And this old porch is like a weathered, gray-haired
Seventy Years of Texas
— Lyle Lovett and Robert Earl Keen
We sat on the front porch in early July. A steady western breeze and low humidity sliced the edge off the 90-degree afternoon. We sipped beer. I listened and took notes as the three men and two women swapped stories, out in the blacklands of Central Texas. I balanced my laptop on my knees, taking a tighter grip when Miles the collie came by to nuzzle my hand. Miles and I became fast friends, after I spent much of a previous visit kicking his soccer ball and waiting...
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“Hey baby, it’s the Fourth of July.”
— Dave Alvin
I began Independence Day as any other day, walking Sam through the neighborhood while listening to NPR. As they have for the past 29 years, the announcers were reading the Declaration of Independence, familiar voices taking turns reading Thomas Jefferson’s literary shot across the bow toward the British. I later learned NPR also tweeted the Declaration in 140-character bursts, which alarmed a number of people who did not recognize what it was. It took 113 tweets, and by the end a number of people — who apparently skipped the Declaration...
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This week marks 35 years of writing a weekly column. This journey began in San Augustine — Behind the Pine Curtain in Deep East Texas — in July 1982 at The Rambler. I was a month shy of turning 27 and had taken a job as managing editor with nobody to manage but myself. I was the sole editorial employee. At that age, I had my hands full with self-management. Still do.
I typed the column on an IBM Selectric. We had no computers, just typesetting machines that, through a complex process turned characters into dots on a ribbon that was fed into another machine, which spat out galleys of type...
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Summer officially arrived this week. Finally, our swimming pool is at a perfect temperature. Every afternoon after work, I jump in to swim a couple of laps. This started about a month ago, when the water was Barton Springs Pool cold, which meant I jumped toward the ladder so I could extricate myself quickly. Now the water is just right. By July, likely it will be bathtub lukewarm. I will continue to swim, determined to, if not get my money’s worth, at least get some physical compensation for the amount of money this pools costs to maintain. Buying a house with a swimming pool was the second-happiest...
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In a few months I will turn 62, which means I will be eligible to draw Social Security. I have no idea how that happened so quickly — time is whooshing by at warp speed. I don’t plan to begin receiving a monthly check then, since it would be greatly reduced. Barring unforeseen financial reversals, I plan to wait until I can receive the full take — at 66 years, two months. And, of course, if I croak I will not be receiving a check, but my Beautiful Mystery Companion will until she turns 65. I find all this faintly ridiculous.
I take note of this age milestone because a few days ago I achieved...
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AUSTIN — Walking the Lady Bird Lake Trail while in ATX is a required activity, and we invariably stay at a hotel near the trail for easy access. My Beautiful Mystery Companion and I enjoy studying the wide variety of dogs loping along with their owners. “Look, there’s a Great Pyrenees!” “Did you see that sweet beagle?” And so it goes. The snippets of conversation one hears can be fascinating as well: folks talking about failing relationships, their bosses, a party last night. I once had the notion to set up a parabolic microphone along the trail and record these snatches and turn them...
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I am writing this on my laptop on the deck, which vibrates gently because of the small generator that has been running nearly nonstop for three days. The only time the generator is not running is when it runs out of gas. When the generator is not running, we have no electricity. One of the fiercest storms I can recall since returning to Longview more than nine years ago swept through Sunday afternoon, just 30 minutes after my oldest daughter, Kasey, arrived for a visit from Florida.
The power went out at the peak of the storm, and we sat in twilight behind the large picture windows in the living...
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I was born here and I'll die here against my will
I know it looks like I'm moving but I'm standing still
Every nerve in my body is so vacant and numb
I can't even remember what it was I came here to get away from
Don't even hear the murmur of a prayer
It's not dark yet, but it's getting there
— “Not Dark Yet,” Sung by Jimmy LaFave, Written by Bob Dylan
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I started reading fake news as a kid, saving the money I earned shoveling snow to buy Mad magazine with its “What Me, Worry?” mascot Alfred E. Neuman. His gap-toothed clueless smile, freckled nose and jug ears in various personas graced most every cover. Inside, the content included the type of satire that appealed to kids who had a bit of knowledge of current affairs.
From there, I graduated to National Lampoon, which contained more sophisticated satire, some of which was indisputably tasteless. The magazine had to apologize for a fake Volkswagen Beetle ad, which played off a real ad claiming...
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We gathered on the grounds of the venerable Boy Scout cabin of Troop 201, at Teague Park in Longview on a gorgeous cool Saturday in early May. Several hundred former Scouts and supporters milled about, preparing to celebrate the troop’s centennial and open a time capsule buried 50 years ago.
As we stood in line to fill up on Bodacious Barbecue and the trimmings, vaguely familiar faces walked by, most wearing name tags. These were men with whom I went camping, on hikes, and spent weeks at Camp Pirtle, run back then by my grandfather. He was field director for the East Texas Area Council. Practically...
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