I learned recently that Jim Magruder had passed away. Magruder was a retired professor of philosophy and later mathematics at Stephen F. Austin State University. He and Dick Lower essentially comprised the philosophy department at SFA in the mid-1970s, when I arrived as an 18-year-old eager to delve into complex tomes and gain knowledge.
In retrospect, I had a peculiar if fascinating college education. My ACT score was high enough to get me into the university’s Select Student program, which was patterned after UT’s venerable Plan II curriculum. Besides the state requirements for English,...
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On a pleasant Sunday morning, when the humidity was low and the temperatures reasonable for mid-June, I cranked up our 1965 Ford F100, rolled down the windows, and headed to Greer Farm outside of Daingerfield. I wanted to pick blueberries. I have been looking forward to this for about it for a month, since I ran into Sid Greer at the downtown Farmer’s Market.
It felt good to be hurtling down the highway with the breeze whipping through the 2-60 AC, which was working perfectly. (That’s two windows open while driving 60 mph.) I also have a fan clamped to the ash tray, its cord plugged into...
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Dear Julie:
We married five years ago today on a humid June afternoon. The ceremony was performed under a grove of trees, cows lowing across the fence line. The wedding ring was tied to Rosie’s collar. Your daughter Abbie — soon to be mine as well — held Rosie’s leash and kept a careful eye on the ring pouch. We maintained the tradition of a bride and groom not seeing each other the day of the wedding. I learned later you were a bit nervous and stayed concealed in your brother’s house until it was time to walk down the hill. I will never forget watching you slowly descend toward us, radiant...
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I have been threatening to build a chessboard since Christmas. That is when I gave a chess set I bought 40 years ago in Mexico to my nephew Connor. The box containing the pieces — carved of wood and what is likely ivory though I hope not — doubled as a chessboard, leaving me without one for my remaining set. (I hope I am forgiven for unknowingly buying a chess set built with ivory as a dumb 20-year-old.)
My mom created a ceramic set for me back in college. The pieces are topped in gold and silver inlay. But since I have no board, Connor and I have been confined to playing when he comes to visit...
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My interest in reading about presidents started in childhood. I recall walking to the Allenstown, N.H. library, taking a short cut through an open field on a summer day to check out a biography of George Washington. I was probably about 10. Since then, I have read biographies of more than half our presidents and own about four dozen biographies of those chief executives who most affected America’s history — Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln, both Roosevelts, Lyndon Johnson and others. I have skipped Franklin Pierce — the only president from New Hampshire if one does not count Josiah Bartlett...
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Dear Abbie:
Tonight you graduate from high school. Wrapping my head around that takes effort. It seems just a few days ago you were a 10-year-old girl, hair tied back in a schrunchie, clutching a Harry Potter book and sizing me up from your side of the table at Pizza King. I remember your salad was drenched with ranch dressing, a habit you have maintained. Your mom and I had started dating a few weeks earlier, and this was a big step, allowing me to meet you. I guess I passed the test, since happily I’m still around more than eight years later — the last five years as a family.
Our time...
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I went to vote last Saturday morning in the city council election. First I stopped up the street at the Farmer’s Market and bought some fresh kale, a loaf of homemade jalapeño bread and a pretty hanging pot of flowers to give my Beautiful Mystery Companion for Mother’s Day. I exchanged small talk with several acquaintances both selling and buying there. Perusing the produce and other items at the Farmer’s Market is a pleasant way to begin a Saturday morning.
Next I headed down the street to vote at city hall. I pulled into a nearly empty parking lot about 8:30 and saw a pair of canopies...
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A neighbor recently flushed a couple of copperhead snakes out of our cul-de-sac. The heavy rains are driving the serpents to higher ground, from what I have read. This has caused great consternation in our household, which is uniformly not fond of snakes. That includes the dogs.
I am not scared of snakes, exactly. I just want them to keep their distance. If they decline my invitation to leave the premises, I will dispatch them as efficiently as possible. Machete, shotgun, shovel — I have options.
Rats, I’m scared of.
In a previous life, I returned home one night to find a big, black...
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My love affair with Red River Radio began in San Augustine, when Shreveport station KDAQ first went on the air in 1984. I was first exposed to National Public Radio while briefly attending graduate school at the University of Missouri, and then transferring to UT-Austin, where KUT became my constant listening companion. So I was overjoyed when KDAQ — the flagship of the network now known as Red River Radio — went on the air.
But first I had to mount a rooftop antenna to pull in the signal from Louisiana. It was worth the effort. A world without public radio would be bleaker, less fulfilling...
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A friend remarked the other day that we should not attempt to retrieve some tools from my shop because it was “rush hour.” Rush hour? In Longview? I suppose there is an increase in traffic in the morning, at noon and 5 p.m., though I can still get to work on the other side of town in less than 10 minutes. Still, I get impatient when it takes two cycles to get through a traffic light on the loop.
But when I go to Austin or Dallas, my mindset changes. I expect to get stuck in traffic, to watch I-635 turn into a parking lot as we head to NorthPark Center, or to move at a snail’s pace toward...
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