Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Its that time of year. People are bbq'n and spittin' watermelon seeds. Another hallmark of the summertime for the "beautiful people" is the fascination with Hot Air Balloon rides. Not content to float aimlessly over their sylvan suburban nirvanas oohing and ahhhing over the "Lawns of the Month", instead they choose to "drop in" on those of us who have sought sanctuary from the omnipresent rows of McMansions and Burger Kings, OOPS! Perhaps this explains the absence of Hot Air balloons over Czar-Town, there simply isn't a vessel sufficiently sized to contain the volume of hot air (AKA gas) emitted from the hallowed halls of the Foggy Bottom.
I can remember in our beautiful Village one year when I was startled at the anxiety and furious stampede of our horses. Rushing outside to determine the cause, I spied a couple of HOT AIR Balloons floating over the place carrying "This Is My Oyster" aviator wannabes who most likely paid a substantial amount of money for the "adventure".
I got the gun and contemplated a well calculated shot at that Balloon but quickly realized the fact that I had been overcome with the "fear of fliers", a concern that would surely pass, albeit slowly. Ultimately, I contacted the appropriate authorities and advised them to "cease and desist" the stampeding of our horses by this HOT AIR cruising over our property.
You might think that a "small town Mayor" would know little about this ancient form of travel. If you do, you would underestimate the breadth of experience a Victoria childhood can bestow. I've been in a Hot Air Balloon only once. That was enough. Knowing little of the dangers or finer points of navigating a sack of hot air towards a preferred destination, one late afternoon in May, we piled into a hot air ballon basket with our south Texas survival kit of Brie, Caviar and Champagne and set off from the McCann ranch after the Polo Match. Something went terribly wrong because while we set off from McFaddin, Texas we found ourselves barrelling at a disturbing speed and finally landed in Brownsville. Full of seriousness on the outside and laughter on the inside, Mr. McCann sent cars to come and pick us up and bring us back to the launch pad.
We were "wind-blown" and rattled, but educated and informed to know that there is nothing to gain by investing in HOT AIR and that those who so travel are probably not the sort you would want herding horses.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
The early mornings in our lovely Village glisten with the kiss of sunlight and history, a history wrought with war, a women's college and a downtown that just won't die quietly. Many of us regard the Village as a treasure, perhaps even a National Treasure. Given the recent "interest" in our lovely town, from far and wide, you'd have to be taking long siestas under the Brazos River Bridge to not bear witness to some "changes" that have recently befallen Main Street.
Now, "Change" is not necessarily a bad thing...ask any woman over 50. Its not easy, but it happens. The question is about BALANCE.
Change in Chappell Hill has become a more frequent event than the nations "top" Banksters holding out their tin cups before a spineless congress for the People's (and their grandchildrens') largess(t). Some of the changes have been good and others, well ask the Banksters.
Our charming Main Street is "changing". What happened to the Awnings that once adorned the old buildings? Will they be replaced, renewed, or I dunno, re-elected/erected?
Have we become complaisant to the value of history or perhaps sadly, just tired of it? Or is this just more "CHANGE WE CAN BELIEVE IN".
A most regarded and respected resident remarks that once landscape and architecture is altered it could require a somewhat heroic effort to restore an adversely impacted land-mark to its original design character without considerable care and cost.
For instance, take the Constitution and the Bill of Rights of our great country. Think about all the CHANGES it has been through. As our Founding Fathers are spinning in their graves watching the ticker-tape of Czar-town morphing from a Republic to a Banana Split Republic, one can hear the whispers of warning drowning silent the past acts of Patriots. It required bravery, faith in mankind, dedication, sacrifice and open-mindedness to create such documents; but I doubt any of those fine men would sit by and be satisfied with the bunch of us asleep at the switch, dozing and yawning, only to awaken, dizzy-headed enough to complain about these CHANGES.
Now, you can change your clothes, change the color of your drapes, you can even go through the "change of life", if you happen to be female; you can change your mind, several times, it keeps it clean.
What we can't change is nature, Mother Nature, that is, and according to the Farmer's Almanac, we're in for a hot, dry summer where the only "rain" we are likely to see will be that of Federal Reserve notes pouring down on the Nation like confetti on a national championship parade, the dawning of a "new age".
Try not to become the proverbial Cat On A Hot Tin Roof particularly on a cigar store awning. Simmer down, sip some lemonade and think about what, and how much, you want things to change. Take in the beautiful dawnings we have out here, yawning if you have to, but combine it with a good morning stretch, and as for the awnings, I guess we'll have wait and see whether they symbolize something far greater, like, well "change". It is, after all, still unfolding.
I suppose looked at another way, rather than an horiffic expression in Spanish or a moment in the earth's rotation, Dawn is just another case of "close but no cigar"...
The "Dawn" always brings something to wonder about.In the words of Mae West, "Step aside small change before I spend ya".
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Friends of our Lovely Community:
I am sure you are all aware of the resurgence and interest in growing, raising our own food. Of recent interest is the "rearing" of GOATS. Good meat, I guess, my father's last words to me, before he died, I was telling him that my Dear Husband had procured a herd of GOATS; I wasn't sure Daddy could hear or understand me, but the the last thing he said to me was, in a faint whisper, "Oh Cabrito!".
Okay, I went along this goat thing my Dear Husband desired, but made it plain "I don't do GOATS".
Then, of course, we had to have a DONKEY to protect the GOATS. My Dear Husband found a Donkey, very unattractive, and was delivered to our our lovely home. Now, this Donkey only speaks Spanish, so we fondly named him DONKEY-HO-TEE.
That didn't work out too well because the Stallion out with the mares resented the fact that the Donkey was still "in tact" and disrupting his 'bisness' with the mares.
Okay. My Dear Husband decides we need a DAWG; an Anatolian Dawg, in fact; so we acquired an Anatolian DAWG. We call her Annie Tollie. She's doing a pretty fair job, save the one GOAT she had to take to task over his aggressiveness.
So far, I think I'm doin' okay. But for SOME REASON, my Dear Husband saw fit to send me pictures and a video of GOATS IN TREES....(NO KIDDING, pun intended).
Now, where I come from, and growing up in a church-goin' family, ANYTHING with horns and a tail and hooves, sittin' up in a tree looking at me is nothing but the Absolute Devil, Satan!!!
When I inquired of My Dear Husband, "Uh, I'm a little uncomfortable with this GOATS in the tree thing, he replied, "Don't worry about it, those GOATS are from Morocco.
Those GOATS could speak Greek, Vietnamese, or Yiddish!! I don't care. If they can sit up in a tree and stare at me, I'm breakin' out the Holy Water!
I won't sleep too well.
Monday, June 1, 2009
All's well that ends well.
In the midst of our community despair over that little,lost white Dawg, wrongly profiled as a black Chihuahua, St. Francis himself, came to intervene. The little Dawg in fact was the beloved companion of one of the most noted young men of our community, and after a series of inquiries, the young man and his dear Dawg were reunited, joyfully. There wasn't a dry eye in the truck.
Laughter through tears; what a great emotion...to see a boy and his dog reunited and a well-respected Pastor and friend slouched in the the bed of the truck holding the little dog as we drove home.
And for good measure, we had a wonderful word of prayer.
God is Great! And God spelled backwards is Dog.
Don't give up! There is a home for everyone.
Thank you to everyone who are willing to take the time.
I am now commissioned by the D'Man to revise the latest installment from D'Mayor regarding the Grand Opening of the Lazy Mule. The Jack-Ass leading the Jack-Ass. ( draw your own conclusions).
Brought to my attention is that I should use this forum to get folks to "Come Together" and emphasize the "bouillabaisse" of our lovely spot on this planet.
Personally, I think we are all VERY aware of our differences and our commonalities...and not too surprising, we seem to all get along pretty good. There are some truths in this life that are impenetrable; and that is the innate goodness in us all, I don't care who you are, but the fact is, we DO care.
Sure, on occasion, somebody felt slighted, ignored, insulted...but more often we have experienced mutual respect and grace and have always responded to a neighbors cry for help, whether it be a cup of sugar, or "Hey, can I borrow your tractor?", or "Can you meet me at dawn in a thunder storm to help retrieve my stolen horse?", Or, "Ya Know, I don't feel so good, I think its the heat, can you check on me in a little while, I'm out here by myself".
Point is, when push comes to shove, these people out here in our lovely community CARE. And whether or not you feel put off or snubbed, all that goes away when it gets down to the "lick-log", as my Dear Husband would say.
That's what makes Chappell Hill such a wonderful place. Its the GRACE,the grace with which we all walk and express to each other. I mean, even the old man that totaled my car opened the door for me at the post office. It was his fault, but we walk with grace.
At the end of the day, we all put our pants on one leg at time, as my father would say...Unless, of course, you happen to be wearing a skirt with a bunch of smoke billowing under it.