Big Cloud No Rain

There's an old sayin' "Long summer without rain". It means different things depending on the context. For those of us living in our Beautiful Village, it is quite literal. Trees are dying, even the commercially irrigated ones, and the land is so dry its practically barren in some places. Average temperatures have been well into the 100's for more than two months now. And the heat index even higher, 105-110°.

Seems like alot is drying up, in the landscape of our Lovely Community as well as the seemingly Evergreen Landscape of our Nation's Lawn. Things once alive and well, made worse by the Drought, now being pulled up by their their withering roots, like unemployed auto workers. All the hope and promise will die on the vine, and the next elixir or snake oil won't make anything grow, no matter how much "watering" gets done.

Gardeners will become rich and most of us won't be able to afford Re-Landscaping. We'll probably have to try to do it ourselves and run the risk of getting sick from the heat. With some luck, we'll have a friendly neighbor nearby with some ice water to soothe our scorched throats and burnt skin. Its good to know who your neighbors are, and for that matter who they aren't, you just never know how far this can go, this Drought, and we all know that the longer the Land is stressed, the more likely an opportunity for a GRASSFIRE. In some places, crops are frequently burned intentionally to kill off the weeds, bol weevils, grasshoppers and insects to eliminate pests and promote proper growth.

Perhaps next go-round, we should put a Weatherman on the ballot...not necessarily a Meterologist, that's just too elite. No, just a good old fashioned Weatherman, totin' a Farmer's Almanac. Seems predicting the weather is a somewhat more "exact" science than predicting the Atmospheric Conditions in our Guvmint and the wind-shears and the pop-up twisters that exist there.

Contrary to the empty promises of "Blue Skies" as far as the eye can see we hear so much of, the Weatherman will say with considerably more dignity, honesty and reliabily, "20% chaince of rain with partly (not to be confused with party) sunny skies, Tuesday, 30% with thunderstorms likely in the evening".

Ya know, now that gives ya some time to get your livestock and equipment moved and such. I think I'd rather listen to the Weatherman than some bloated dignitary tellin' me how its gonna be. Shoot, Bang! All you really have to do is look out your window or walk outside to get the view of it; use your noodle, assuming its not overcooked. Its "right there",as I tell my Bird Dawg. He uses his nose and finds it everytime.

Seems the forecast in our Nation's capital of late is almost never good and I don't know anybody who appreciates havin' to scramble with little, very little, notice that the weather is going to CHANGE, dramatically.

I am reminded of the Wizard Of Oz; those poor folks hunkered down in the storm cellar with their potatos and such while Dorothy braves the impending storm for her beloved pet. Then it comes, the Big Twister and some weird, wild-eyed woman pumpin' those bicycle peddles with "dawgged" determination, "And your little Dawg, too!" All in pursuit of those RED shoes! (who wears those kinda shoes anyway? they cramp your feet and will leave you crippled. Best to go with a nice, attractive FLAT).

'Course, that whole saga began when a House fell and a glass of water melted the threat. But I digress.

Anyway, GRASSFIRE can be a force to be reckoned with because it can result in a HOUSE-a-fire! And I guess its better than being stuck in a storm cellar eating potatos, hoping the storm will pass.

We could sure use some rain, the real kind.

Support Your Local Fire Department.

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WATERMELON WAR

Fellow Villagers:

Of late, it has come to my attention that along the asphalt pathway to our lovely community, (otherwise known as Highway 290), we have many more Watermelon Vendors than ever before. Of course "ever" assumes a lot since during the last depression, AKA The Great "Water Melon Depression" (WMD not to be confused with the WPA) the price of Watermelon was undoubtedly controlled by the FDR Administration. Just like today, the "Big Melons" are protected by the GuvMint while the small ones are spit out like seeds on the side of the road. But back to the current depression, the 'back of the pick-up' Vendors keep a polite distance from each other, respecting the other's space, (much like the starling birds packed "wing to wing" on a wire just before their migration south on a fall evening gathered around busy intersections all over the west side of the Big How-Town,) thus providing their adoring customers ample opportunity to slide to the side, inspect, thump and purchase the melon of their choice.


Serious competition. Some Watermelon Vendors have become quite creative in their marketing of this juicy, summertime melon; out-manuvering the competition by moving to the other side of the asphalt pathway in the afternoon to catch the evening commuters. Clever. Madison Avenue would be proud.
Especially of the Vendors hawking additional products such as tomatoes and the ever-present berries. Nothing wrong with thinking outside the box...or in this case, outside the bed of the truck.

But I must say, there they sit in this heat, with their beach chairs and umbrellas and Watermelons. This kind of heat melts memory and vigor much like butter on a BBQ pit and as such, Chappell Hill looks more like the Golan Heights in the deserts of Israel than the verdant hamlet so often covered by Texas Highway magazine and other media. But who can blame a guy for doing whatever to make a buck these days...well, not really whatever, but Watermelon, far as I know, is still pretty wholesome, and hey, what would July be without Watermelon!

In our wonderful Nation, Watermelon transends all cultural boundaries. From the White House to the itty-bitty grocery stores, banks and merchants, almost eveybody sports a Watermelon and there is seldom a complaint.

Having said that, I do have to wonder how those fellas on the asphalt pathway feel about it...what is this "bumper-to-bumper" crop of Watermelon doing to the price they're getting? Is Our Fearless Leader and Congress going to have to bail them out as well? Might be another pet project or The Socialization of Watermelon Small Business vendors.

At any rate, be careful in "them waters"(melons)...cars are slipping to the side impulsively to grab their Watermelon and without alot of warning.

I am reminded, as a child, the local swimmin' pool would have a "Fun Day" for us kids. One of the games we played, to the hilarious delight of the adults who saw it coming, the "Lifeguard" would get a large Watermelon and grease it with Crisco, throw it into the pool and blow the whistle signaling the children to "go for it". Whoever captured the Watermelon won a ribbon and a Fudge Ice Cream Bar.

Now, trying to grab a greased Watermelon in the deep end of a swimmin' pool is just about impossible. Most of the time, the Lifeguard would have to come fish us exhausted kids out of the pool and then go get The Big Net for the Watermelon.

So, if you are so inclined to pull over for a melon on our the asphalt pathway, just remember one of the chants from my cheerleading days, when I was young and limber;

"WATERMELON WATERMELON WATERMELON RIND
LOOK ON THE SCOREBOARD, SEE WHO'S BEHIND"

'Course, we were always ahead in the game when we used that cheer. But be careful of those cars suddenly stopping...you don't want to get hit (on)! Although I'm sure our Fearless Leader already knows who's behind is whose. Those G8 summits are so productive.

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INDEPENDENCE DAY:

As our Wonderful Village Respecting Chickens prepared for the festivities and parade down our metamorphasizing Main Street, I had a most unique vantage point, given my Most Powerful Political Position as D'Mayor.

First off, it was really hot (like ya'll need to be told that), and yet the organizers, vendors and friendly Bankers set about, tossing beads, making lemonade, coolers full of ice, local merchants quick with a smile and many of our fellow Villagers turned out with their lawn chairs and beared the heat in strong support.

Donned in my coveted cap, I toted a bucket of Jolly Ranchers and Dum-Dum suckers up "The Hill" to board the new fire truck.

Let me just say this; Those fine firemen DESERVE that new fire truck (except it doesn't have a music box), but as a community, those guys are often our first responders. They are skilled and fearless, true Patriots, and are pleased as punch with this new vessel. The navigator of this new engine had a gleam in his eye as we began to move in line. Much like Washington crossing the Potomac...only wrong time of year!

We were informed we could not toss the candy during the parade...apparently the children are want to jump in front of the fire truck to retrieve the sweets, thus creating potential liability. Unlike the big corporate moguls undaunted and and unafraid of throwing themselves at the ever increasing engine of the Guvment to pick up a few treats. Meanwhile, we hold our breathe, and hope noone get "squshed", 'specially the little ones. (Sound familiar?) My Dear Husband only had to go out and seek these Jolly Ranchers and Dum-Dums at the 11th hour! (Sound familiar?).

Moving through the motorcade, I spied many friends waving, cheering, waving flags; but mostly, I was moved by the young kids, sitting curbside, less affected by the heat than us, shall we say, more mature ones, with unjaded hope in their faces. That lifts me up.

What also lifts me up is that fact that our Fine Volunteer (yes, Volunteer, don't forget that!) Fire Department has a wonderful new Fire Truck thanks to all of the hard work they put into serving the community, and the wives and craftsmen who donate goods for the fundraising efforts...And thanks to ALL of you who support them. Please continue to do so.
Now, I happen to know there are plenty of Jolly Ranchers and Dum-Dums still available. And, if you wish, you can go to the White House or Congress to see which is which...But I think we know.

You are a beautiful and graceful community. Special thanks to the Imperial BBQ King and his devoted Queen for the entertainment and for the indigestion my DEAR HUSBAND happily endured following. Very Generous.

And a special thank you to MY DEAR HUSBAND for the roses! I am just so dad-"BURN" lucky!

PS: Can we pitch in and get a CD player for that fire truck? Maybe we can scrap one off of GM.

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Full of Hot Air

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.

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Small Change: The Dawnings, The Yawnings and The Awnings

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".

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Goat-CHEEESE-Cake

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.

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The Tail Waggin' The Dawg

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.

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