We made our summer pilgrimage to Schlitterbahn recently, a family tradition that consists of spending a day getting waterlogged at this venerable waterpark in New Braunfels. Then we feast at the Grist Mill in Gruene, which is not air-conditioned but worth the sweat. I am too old to ride real roller coasters. A trip down a Six Flags roller coaster a dozen years ago sent me to a chiropractor. But water slide rides offer staid thrills, not to mention relief from the heat.
My Beautiful Mystery Companion, daughter Abbie, and I stayed at a hotel up the highway in Buda because it was cheaper. Plus...
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This is the 45th August I have spent in Texas, nearly all here Behind The Pine Curtain. This month in East Texas is to be endured, not enjoyed — at least by this transplanted Yankee.
An aside: I have milked the Pine Curtain phrase — in dozens of columns, a couple of books, and a few magazine pieces — for so long that some younger folks think I coined it. I didn’t. First time I heard it was from a now-dead buddy — Michael Busby. Michael was a poet and scholar. We met at Stephen F. Austin State University in the early 1970s. He became the godfather of Kasey, my oldest daughter. Michael...
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If I wished, I could make a full-time job out of taking surveys, not that it pays terribly well. My wireless carrier wants me to fill one out after keeping me on hold for 30 minutes — before walking me through figuring out why suddenly I can’t log online to pay my bill. Our auto insurance carrier asked me to fill out a customer satisfaction survey, after I filed a claim for a minor fender bender in our driveway. Once after eating at a Mexican restaurant chain in Tyler, the waitress pleaded for me to go online and fill out a survey. I could win $5,000, she exclaimed! So I went online and filled...
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The Summer Olympics shall soon commence in London, where rain falls in absurd amounts, buses carrying athletes are locked in traffic, the company charged with hiring security guards is a few thousand short of employees , and those in charge are trying not to freak out. But, as the British have said since the eve of World War II, “Keep Calm and Carry On.” Stiff upper lip and all that.
Many years ago I posited a piece about what events would fit a Summer Olympics in East Texas. I took a look at that piece, written during the 1996 Atlanta Olympics, to come up with a new version. It’s fair...
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A friend told me the other day about how his ex-wife once accidentally set their swimming pool on fire. I do not think this was a factor in the divorce but tend to not inquire deeply into such delicate matters. Anyway, she and a girlfriend were throwing a bash and decided it would be lovely to have floating votive candles in the pool. Probably she saw something similar on cable television. I am sure it provided an atmosphere of luminescent festivity on an East Texas summer evening. Plus the candles might have helped ward off mosquitoes.
Speaking of which, I read an amazing story in the New Yorker...
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I came across a news item the other day. The famous Mickey Mantle’s restaurant in Central Park South is closing down after nearly a quarter century in business. Mantle was the small-town son of an Oklahoma miner who went on to become one of the greatest and most beloved baseball players to wear the pinstripes of the New York Yankees. Hard drinking and injuries shortened what was still a stellar career. Mantle quickly went into the Hall of Fame and personally downhill.
I am a lifelong Boston Red Sox fan. It is a generational malady that cannot be cured. Fenway Park is shrine I try to visit...
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Family and friends of the departed gathered under a grove of pecan trees on a dusty June morning, near a curve of the San Gabriel River in Williamson County, about 40 miles northeast of Austin. It was a world away from the big city. The family had raised children and critters, grown hay upon these acres, for six decades.
The men mainly wore slacks and short-sleeved shirts. A few wore blue jeans, while others donned sports jackets. I saw no ties. The women wore loose-fitting cotton dresses or blouses and slacks. These are sensible folks who knew they were about to spend a couple of hours outside...
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Have thy tools ready. God will find thee work.
— Charles Kingsley
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My tools have returned home. The woodshop soon will be operational. It is a small space, what was once a single-car garage. But it is adequate for my purposes, even if it requires wheeling tools about — depending on what I’m building. But there’s a good cross breeze. My old shop fan keeps the air stirring. The main concern is not making too much noise and alienating our neighbors. I might have to plane rough-cut...
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In December 1940, boxer Jack Dempsey — then one of the most famous athletes in America — came to Casper, Wyoming to referee a wrestling match. It was a fundraiser for a local veterans group called the Forty and Eight. The Manassa Mauler (named after his Colorado hometown, no doubt by some ink-stained sportswriter) had retired earlier that year at age 45 with a record of 60-7-8. Fifty of those wins were by knockout.
Some argue that Dempsey was the greatest boxer of all time. Those of us who saw Muhammad Ali at his peak fantasize about a match between these boxers of different generations....
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Years ago I vowed to never hold another garage sale, after a particularly time-consuming and low-profit sale. The amount of time and effort calculated out to less than minimum wage. Goodwill and other worthy charities have been the recipients of my excess stuff since that unhappy episode.
However, I learned long ago that “never” is a relative term. Thus I acquiesced to my Beautiful Mystery Companion’s request that we hold a garage sale once we moved under one roof and combined possessions — after a year of marriage spent living 260 miles apart. She forthrightly and accurately argued...
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