth out of it. Then I sit outside for an hour or so, with a fan blowing and listen to NPR while reading.
It’s...
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MINUTE MAID PARK — I was 12 when Dad took me to my first major-league game, in September 1967. At least, it is the first game I recall. It is possible we attended a game at Fenway Park when I was younger. A faint memory remains. Sadly, there is nobody left to ask.
My brother Scott and our buddy Bruce Courtemanche also attended that next-to-last game of the season. Improbably, the Red Sox as we watched could tie for first place by beating the Twins. The Red Sox in a pennant race was not something my dad imagined when he bought the tickets early in the season. The Sox were perennial cellar dwellers...
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