The freshman volleyball team clearly was new to the game. The match was a last-minute schedule change. Someone overhead one parent remark that the girls on this squad had never played volleyball until this season. By ninth grade, most girls have competed at least three years, starting in sixth grade.
The team came over from Shreveport, an hour’s drive away by car, a bit longer on a school bus. Only a few parents drove over for the 5 p.m. match. The squad contained only six players, the minimum necessary to field a team. The bench was empty. The team they were playing — on which our daughter...
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I was walking Rosie the Wonder Dog last week along the Boorman Trail, listening to NPR and pining for autumn. The oak leaves have begun to fall in our yard. That is one of the few signs that summer is considering a departure. It will leave, I know, but not soon enough for me.
My Beautiful Mystery Companion called in the midst of this reverie and asked where I was. We walk in tag-team sequence now that school has begun. She walks first while I rouse the child, who is slowly adapting to getting up early enough to get to high school in time. I walk with Rosie while my BMC gets ready for work, then...
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The death of Neil Armstrong, the first man to walk on the moon, invariably brought back memories for those of us old enough to recall that event — especially if you were a space nut like me. I didn’t particularly want to be an astronaut. Well, I did, but quickly realized being myopic, not especially good at science and shrimp-sized were not exactly the Right Stuff that NASA sought.
I got hooked on space exploration after Alan Shepherd rode on the back seat of a red convertible in a parade through our hometown in New Hampshire, after his brief ride into space in the early 1960s. Then my Uncle...
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Mississippi Delta is shining like a National guitar
— “Graceland,” by Paul Simon
MEMPHIS, TENN. — We crossed that scary bridge (at least to us) over the Mississippi River, just as the sun was setting on a Friday evening and took the first exit into West Memphis, to downtown. Lighted, round horse-drawn Cinderella-like carriages vied for passengers with the electric trolleys that clang along Main Street. This was our last getaway of the summer, sans child, just my Beautiful Mystery Companion and me enjoying a quick trip to Memphis.
Apparently, we were the only tourists in town...
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The convent table is a bit battered and dirty. Dirt daubers have built homes beneath a few of the table’s leaves. A few pieces of the intricately carved cross-pieced legs have chunks missing. Several more are loose. For more than a decade, the convent table has sat unused in the carport’s storeroom behind my father in-law’s house. It begs for a twofold restoration. It deserves to be brought back to its former grandeur because it once was a handsome table, which with all its leaves likely could seat 16. And the convent table deserves to be inside a home, gracing a dining room, its surface...
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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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