Captain Jerry Yellin, pilot.

Totally humbled and inspired today by this.  My gratitude and awe know no bounds.  The honesty and humanity

 Link:
http://www.dvidshub.net/video/embed/395572

Cresting the Ridge Line

You know sometimes when you crest the ridge line, with its poor soil and rocky outcroppings. You can feel the sun is hot on your skin but the breeze at that altitude is chilly through your shirt sleeves. You contemplate your layers at that moment. 

As your focus shifts from awareness of the arduous demands of the climb, your elevated heart rate and breathing rate, to the vast horizon spread before you now, like a king at the head of the table of your visible feast, you notice the soft vacuum sound of the wind through the tree limbs. You smell the warm dry sent of the shrubs. You hear a few birds or maybe the random scolding Jay. 

It is quiet, but not quiet. Solitary, yet busy.

Rolling by

Well let me just tell you about a beautiful thing I witnessed outside of my door.  It's spring in Texas and with the warm and cold undulating weather comes spring storms.  Here in Central Texas, we dont get the kind of wild weather they do up in Tornado Alley, nor do we get the kind of lightning and precipitation they get down on the Gulf or in Houston.  Even so, we get some beautiful and sometimes violent spring and fall storms. 

Tonight a storm rolled through flashing it's usual brilliant electric effervescence, but this time was the first time I had heard the continuous rumble of thunder, like a passing train.  Flash after flash of lighting in the clouds, one overlapping the other meant the rumbles never began, never middled, never ended.  The sky just rumbled and rumbled.  Finally, big spats of rain began to fall.  Faster and faster until it was a rumbling tumbling flashing downpour.

There are some who are afraid of storms but I just sat outside with my eyes and ears and a big fat grin pointed skywards. 

Gorgeous.

Today is Eternity

It's all just waiting and learning and loving; learning and loving and waiting.  The Buddhas and Christs and Prophets will tell you it is.  Just loving and waiting and learning what the universe wants to teach you.  And when you have waited long enough and learned what you can and loved with the expanse of your heart, then your time will come. And if you should happen to cross the river before you realize it's just waiting and learning and loving, perhaps you will come back again.  Perhaps there is hope for me, time to do it better again; Tomorrow, next season, next time.  They say we don't have  much time, but Baby, I think that's ALL we have.  Today is eternity

On Margaritas and Dogs

Recently, I was reflecting on the happiness that a good dog can bring into one's life.  My favorite quip to come out of that was, "Typically, dogs make terrible margaritas but wonderful pals."  I still feel this was an accurate assessment.

Moving

This Friday marks the ramp up to a full week our moving activities that include finishing the painting, fixing the kitchen lino, possibly replacing the carpet in the project room with self stick tiles, and .. oh yeah .. moving boxes. 

I wont miss the apartment where we have been living and I do not relish the idea that our poor, blind dog has to get used to a new house.  However, when I was there last night I had to spend some time waiting for Jason to return.  I had no lawn chair yet so I just laid out on the cement slab in the back yard and looked up at the sky.  I listened to the wonder that is the mocking bird, cycling through it's warbles and chirps and watching him flit back and forth between the tops of two telephone poles.  A plane flew overhead and the contrails were pink against a darkening sky.  I had no telephone.  No distractions.  It was peaceful.  

I look forward to a garden and a little bit of a yard to enjoy privately.  No apartment neighbors spying in on us.  I look forward to BBQ and Grilling and smoking.  I look forward to the new projects I can try out back on the generous cement slab.  I look forward to having my earthly "things" around me in the house, instead of in a storage unit down the street.  I look forward to having a spare room where people can stay instead of lodging them on the sofa. 

So, it is another tale of hard work that achieves something important to the heart.  That is usually the most satisfying work of all. 

Judith Mountain Cabin

One of the tools I have used to help me save me from impulse purchases is to use the following simple rule: Leave the store without purchasing.  If you are still thinking about the item several days later, then consider returning to purchase it. 

That's how it is for me and the Judith Mountain Cabin.  They say when something rings true in your heart, you just know it.  That happened for me sometime around the year 2001 (yes, I remember when it was) when I first saw this cabin on the back cover of a popular book in the housing section of the local book store.  It seemed to me to be the perfect confluence of my love of cabins, my childhood memories of lookout towers in the Pacific Northwest, and my desire to live in a cozy small house. 

I still love all of those things and, to this day, this house still haunts my imagination: The Judith Mountain cabin. 

Yes, I'm still tracing floorplans.  The Question: So when do I build it?

The following images can be seen hosted on Wanken Blog

Drawing Credit (Below): Seth McWhorter

Book excerpt credit (Below): Shelter Publications

Revolver Brewing Is On Target

Deep in the heart of Texas the Microbrew revolution is growing.  I couldn't be happier!  When I woke up yesterday morning, I had no idea how the day would end.  But, once I laid eyes on the logo of this great young brewery, I knew I had to go.  So, Jason and I piled into the new car (Jinro) and motored the two and half hours north to Granbury, TX.  

Spring is springing and the countryside is looking quite beautiful in Central Texas.  It was the perfect day for the drive.

Revolver Brewing did not disappoint!  The brewers have a nice little business going on, complete with live music and tables to sit and enjoy the warm spring sun.  They have games of horse shoes and "corn hole". 

I took this photo in the highly polished reflection of their Airstream trailer.  Very fun-house!

 

Blood and Honey brew is approved, slightly spicy with a hint of blood orange and honey.  Their stout is solid and enjoyable (I'm still more of a Porter girl).  Jason enjoyed the High Brass blonde ale.

 Great live music!  We noticed the logo looks a little like the Atari logo of our youth.

 Games of horse shoes and corn hole.

$10 Entry fee gains you a commemorative pint glass and two generous half-glass tastings.  But, of course, I still bought the tshirt ;) 

Update November 2016 - Revolver Brewing announced it has entered into a definitive purchase agreement with MillerCoors.

Running

You can forget how to run.

You think you still remember.  Your mind imagines you surging and flowing over the landscape.  You remember the exhilaration. 

But sit too long and you will forget.  You grow heavy and clumsy and your lungs hurt.  Short seems far.

But here's the thing ... life ends.  Are you ready to stiffen and slow and be sedentary like mud at the bottom of a river?  

Everything you want is there before you.  There is nothing to do but learn again.  Start slow.  The flow is still there.  Every day it come to you a little more than before.  There is time enough to die tomorrow. 

Today, run.

Horsemeat Scandal Widens, 'May Be Donkey'

Horsemeat Scandal Widens, 'May Be Donkey

..... And in a timely news story ..... vive meat smugglers!

Better, not Bitter. Or, The Time I Smuggled Tacos Across International Borders and Flaunted European Union Rules on Trade

It's not often you get the opportunity to smuggle illegal contraband across international borders and risk incarceration, deportment, or worse.  That's why, when the opportunity presented itself to smuggle tacos into Germany, I didnt just say yes but  MUAH HA HA HA HA - YES!

Let me back up a little and reflect, for a moment, with all seriousness.  There was a long time I would not have blogged about this story.  Life has a way of not turning out like you expect it to (and from where I stand today can I just say thank goodness for that!) and the reason I took this trip would turn out to be something I was ashamed of for a while.  It was easier not to talk about it than to suffer the reproving or I-told-you-so looks of others.  But, darned it, it's a good story!  I can't stay ashamed my whole life of a decision I made in good faith just because someone else flaked out.  So, today is the day I blog about it --- the great Taco Caper of November 2012.

There I was, on the brink of finally using my passport again!  I was excited.  I wished there was something I could take to my host that would really be a piece of the States.  And then it hit me!  The gift that tops all other gifts.  The gift that makes Hallmark cry itself to sleep.

TACOS!

Wait, ... what?  

Not a scarf. 

Not a book. 

Tacos. 

OK.  Tacos.  Let's talk about this option.  Cautions-self asked, "Do they even allow meat from the United States into Germany?"  To which, Einstiein-self responded, "Problem solved, I will check it!  If I cook it, then freeze it, then wrap it tightly in my suitcase, the cold belly of the bird should just keep it frozen."  Ok Selves, it's a plan.

Fast forward Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam.  I had followed the plan to the letter but now I began to wonder ... Have I really made the right decision here?  Those Germans, they have historically taken their policing pretty seriously.  Maybe I should dump it down the toilet before I go through customs ... the Mad Cow Kilo .. the ...  Oh look, this of coffee cup has my initial's on it! SQUIRREL!

 

SO ... next thing I knew, there I was, disembarking in Germany with a baggie of crumbled cold beef laced with cumin and maltodextrin undeniably lodged into the corner of my luggage, just waiting for me to claim it.  

"Anysing to declare?" The sullen thin man asked me.  ...  Errrr.... I briefly considered throwing myself prostrate on the floor, confessing all.  

"Noo?" I faltered.  KACHINK went the stamp.  Next Please.  There was no where for me to go but forward.

I snaked down a long corridor with other travelers from all over the world.  I felt a little clammy.  Hey, it's not so bad, is it?  I mean, come on, it was just a little ground sirloin, right?  HOW BAD could the penalty be?  

The hallway emptied into a large room filled with several baggage carousels.  I scanned them briefly but did not spot my bag.  Several young airport policemen sauntered about, scanning the crowds.  Oh God, oh God.  Why couldn't I have just brought a book?  A nice, fat, coffee table book about mountains or midgets or postcards from Route 66.  Tacos?  Who brings tacos?  Crazy incarcerated carnivore prisoners, that's who.  WHERE IS MY BAG?

I ducked into a nearby door with the word Toilet over the door.  I looked in the mirror.  Did I look guilty?  I turned my head from side to side and tried to ascertain whether or not I looked shifty.  I was sweaty and had to pee.  Logical motherly-self advised I should probably take this opportunity to go.  I didnt know how long I would be in transit between the airport and my final destination and ... when in Rome.. right? These boots were made for walking and this room was made for ... well you get it. 

Problem number 2.  Well, not NUMBER TWO, but the second issue.  I'm looking at the toilet but I do not see any way to flush it.  No wall flusher.  No auto light sensing eye.  This was not my first international toilet experience and my pride was a little bruised.  I was a bit embarrased and flummoxed.  Look as I might throughout the stall, it was just me, a bowl of yellow water and nowhere to make it go.  I'm serious when I said I probably looked for five minutes.  Four other people came and went in the stall next to me.  Still I puzzled.  Should I just walk away and leave it?  No, no.  All of my collective raising nixed that idea.  I could not just walk away and leave it.  Then .... does that tile depress?  WHOOOSH!   The thrill of potty training rushed through me.  Potty go bye-bye.

And so it was that, after washing up, combing my hair, and a few deep breaths to steel myself, I walked out the door  to claim my bag.

Everyone was GONE.  And not just gone but FLAT GONE.  Litterally gone.  How long had I been in there, anyway?  Where had everyone GONE?  Had they cleared the room in preparation for the big takedown?    This did not look suspicious at all.... noooo.  

There, ahead, I saw it.  My bag.  It had been pulled off of the carousel.  The rubber carosel track circled emptily with my lone black bag propped conspicuously against it.  Had it been opened?  Did it look rifled?  My eyes darted about the room.  My belly felt queesy, as if there was an entire Six-Flags worth of carnival rides in there. 

Five feet to my right, a small group of airport police stood tightly clustered, chatting quietly.  The roller coaster in my belly dropped straight down into my feet.  With a deep breath I straitened my back and walked toward my bag with purpose, trying to look confident while secretly eyeing them out of the corner of my eye.  Were they readying the taser?  The cuffs?  Tranquilizer darts? I bent and picked up my bag and turned to go.

One of them nodded.

I slowly nodded  ...back?

One of the young men said something and they all cracked up laughing.  

Could it be?  Did they really have no idea?  I could quite possibly be carrying the next black plague in my satchel and yet here I was, on my way into the Fatherland.  I pointed myself toward the nearest exit door and pushed through.  

Over the cold, clammy scent of sweat clinging to my jacket there was another smell ... the smell of freedom!  I had done it!  Like Steve McQueen in The Great Escape!  (Well, all except for the part where he goes in a ditch and is recaptured.)  I was free!!  MUAH HA HA HA HA - YES!  Take that, coffee table books!  VIVA LOS TACOS!

Later that night I heated the still somewhat frozen beef and served it with Tillamook cheese from Oregon and Tortillas from Texas.  They tasted ....... a little bland, to tell you the truth.  But my victory, well now, my victory tasted very sweet indeed.

Its full of stars ...

Last night we traveled to Waco to see the hardest working musicians in Texas/Red Dirt music, Jason Boland and the Stragglers.  In the last year we have managed to catch the sedulous  Oklahoman Hell Pony  in Houston,  Mason, Luckenbach and now Waco.  With lyrics like, "And I believe in ghosts and democracy and that each man should leave his legacy, be that mans work great or be it small. I don’t believe in everything like the designated hitter or that diamond rings will make love last forever for one and all..." (Proud Souls) his songs are easy to love.  Not to mention he is the only man I trust to sing covers by two of the saints of country,  Don Williams (Livin' on Tulsa Time) and Waylon Jennings (Dont y'all think this outlaw bit's done got out of hand).

Despite how this story begins, it is not a story about the gritty heritage sound that Mr. Boland and his Stragglers never fail to deliver, or the amazing interpretive "Appalachia Dance" performed by our cohort on the trip, his eminence, Sir John, or even the moving tale of no pancakes or 5 egg special at Ihop. No.

The story I would like to tell is of the smile that spread across my lips at the camaraderie and celebration of life of a slightly intoxicated Jason and Sir John singing along with Pat Green "Songs About Texas".

I sing songs about Texas,
I sing them often as if she were some old lover,
When the night is real real still,
I swear I could hear a whippoorwill,
She knows there's music in the dirt down there,
So sing me one more song about old San Antone,
it seems like a dream now it was so long ago,
and old Guy Clark he can be just like a coat from the cold, well I'm going home
 

It's also a story about the joy at finally spending a brief but appreciative moment contemplating the Milky Way. So many nights pass in the city in which you can only see the brightest of stars. The full glory of the heavens is elusive in a place where people need the reassurance of fully lit streets, even as they sleep.Man loses his sense of place in the order of things when he is separated from the darkness.

But last night, I looked up and there it was, that fuzzy, hazy blur that many poor, unknowing souls simply assume is cloud. I grinned and nodded. "There you are, my old friend."

My heart is big when I am made small by my place in the Universe.  

Photo credit: Starlight Theater Cafe and Bar in Terlingua, TX.

Kiss Me

Smooooch

New beginnings

Orientation. Scott and White.

The things you find

I found this pad of paper today. I love this tablet; it is 25% cotton. What was written on this page dates to about 2008 and i was quite surprised to see it.

Thatcher 2012

Created a new sticker
... I support women in the White House!  Thatcher 2012.  She has an OK VP, too.


create & buy custom products at Zazzle

Courtyard Courtship

Was reading an article in the magazine Texas Highways and saw an article about the Trois Estate  near Enchanted Rock and Fredricksburg.  This courtyard really inspired me.  I would love to have an old style house with a courtyard ... a lovely old liveoak with it's mossy branches bowing low to the ground.  A fountain.  Lights in the branches.  The perfect spot for a hammock or grilling with friends or a cold beer in the shade.

A slice of heaven

This weekend I accidentally, yes, accidentally ordered the world's largest pizza.  Man, its a good thing i also got the garlic breadsticks ....

Seriously, i bumped into the door on my way out of the place and i really had to scratch my head on how to transport it flat in my little Mr Miyagi pickup.

The pizza was very tasty and obviously induced laughter and other good things.  A "little" slice of heaven? Indeed!!

New Friends and Crazy Gals

Twas a beautiful day across central Texas today. Jason and I set out across the rolling hills of the flower festooned hill country to the Best of the West shooting range to do a little pistol shooting.  I am posing here with my new cardboard friend. Me and William Barett Travis dispatched him handily.  Yes, i am aware it is monstrously lame to name your gun but it makes me laugh so hard i solidly refuse to cease.

We followed the successful session with a late lunch at Crazy Gals Cafe ... looking down at my plate, what was perhaps the best chicken fried steak i have had in ... ever.. stared back at me unabashedly! The corn fritters were amazing and the deep fried okra was crisp and fresh.  A complete win! I only am saddened by how short this weekend is.

I vow to begin again

I do