Lemony Lemonade

All during the week I think of at least a half-dozen good topics to talk about, and many more that would be inappropriate, but come time to put fingers to keys, it's like my mind is stuck between channels. Where are all those specific points I made while talking to myself (in my head, I hope), where are all those prolific, ecclesiastical realizations I came to that I couldn't wait to share with you all? Gone. Like the wind.  Like Tuesday, as Skynyrd says. I can barely put two sentences together. Ok, it's not that bad. You might say "Write those ideas down so you can remember". I've got a whole drawer of reminders. There's nothing quite as stale as an idea gone cold.

I keep trying to think of positive things about this remarkable heat (lemonade from lemons), because if I can't think of an upside, I'm gonna brain myself. Here's my little list:

1. You can hang clothes on the line and they're dry in about five minutes. By the way, let me brag here about the new clothes line that Mr. Me put up. It's snazzy! I don't think I've ever had such tight wires.
2. You can see which plants are the hardiest and use those to landscape your yard. Go somewhere that there are plants you would actually want, like Rough Creek. Or the Caribbean.
3. You appreciate 6:30 a.m. a lot more, since it's the only time that is bearable to be outside.

That's it, I'm tapped. It's pretty miserable.

The photo is one of the multiple little shower clouds that we've watched float around us. On July 3, we saw a tornado, but it only lasted about 40 seconds. No, really, and I have witnesses. Mr. is the one who said, "Yes, I see it, it's a tornado," after I said "I must be seeing things". Also, I heard through the grapevine that Bobby Wright saw it, too. We thought it was over by the gin, but it must have been closer to Sardis.

It looks like someone has taken interest in the old Beavers store up at Camp Springs. There was a pick-up with old appliances from inside the house on it and I saw a guy on a little backhoe working up there. The realtor's sign that's been there for a few years is gone. I wish it would be a store, again, but I think only someone who didn't want to make money would open one up. It sure would be convenient for us locals, though.

We spent the Fourth in Roscoe on the second. I don't know what it is about the town that makes it so good for festivals. It was like being at a gigantic family reunion. It probably has a lot to do with organizational skills, as well as the good people of the town.

I got my electric bill this week and I did NOT have a heart attack. It was just about a fifth of what I expected it to be. Thank goodness for little mercies. I hope all of you will find some of your own.

Bird's the Word

I gotta tell ya, I enjoy my Twitter account more than anything else online, including Facebook. The few people I follow have sharp wit and can capture thoughts with just a few words. I keep thinking I need to have hundreds that I follow, like everyone else, but I feel like my group is the best and just reading what they have to say keeps me busy enough.

My top two favorites are Elizabeth Baker, author of  Half-Baked Twice as Good, and Linda Sharps, who writes for The Stir. Both of these women are hard-core, living life as normal women, both as wives, one also as a mom. I like the real way they talk, their cynicism and their big, but not too mushy, hearts.

Alex Hyde seems to be from somewhere near Austin and an educator. He's very clever and not arrogant.

Shriek House provides humorous and cynical outtakes on family life. For some reason I'm thinking she also writes for The Stir.

Chris Sherman is an excellent Associated Press writer. He is the Rio Grande Valley correspondent here in Texas. He has written many articles about the big damn mess that's going on at the border. I admire his unbiased and factual writing style. He has a great voice on paper. He's currently on leave for a fellowship, but I hope to see more articles by him this August.

Linda follows a few people, like I do, probably for informational purposes only, but I like knowing she's out there watching and I try to keep her updated about what's going on in the community.

I urge you to get your own Twitter account! Then you can inform the world of such things as "I love this song", and "Just dropped ice cream on my shoes". It's fun.

SISD Feels Budget Cuts, Closes Hobbs School

The Hobbs School has closed doors behind another school administration. According to a Sweetwater Reporter article written last December, the Sweetwater Independent School District will consolidate their alternative education program with the Colorado (City) ISD to save the school district money. The savings at that time were estimated to be $75,000 for the alternative education program (AEP) and $35,000 for the discipline alternative education program (DAEP). The amount was increased to $130,000, collectively, according to a February SR article. Students will be transported to the Wallace School in C-City.

The Great Divide

Well, it's very dismaying to watch the chasm widen between politicians and constituents. Politicians are following some blind path, being led by the call of an old, decrepit, mythical bird, and constituents are left at the camp alone, wondering why tortillas are three times the price they were two years ago.

And seriously, when the candidate's platform is president bashing, they are of less than no use to me. Also, dispense with the general promises and projections. Who needs another candy machine in the cafeteria, Charlie Brown?

Who are these politicians pandering to? Not me, that's for sure.

I want someone who is smart and savvy. Not someone who declares to have a solution to all the problems, just someone who makes sense.

Honestly, I think the the people I see on tv who are running for public office don't understand the regular person's day to day life. You would think we're all obsessed with abortion, health care and smoking policies if the news was any indicator. I'm frenetic about paying my bills, although the people I owe money to might think otherwise. Vehicle maintenance is also a daily factor.

That's another issue. Politicians make blanket promises when the needs of the many are diverse. Country, city, north, south, shore, land, old, young, the list of variations is never ending. But the incumbents and nominees hammer away at dead horses.

I've noticed in my life that if someone keeps harping on a subject, you eventually form an opinion, even if it's an issue you could care less about. So then here we are, arguing about things that we don't give a damn about in general, forgetting what's really important to us.

Dear Politician, I don't want you to solve my problems. I don't want new laws. Just be a good, dependable manager of public policy.

Dowell School Memories

It's one fine country morning here. Sue the dog and I just made a trip to the Hobbs Cemetery to fulfill some requests for Find A Grave. Early morning is the best time of the day, especially if you're not having to hurry off to work.

The cemetery always reminds me of why I love living out here. When I was a kid, I thought we owned the world. Our family gravestone is right at the front, which made the place ours in my mind. We had a great big farm that I had no idea had boundaries, and there was always talk of Big Daddy, as my late grandfather Les Templeton was referred to when I was a child. He was an icon in my life, this man I never met, and everything that Hobbs stood for to me. Just because he bought a farm back in 1941, I have been allowed to live in a community that feels like an extension of my yard. I mean, I just went to the graveyard in my pajamas and thought nothing of it, except that it was a luxury. It seems like a perfect opportunity to say: "You might be a redneck if you've ever...".

On to today's photo. I read an article this week in Texas Co-op Magazine entitled Never Fade Away by Harry Noble. It's about Noble's autograph book from his school days in Rosevine, TX circa 1939. The picture I've posted is of a similar autograph book belonging to my aunt Imogene. When we came across it we wondered what it was about, whether it marked an occasion or if it was a fad of the day.

Documentation in the book indicates the most of the autographs were collected at Dowell High School from December 1936 to April 1937. One or two were gathered in Hamlin. Such clever and witty people! One says "When you grow old and wear patched pants (could she have meant britches? Or maybe that was the joke, to say pants instead of britches), think of me between the stitches (Juanita Cooper)", and another quotes "When you are old and have snuff on your chin, think of me and lick it in (Ruth)". One wishes Imogene a happy married life, so I went back and found that she was married in April of 1937.

Since my aunt went to the trouble to list her classmates and teachers, I am going to also list them here.

Classmates: Pauline Levens, Vesta Merlyle Barker, Norma Aleen Coan, Jesalea Aken, Juanita Cooper, Aileen Hodo, Birtie Belle McCright, La Merle McCright, Elizabeth Winzer, Mae Dene Eaton, Estellene Hodo, Melvin Clements, Harold Aken, James Winzer, Welton Jameson, Buddy Levens, Merril Eaton, Odell Finch, Leroy Eaton, Bessie Phillips, Preston McCleskey, Paul Cooper, Ozelle McKay, Ruth Watley, Nadine Hodo, also the Maxines, Maxine Calwell, Maxine Compton (that is how they are referred to in the book, as the Maxines).

Teachers: Mr. Charles, Miss Hancock, Mr. Martin, Mrs. Foreman, Mrs. Collinsworth, Mrs. Murff and Miss House.

Dowell, according to the Handbook of Texas Online, was located four miles northwest of Rotan. The school was combined with Rotan in 1946-47.

A Time to Remember

This photo was supposed to be of an impressive rain of mortarboards hanging mid-air above the heads of the Roby Seniors, but my camera gulped after I pushed the button, and I only captured the aftermath.

As the kids got ready to toss their hats into the air, the group of people I was with started reminiscing about their own graduations, which made me think of mine. I then rode a long train of memory, wandering paths not taken, thinking about missed opportunities and bittersweet moments. I don't like to admit regret, though, because every single step I've taken has led me to the people who are in my life, and I most definitely don't want to tamper with the recipe that brought them to me. I just have to revisit those thoughts every once in a while and make sure it's all as I remember and desire.

The heat and the wind are wearing us all down out here in this semi-arid hell hole. It will make the rain all the more sweeter, but good grief, how bad of a mood can one woman get into? I guess we're going to see.

I had free XM radio this week. I was pretty excited at first, until I realized that the same programs are repeated every two hours and day to day. There's a lot of potential, but it hasn't been realized. Also, if I'm going to pay for radio, I don't want to listen to commercials. I switch stations every time one comes on. They last so long, like when you're trying to watch a movie on TBS. You forget what program you were enjoying before the advertising ensued.

I would like to comment on the latest Dolce & Gabbana ad featuring Matthew McConaughey. They took a beautiful, beautiful man and airbrushed out his best features. It's creepy and made me feel weird, like looking at an animal that's otherwise perfect except that it has three ears or an extra limb. They should have left him rough and scruffy, even if he was wearing a suit. It's just a travesty.

I would also like to comment on Bob Dylan at this time. I don't like his voice at all. I think he was just what the listeners yearned for at the time, though, and that he cleansed the palette. Don't buy his book Tarantula. I'm sure he was making some sort of statement, but it would be a waste of your money. It looks like a monkey or chicken was let loose on a typewriter. I'm not saying that to be hateful, that's all it is, just a bunch of random typing. No words. Just junk.

If you can't tell, I'm working from a list I made of things that I wanted to talk about. I'll try to finish it up fast: I heard a shoe was running for president, finally, a worthy candidate; I saw an old episode of Orange County Choppers the other night and thought it was a new one, that they had gone back in the original direction, which I believe is all it would take to bring it back; and I think I could have a talk show since some of the ones that I've heard this week are so lame. One lady talked for hours about her local butcher. Another seemed to have suffered a speech impeding illness. I am sure I could titillate listeners with talk about chickens and going to the bar and weather. A sure formula for success, indeed (Sherlock Holmes influence)!

Swallow Solution

Aren't you getting tired of seeing photos of the front of my house? Well, here's one more. We put streamers along the eaves of the house to see if that would deter the swallows, and it did! I tried to think of something that would make them leery of flying, because birds are all about their wings. I still don't understand what made them abandon the culvert. Maybe because there wasn't any rain to wash the old nests out. I may go out there later and attempt to clear the way.

I was reading an article about country living. The author was talking about the joy of living on his historic fancedy-pants ranch, drinking Beaujolais wine, looking at centuries old age-ed wood out-buildings while wearing his uber-stylish but "distressed" rich stitched boots which were propped upon his anally maintained porch-rail (Not exactly his words, but just precious).

Here's my take: living in an old farm house in need of constant repair, drinking a cup of Folger's coffee, looking at a shop that we made ourselves while wearing an old t-shirt, sweats and flip-flops, sitting on old metal patio furniture that's been painted a million times. And lovin' it. It's so nice to get up in the morning and walk around in the yard with a cup of coffee, piddling with chickens, kittens, the sprinkler, plants. No neighbors to stare you down, just lost in your own world.

I guess the author of that article probably enjoys the country life as much as I do, but his is in the manner of J.R. on Dallas, while mine is more of an Ace Reid type of existence. Both suffice, I suppose.

The Birds

I've had a series of experiences with fowl in the recent weeks, the latest occurring today when a bunch of mud-nest making birds decided to reside under the eaves of my house. I keep going out there to shoo them away and spray down the beginnings of nests with the water hose. I went and looked in the cement culvert they usually stay in to see if there was an obvious reason they had taken to the house, but I didn't see anything. Maybe they know it's going to rain and wash away their nests.

I saw a pheasant out here a few weeks ago, and I've had three other people tell me they have also seen it. He just pecks along the side of the road, not caring a fig about traffic, so busy with his doings. It's so funny, because one year we went to North Dakota, and I was just about guaranteed a pheasant sighting, but it never happened. I had to wait until pheasants came to Texas to see one.

That same week I also heard a road runner make a sound for the first time in my life. One time I heard one thrum it's beak when it thought I was threatening it's baby, but this time I heard an actual voice. I was at a neighbor's house getting out of my car when I heard a mournful sound that I first thought was a dove. Then I thought it might be a dog shut up in the garage. I moved my head to hear the sound more clearly when something on the peak of the roof caught my eye. There was the roadrunner standing there, then I saw his throat move, like a rooster's does, when he made the sound. It's nice to know there are still things to discover in a place I'm overly familiar with.

Also that same week I had gone north from Camp Springs up to the ranch at the end of the road, then turned left onto the dirt, when I saw some of the funniest white birds. They didn't look like an egret. Each had a big, rounded-out face with an amusing expression. It made me laugh.

Of course I didn't have my camera for any of the photo opportunities! Prepared? Not me. I was sorry to see what looks like grackles in the back yard this morning. I'm a big animal lover, I hate to run over even a mouse in the road, but those rude birds may inspire me to do some target practice with the .22.

P.S. Ms. Chicken and five chicks have been forced back to the coop since I found one dead on the shop floor. Boy, was that a dumb idea!

An Independent Chicken

A few months ago, one of the hens moved out of the chicken house and onto a shelf in the shop. I thought, "Hey, this chick has a mind of her own", and left her do as she pleases. Also, I don't know how to make a chicken do anything beyond their normal instinct.

One day when I was looking for something, I stood on a stool and found that Ms. Chicken had been laying eggs up on that shelf. Some had even rolled down and fell on the breaker box. To keep the eggs from rolling, I put hay up there. I didn't collect or toss the eggs because they felt warm and I didn't know how far in she was with them. And chicks on a shelf? I'd just cross that bridge when I got to it.

Yesterday I heard a ruckus and figured it was just the usual chicken antics, but I went outside to see what was going on, and found one little chick peeping around on the shop floor. I scooped it up and popped it back up on the shelf while mother hen threatened to flog me. I got to watching her and saw that there were three peepers up there, cute as can be.

It probably seems like I should get them all down and put them in a safe place, but I tell you what. Last year when I found chicks, I immediately put them in a pen that we raised the original bunch in, with a dog carrier for a nest area. The baby chicks couldn't make the jump up to the lip of the carrier, so I put a piece of wood there for them to jump up on; there were two mother hens, so I put them together, and one pecked a hole in the other one's chick's head; the chicks got out of the pens through the holes in the chicken wire (wonder why they call it that), etc., etc. Anyway, after a myriad of issues, the chicks were finally big enough that they were roosting with the other chickens. Then one morning  after I opened the pen, I went back out there for some reason, and something had eaten every single one of them.

So this year, I'm just going to let mama hen be the chicken expert. If she wants here babies on a shelf, so be it. I'm not going to put a lot of work into killing them, this time. I'll just keep picking them up from the shop floor and tossing them back in the nest.

Local Fame

I wanted to mention that Glen Strickland made the front page of the Abilene Reporter News this past weekend. There are tons of good photos from the fire on this link. If you don't recognize some of these folks, you must be from somewhere else.