Lorie's Way

I finally found time to read "Lonesome Dove," the 800+ pager that won Larry McMurtry his Pulitzer Prize. I am now acquainted with Gus, Call, Jake and, my favorite, Lorena. This story draws you in, and makes you thankful for modern conveniences, for infrastructure and for clean water. I wonder what Gus would have thought about cell phones? The drive-by window at Taco Bell? Google Earth?

Naturally, I see similarities between 1887 and 2007. Our evolutionary path is ebbing forward, but it is towing more along with it. Gus and I would agree, there are hard workers, and there are lazy sons o' bitches. We both share in the preponderance of gossip and the sex trade. We witness evidence of brutal domestic violence in both centuries.

I would not trade my opportunities for education in my century. But, given the choices of last century, I would have gone Lorie's Way, or, The Way of the Whore.

Her practicality is admirable. She is the independent woman of her time. She earns her own money. She is not a burden. She has goals. Lorena reminds me of the John Hiatt song "She Don't Love Nobody".

I'm on page 355. Keep on keepin' on Lorie!

Cindy

My East Texas neighbors abound with mental problems, physical disabilities, and other strife, like characters from a Tennessee Williams play. Stories of lost fingers, hands and arms from the 1930s cotton gin era - The Heyday! - circulate through the library patrons and staff, more often than the books.

Some days I wonder if the high unemployment rate in this area is mostly due to issues like these, or to learned laziness? I'll never ask, lest I appear as the judgement passing City Slicker. It is more important to be thought of kindly here than to know facts.

Cindy was a 45-year-old library patron with an IQ of 55 who read on a 3rd grade level. Cindy didn't come to the library to read, she came to socialize. She came to the library to build herself a family since her own had cast her aside years ago. Cindy was friendly, yet angry.

Cindy had been married to a man of similar pedigree and IQ, and had given birth to two daughters. I guess her parents hoped for the best. What could they do; they had eight other children besides Cindy. It was left to God.

Eventually, the daughters were taken away from Cindy, as was her husband. The husband was sent to a mental health facility/prison, convicted of child molestation, and the daughters to an obscure relative in South Texas. I haven't seen Cindy in the library, or in town, since last year.

The tapestry of urban legend and gossip go on. The quilt continues . . . . .

Parents As Visitors

Having a visitor in East Texas is a rarity. It's difficult to LURE friends here unless they want to go FISHING - HA HA.

But my parents will visit once in a while. They compare my Wal Mart with their Wal Mart, my pot-holed roads with their pot-holed roads and my Mexican-themed restaurant in an old Dairy Queen with their Mexican-themed restaurant in an old Dairy Queen.

Thus, the generation gap has been bridged!

Book Club.1

East Texans read.

This is our list from last year:

1. "Snow Flower and the Secret Fan" by Lisa See

2. "Death in Belmont" by Sebastian Junger

3. "Bridge to Terabithia" by Katharine Paterson

4. "Dreams from my Father" by Barack Obama

5. "Midwives" by Chris Bohjalian

6. "This Noble Land" by James Michener

7. "Iron Heel" by Jack London

8. "Velvet Elvis" by Rob Bell

9. "The Tipping Point" by Malcolm Gladwell

What I See in the Front Yards of East Texas

1. Toys
2. Sheet Metal
3. Vegetable gardens
4. Working Coke machines
5. Rusted out pick-ups with grass growing up the the windshield wipers
6. Hair Salons in Small Refurbished Temporary Buildings
7. Piles of 10-yard long pipe
8. Bluebonnets
9. Show goats
10.Boats

One must learn to separate the wheat from the chafe.

Amen.

"Little Birdie, Why Do You Fly Upside Down?"

I received a bird feeder last Christmas. It's a ten-inch tall, four-inch circumference standard model from Wild Birds Unlimited. I installed it on a ledge above my patio without expectation.
I filled it with "Christmas Blend", a chunky, high end seed that went on sale December 26.

It took until Valentine's Day, but I figured out that the birds were rejecting my feeder because "Christmas Blend," the whole peanut-y, whole cranberry-y, whole sunflower-y mix was too dense to flow freely out of my feeder and into the mouths of passing birds. My rejection was scientific, not personal - THANK GOD!

I promptly switched to smaller seed. I filled up with "Wild Mix," purchased from the hardware store and immediately saw some visitors, sometimes four cardinals in one day! I moved on to "Dove Blend" from the pet store, then plain old "Seed" from a discount store. The East Texas flight path started embracing my feeder! (And me!)

Like a divorced parent, I indulged my "children" by filling and refilling the ten-inch cyliner four and five times a week. Often, the feeder was full in the morning when I left for work, and empty by the time I came home for lunch at 1pm. The birds were obese, and I was the overpermissive parent.

Tough love was in order; I started filling only on Sundays. No angry words, no confrontation - just a maternal notion of what was best.

I still think my birds are too fat; how do they get off the ground and sustain flight? Not my problem.

I'm a feeder and a watcher.

Embracing the Mullet

I notice a lot of long hair in East Texas. I see many mullets, especially on men.

The Bible teaches that hair and vanity go together, so I suspect that many mullet wearers have an ego connection to their hair, possibly a rebellion to a stoic, Baptist upbringing.

I am guilty of prejudging the mullet. In the past, I viewed the mullet as a sign of bad grammar and a low skill set. I changed my mind last summer in Paris, TX at the Tour de Paris Cycling Rally.

A Mullet saved my ass on rural Hwy. 37. This man took 20 minutes out of his life to change my flat tire in July Texas heat. He was logical and efficient, and he got me on my way. He didn't ask for my phone number, and he didn't bug me at the post-Rally cookout later that day.

He helped me without expecting anything in return, a rarity in the North Texas area.

Since that day last summer, there have been other Mullets in my life. There was the Mullet who hooked up my dryer, and the Mullet who assisted in fitting a large bookshelf into my Jetta at a garage sale. Different Mullets, same logic and efficiency.

I believe the Mullet has more time than money, as is the case of many East Texans. Or maybe these guys are just nice.

I have learned to embrace the Mullet.