The Hunt for Green December

The Sun's rays creep through December's afternoon sky at low low angles as if to pry under the the few drifting clouds and lift them off the Earth and rightfully back into the heavens.  The day's given light is diffuse and brief. The season and tradition bids the Suneson family to heed these heavenly signs and plan an hour's journey to Kadee Tree Farm to select, cut and place an evergreen within the walls of our winter home in celebration of life and the

Ducks fly south.
Sunesons drive east to cut a tree.
All heeding the signs of the season

spirit of Christmas Joy.  We have made this trip most Decembers for the past 23 years.  It is a good and favored tradition.

The date for this year's trip to Kadee Farms was moved perilously close to Christmas due to Inga and Grant both arriving back home on the 15th from places half-a-continent away just a week before the 25th.  Of course Sue's job at church gets real busy this time of year with big program events falling on the 16th and 17th, while Mark had plans to fly to his cousin's wedding in Indiana on the 19th - leaving the 18th as the only possible day to 'hunt for green December' as a family unit before Kadee Farms closed its gate for the year.  The complications piled up when Sue and her car were involved in a collision an hour before our scheduled departure [see previous blog, No Good Deed...].

Putting the wreck in the garage (to be dealt with later) and the setting sun in our rearview mirror, we sped east to the verge of Texas' "Piney Woods" territory to find this year's Christmas Tree.

A severe drought two years back had killed a lot of Mr. Kadee's trees, and in addition the usual annual harvesting attrition left but some slim pickin's for our seasonal tradition.  We tromped across barren plots of pine stumps looking for an agreeable tree; one without a forked top, symmetrically filled out branches, needles that did not look too wan and it must have a straight trunk and reach a height of 6 to 8 feet.  By unanimous vote, we began cutting a tallish tree that had its lower bough already trimmed away, so as to show off its shapely conical form starting above the 5-foot trunk.  With a few stokes of the bow saw, she toppled to the ground just in time as the Kadee tractor and trailer came by to haul us and the 9-foot Virginia Pine back to the processing hut.

A Long, Tall Texan
(Virginia Pine)
Gets unanimous family vote for
Suneson Christmas Tree 2013

Everybody gets a turn  as a lumberjill or lumberjack.

Advice is freely given by Brother Grant
as Inga saws the trunk 5 feet off the ground

We imported this Lumberjill all the way  from Oregon
The Great Northwest Woods

Back at the processing hut, the specimen is measured as we sip hot spiced apple cider.  

This year's 9-footer will require the purchase of a new tree stand to set up our Christmas Tree next to the staircase - but I think 2013 is a year we had the best looking tree yet.  And after all, I think it is fitting considering the timing and "tragedy" that preceded its selection.

Merry Christmas.  

Now; lets go get some smoked brisket at Big Daddy's Barbecue Smokehouse to make the day complete!

No Good Deed...

The bustling Christmas Season has arrived.  
While columnist and pundits every year at this time choose to write and yammer about the "stress of Christmas" and the over-taxed mentality we "all" have fallen prey to; here abouts, we simple folks certainly have our obligations and deadlines, but there is also a comfortable routine to Advent and the celebration of Emmanuel, God with us and Peace on Earth.

I used some bonus airline miles to buy an eleventh hour ticket to fly Inga out of Oregon and back to Texas on Sunday (December 15) and after some surface travel delays due to frozen weather, Grant departed Missouri and walked in the front door about a half-hour after we had returned with Inga from DFW Airport.  After a long absence away from home, when the kids return, Strider the dog provides either a source of gratification or sour feelings upon their entry; depending upon whether Strider, one of the land's least demonstrative dogs, will provide a "squeak" of cheer along with a wag of the tail when recognizing the return of a lost pack member.  For the record: Inga is feeling sour, while Grant is gratified.  But the entire pack is gathered for the holidays and all rejoice!

Inga shows affection to Strider,
even though his welcoming her home
was less than enthusiatstic

In the spirit of the Season and out of innate kindness and good will, Sue volunteers to cook a dinner for a friend and her husband and two boys while she recovers from painful back surgery.  The transformed Ebeneezer Scrooge could do no better than this.  What day would Elizabeth like to have our pot roast dinner delivered to her family?  
Wednesday would be fine is the reply.

For a wrap on the Season of Advent, Sue has two large children and family events at church on Monday and Tuesday nights for which she is in charge.  Nothing extra is to be scheduled for those two days, Period. Early on Thursday Mark flies to Indianapolis for his cousin Craig's wedding, returning on the 22nd. That leaves Wednesday as the only day that will work for all of us to go out and cut our traditional Christmas tree in East Texas and eat barbecue.   So what about delivering a warm dinner all the way across town to the starving family of the invalid mother and church member during Christmas?  Modified Plan: Mark will get up early in the morning on Wednesday to cook a pot roast for three hours, Sue will prepare side dishes and then deliver them around noon.  Sue will return and the whole family will then drive 60 miles out to Kadee Tree Farm and select this year's live tree and then we'll drive back to Garland with a tree tied to the top of the car and stop at Big Daddy's Barbecue for the traditional Christmas Tree Cutting BBQ Dinner.

Sue departs with bubbling hot pot roast and other sides to deliver dinner around 12:45.  The hour passes and she is still out.  The tree farm opens at 1:00 and closes at sunset, so we have a window of about 4 hours to get our Christmas tree, including travel time out.  I figure Sue and Elizabeth are chatting about all sorts of things while we're burning daylight.  Finally I hear the garage door open and she busts into the house with the statement,  "Come look at the front of my car!!"  Not words I like to hear.

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished.  While making delivery of this hearty hot meal to an poor churchwoman laid up in bed after surgery to feed her hungry family at Christmas time [this is so sad], a man dashes out in front of her to make a left turn as she is passing through an intersection (with a green light).  His BMW scrapes across her grill as she brakes hard.  His rear tire is half folded under his chassis while her car is flooded with the rich juice and aroma of a fresh out-of-the-oven roast, veggies, bread, fruit and dessert.  Mr. Balkan-sir-name Beamer Driver jumps out to point his finger at Sue and tell her "you are a woman and besides you were going too fast through my intersection."   

No Good Deed Goes Unrewarded.  Sue's response is interrupted by the blaring sounds of a siren as a cop pulls up to mess.  The officer [now really - how often does this happen?] exits his car and says, "I was sitting right over there", as he motions with his thumb over his shoulder, "and I saw the whole thing.  I am writing you sir a citation for failure to yield the right of way."  

All parties were instructed to clear out of the intersection and pull into a nearby parking lot.  The officer took a lot of time to fill out the accident report, but made it abundantly clear who was at fault.  Sue inspected the damage to the exterior and interior of the car. It was driveable, but the passenger floor boards were soaked in gooey tomatoey goodness infused with herbs and onions.  The meat stayed in its container, so Elizabeth's family did not have to eat anything that tasted like it came from the floor of a bus.  The meal was finally delivered after the officer finished his report; it was less succulent than intended, but we think it was appreciated in its re-pieced together presentation.  Sue made no mention of the accident to Elizabeth, just dropped it off and excused herself.

Later that afternoon we cut a good looking tree in the fading daylight.  Followed that up with a righteous meal of barbecued brisket and ribs.  We counted our blessings this Christmas Season and found them to be numerous.

Suneson arrive at consensus
We select and cut a Christmas Tree
as daylight fades at
Kadee Christmas Tree Farm 

No Good Deed...
Were we punished?
Or were we Rewarded?

The restored Camry is back in the garage a week later, looking like a shiny and new gift from under the tree.  Insurance claim for $1,477.  Check cashed.

God bless us everyone!  And on earth peace to men on whom His favor rests.
Glory to God and Merry Christmas.

Pop, Crackle, Thump! The Ice Storm Cometh

Thanks to the marketing might of the Kellogg's breakfast cereal company of Battle Creek, Michigan; kids of my age could expect three busy little sprites by the name of Snap, Crackle and Pop to greet them at the morning breakfast table if they prevailed upon their mother to buy them Rice Krispies cereal.  
Well, this very morning I have been greeted by their evil triplets: Pop, Crackle and Thump.  

The day of December 6 dawned as a day that will live as a day of infamy. There were of course warnings about immanent hazards and destruction - but after a similar warning the weekend preceding Thanksgiving that amounted to nothing more than three-quarters of an inch of cold rain; so this warning of chaos and destruction for December 6 and 7 was taken lightly. 

I was awakened sharply at 4:28 AM with the report of a loud pop coming from overhead that made be flinch as I bolted upright from my warm bed covers.  Our dog, asleep at the foot of the bed sprang alarmingly to his feet as well.  We both listened to the subsequent creaking and crackling of falling timber, and then the reverberation of a solid thump.  We had just lost a large branch from the ash tree outside our bedroom window, the first of many casualties to fall in this early morning ice storm.  As I was first startled awake, I was bracing for it to hit the roof over our bed, but it fell across the front walk without striking a structure.  At 4:34 the second branch to fall was announced with the same series of pop! crackle and thump. It too fell upon the sleet and frozen rain covered lawn, missing the house.  Yet another series of ominous sounds rang out a few minutes later; it was then that I poked my sleeping wife to report to her that with all the falling timber outside our window, perhaps it was best if we removed ourselves from this exposed position and finish what was let of the night in the upstairs guest room.  She of courses said, "Huh? Dubber wolf aye kinda wiffle go to sleep -- what?" [she had been oblivious to the world falling apart and falling down all around her while she slept]

I calmly then whispered into her ear an additional explanation, "Let me put it this way; if we stay in this bed, you could die at any moment.  A cold and ragged piece of splintered wood might pierce your heart, crush your skull or maybe only snap your spine and paralyze you forever.  Do you understand?"  
Why yes, she replied, "That is the most engaging pillow talk I've had with you in a long time.  Let's get outa here my dear!"  We gathered up our respective pillows and encouraged the old dog to follow our retreat to higher ground.  For tornadoes, one is supposed to seek shelter in your basement (we do not have a basement), but for falling trees in an ice storm, seek shelter above the tree tops on the second floor (we do have a second floor).

Our first glimpse of downed branches
outside our front door window

At the crack of 11 AM, we rose safely from our bed of refuge and stepped out on to the crisp crust of ice and sleet covering the lawn to survey the damage. The tops of many trees, of many species have been broken off as the ice accumulated on the branches still flush with marvelous fall foliage.  The weight of that final ice crystal builds to the proverbial point of "the straw that broke the camel's back".  I saw this morning, our neighbor's with a 16-inch live oak branch snapped.  Sixteen inches of oak mind you! It takes a heck of a lot of force to snap such a mighty limb.

Top limbs of the ash tree outside our bedroom
have been broken off in the early morning

It is a day at home with a fire blazing, fueled by sawed up limbs and logs from the very trees that are once again fodder for my chain saw - once the weather warms above 28 degrees and when I feel no further danger to my head from additional falling icy limbs as I work beneath these devastated and denuded trees.

Oh my!  We could've been killed in our beds!
Sue surveys the icy mess in our front yard

The deep freeze from this arctic blast, may keep the roads frozen for the next few days, possibly into Sunday.  Sue is hoping for an "ice day" dispensation from the pastoral staff at Preston Hollow Presbyterian, which would entail the cancellation of Sunday School, for which she is responsible.  That fact is whether Sunday School is officially cancelled or not, no many in Dallas are going to get up Sunday morning to slide around on icy roads to get to church. And I bet her volunteer teachers will not be making the effort to skate out early Sunday either.

We're living in a Winter Wonderland.
Thought the weather outside is frightful...

Shattered Red Oak across the street

Ice entombed Crepe Mirtle

Ice Pear Branches in our backyard

Strider loves to go out in the snow and ice
with his thick black fur coat (and it's real fur)We let him go prowling without a leash
Since no cars are in the street and 
he shows up well against white background

Looks like a Merry
Red Berry
Christmas!

Sage Frost

I journeyed long beneath Texas' withering summer skies,
finding old Solomon in his shade - as he was quite wise.
With an out stretched hand to me he bade,
"Come" he said, "and share my good shade."
With this sagacious man, to each pilgrim only one answer will he give,
and with fevered brain I first asked, "Will Texas' heat not cease, as long as I live?" 

As soon as my one small question had tumbled from my lip,
I knew I had stumbled and let my chance to answer life's mystery now slip.
Old Solomon rolled his eyes and his one answer came with a smirk,
we both knew my casual weather greeting was an unfortunate quirk.

"To everything there is a season,
and to all mystery there is a reason.
God has given every time its due place,
and in all things their appointed space.
This orb of ours spins on a tilted axis -
that's just what the astronomical facts is!"

Now my son go in peace,
my one answer to you is, "Yes, this Texas heat will cease."

At pilgrim's end, my opportunity squandered
after I had journeyed long and wearily wandered.
Yet I held this simple reply from the old sage;
indeed, patience is rewarded in every age.

At first I feared all wisdom sought by me was lost.
But then I peered and understood; as I saw the sage dusted with frost!

Frosted Sage
from our herb garden
To everything there is a season
and a time for everything under heaven

A Festive Feast

We are thankful.
We give thanks for our abundant blessings, a fine family, a future imbued with hope and expectations.  This Thanksgiving we were pleased to share our table and our blessings at our home this year.  We could have seated more, but we enjoyed all of those that came to share with us this Thanksgiving.  Nephew Brian (son of Mark's California sister) joined our table, as he is now a resident of Dallas these past six months as he works on his post-graduate medical program in orthodics and prosthetics at UT Southwestern.  Also, this Thanksgiving we confirmed that the road not only goes from Dallas to Wichita Falls, but it also works pretty well going from Wichita Falls to Dallas.  A bit of a role-reversal from the usual order with Sue's brother Bill and his wife Susan coming this way this year.  Either way, we were delighted to see them.

Big shopping on Saturday ahead of Thanksgiving.  We initially found a bimodal  distribution of turkeys; 8 pounders or 22 pound birds - nothing in between.  It appeared Goldilocks had shopped ahead of us.  We were looking for something in the 12-14 lb range.  Our initial fretting at not finding the properly proportioned bird (since size does matter), was eased somewhat when I noticed that between the two freezer bins; one with small and the other with large turkeys, there was an empty bin.  Like a faith-fill pilgrim I stated, "That there bin is supposed to have our turkey - but it doesn't.  But it will soon. The Good Lord willing.  As I pull my Puritan Psalter and Walmart shopping list from beneath my big-buckle pilgrim hat, out came a clerk wheeling a cart filled 14 pound turkeys, just like the quail and manna provided to the children of Israel as they wandered in the Wilderness, lo those 40 years.  At the sight of the newly arriving turkeys, I fell prostrate in thanksgiving for our good providential fortune.  I dropped the shrink-wrapped carcass into the basket and made my way to the cranberry bog on aisle 2.

As the turkey slowly and gently thaws, other preparations were in process.  My speciality of baked butter yeast rolls was not needed this year, as the Cooks would bring the rolls this time and include a fine corn + jalapeno casserole.  One of my favorite philosophers dictates that "life is too short, eat dessert first."  Even if my puritan roots mostly prevent me from following such epicurean advice; at least it makes sense to make dessert first.  Alas, that task falls to my wife, exquisite baker of pies.  Her pumpkins are pleasing [I'm talking about pies here], but her pecans are the best there ever was. It was said on the Friday after T-Day, "Maybe I should've made more pies?"  It makes absolutely no sense for me to argue with a woman when she is thinking like that.

For a Thanksgiving feast scheduled for 2:00, things got cooking around 9:00.  There were potatoes to mash, fresh ginger to grate into the sweet potatoes.  A chunky citrus cranberry recipe was selected for the relish, sweet and dill pickles and black olives (suitable to place on one's fingertips before being consumed).  I did very little of the prep, other than open a bottle of muscato         and mix up the traditional "red stuff" (7-Up with cranberry juice).  The turkey was infused with fresh sage from our herb garden, which also contributed some seasoning to the stuffing.  While all of this was in the planning stage, Bill matter-of-factly decreed that the all-important Cook Family tomato aspic was the sole responsibility of the hostess. With the terms now clear, that too was made a day ahead.

Strider asks to be let
back into the Kitchen.
A most unthanful dog.

About the point in the process where the stuffing was being prepared, the question came to me; "Do you want the giblets in your stuffing?"  I thought it over, and decided no, that treat will go to into the dog's silver bowl outside.  Strider, who is keenly aware of all kitchen activity, was especially please to hear the phrase "silver bowl", as he recognizes it as an indication of a special helping meant just for him.  After placing said, giblets containing heart, liver and gizzard in said silver bowl.  He took a look and then a sniff.  And then a long stroll about the yard.  What kind of self-respecting, carnivorous dog is unthankful for giblets? I asked him.  Of all days to be unthankful!  Now turkey skin is another matter entirely for him.

I was sent on one final trip to the store Thursday morning; to picked up some cinnamon sticks as a secret ingredient for something, another bag of cranberries, some cut flowers, some whipped cream for the pie AND I was also supposed to get a turkey baster.  But I forgot.  I reeally want a turkey baster.  And now that I am thinking of it, if I were a habitually cussing sort of man (which I am not); I'd love to sling the usual barbs of dolts, dunderheads, dimwits and daylight drunks and haul off with a new cuss and call 'em all a scrofulous bunch o' damnable turkey basters!  Yeah.  Take that!  And that goes for your momma too!  Turkey basters all.  [just a thought :-)]

Our guests all arrived in fine spirits.  Bill went to work making gravy.  Sue and Susan bustled about finishing and dishing up a all the courses which were to be placed on the table.  It was of course my honor & privilege to carve the bird.  But as I looked around me, I had to wonder, were there too many cooks in the kitchen?  There was Bill Cook, Susan Cook, Sue Cook Suneson and Grant (in close proximity to the kitchen) who looks like a Cook. On second thought, it looked like about the right amount.

Too many Cooks in the Kitchen?
(L to R) Sue Cook Suneson, Bill Cook, Brian Arotca, Susan Cook.
I figure it it just about the right amount of Cooks.

Susan & Bill Cook
Brian (nephew), Grant (son) Sue (wife & cook)
Grant passes the Famous Tomato Aspic like he is playing "Hot Potato"

We gave thanks and tucked in something fierce.  Of the six gathered, I counted but three that tasted the aspic.  Come on man.  It's Thanksgiving, have you no fear of God and no respect for tradition.  Eat up my hearties!  And enjoy, giving robust thanks. [You know there are starving kids in Armenia that would love to have some tomato aspic] 

I count myself nearly impervious to the affects of caffeine and stronger medicinal toddies.  But this year, I confess I was unusually tripped up by tryptophan, the natural mellowing agent of turkey.  After the meal (I know not whether it is the older me or this particular turkey), but land of Nod was all that was on my mind.  I vowed to build a big house with plenty of rooms so that all of my guests could come eat a Thanksgiving meal and then retire to a nice November nap.  While I faded into such dreams, the industrious nephew Brian sprang into action and clean up all the dishes he could lay his bioengineering hands upon.  He was a marvel.  Another thing to be thankful for. 

After a bit more pie, Sue brought out some recently acquired archival family photos, in line with her in depth genealogy work and interest.  She and Brother Bill pored over the images and tried to connect faces, stories and times that these scraps of surviving  family history.

Archival Cook Family photo album
Connecting family ties following the feast

After our dear guest departed.  We were left to dream of turkey soup, turkey sandwiches  turkey casserole, turkey enchiladas, turkey waffles...

Again, we are thankful for all that we have and all that have us in there hearts.

Lobster Hunting

It is my birthday.
What shall I do for my birthday?  Let's get out the B-52's album and think about it.  Yes!! That's it. Let's go rock lobster hunting for my birthday!

Cover yourself in drawn butter for camo! 
Pack a loaded credit card and off we go on our hunt for rock lobster. 

We found happy hunting grounds at Central Market.  I crept up on a pod (as a group of lobster is so called; also referred to as a "deck" or "shield") of lovely arthropods gathered in small salt water enclosure.  I signaled the fishmongeress that I was prepared to meet my dinner.  She crab-grabbed a short-handle plastic rake an teased the crustaceans, prodding them looking for a couple of fine 1-2 pounders to bag.  I extended my right lobster-selecting index finger, put it to the wall of the glass tank an told her, "I want that one and the other one over there."  She seized them by the carapace and said to me, I'll see you back here in 30 minutes.  Then we all did the rock lobster dance.

While waiting for the boiling waters to work their wonders behind the fish counter, we hopped and danced over to pick up some asparagus to go into the risotto, a round loaf of crusty bread and a bottle of bubbly.  It'll be a feast.


The Happy Lobster Hunter
Returning victoriously to the kitchen

In the family traditional
I get the "Red Plate"
because it is my birthday

 

A well-soused Rum Cake
Made by request and now I can't wait
for the next Rum Cake
It was most rummy and delicious

It was a feast.  Rock Lobster - eeeeeeeee!

A Cold, Raw Day in Dallas: JFK 50th Memorial





The JFK Memorial in Dallas. November 22, 2013.
It is about a block east of Dealy Plaza, the site of the assassination.
The monument is little noted and has been described as an "ambiguous design - fitting for a city at a lost
as to how to honor the memory of Kennedy without drawing recrimination for the nation at large

  Dallas weather in 2013 provider perhaps an apt metaphor 50 years after President Kennedy was assassinated as his motorcade paraded through downtown Dallas streets on November 22, 1963.

On this, the 50th anniversary of the assassination, the preceding day was partly sunny and in the 70's, but an ill wind blew in overnight accompanied by thunder and followed by a deep, bone-numbing cold as the morning of November 22nd dawned.  So too, the nation turned from a partly sunny disposition, largely energized my JFK's vision and of a generation asking "what they could do for their country" and a challenge to reach for the moon, "not because it is easy - but because it is hard."  A challenge embraced by the nation.  That optimistic look to the future and the embrace of a challenging, but sunny future to be seized upon and sure to be conquered by our country, turned as a thunderous shot rangout in Dealy Plaza, plunging the nation into a deep, bone-numbing chill with the violent death of the President.

I did purpose late on the night of the 21st to go down toward Dealy Plaza and place myself in the place where our American Century pivoted on November 22, 1963.  In memory of our slain president, and perhaps our slain dreams, aspirations and confidence.  It was a cold, raw day in Dallas.  But, for the first time, the City of Dallas was going to officially mark this anniversary with a moment of silence, followed by the tolling of church bells and a few brief words from the Mayor and historian, David McCullogh.

The official memorial ceremony at Dealy Plaza was cordoned off by security, and only those invited and those with a yellow wrist-band won through an on-line lottery were allowed to pass beyond the barrier; a total limited to 5,000.  The rest of us were held a half block away, and we gathered before a large mobile video screen that broadcast the event.  Though the audio would cut in and our - I expected better from a city that takes some pride in digital prowess and is home to world-beating Texas-sized video panels where the Dallas Cowboys play and an even larger video screen coming soon to the Texas Motor Speedway here in North Texas.  A skirling of bagpipes led the proceedings, followed by the Star Spangled Banner and then about 45 minutes of speaking all told.  My estimation of the crowd held behind the barrier, of which I was a part, consisted of many who harbored a deep an abiding interest in this event, readers of numerous books and largely believers in a conspiracy theory or theories.  I did hear someone speaking French on his cell phone and I suspect there were also many who came as deep admirer of The Kennedy's - as a royal cult.  Then there were just a few like myself, who came out of a sense of respect for our history and in memory of our fallen president, with no agenda, just a sense of shared solemnity for what might have been and what was lost.

While just strolling behind the infamous Texas Schoolbook Repository (now the Sixth Floor Museum - where Lee Harvey Oswald had a sniper's perch), I spotted a gentleman, that I thought to myself, "That is an Irishman".  Just after our gazes crossed, he stepped up to me and introduced himself as "a reporter for an Irish newspaper" and requested an interview.  I consented, and he held out his phone in recording mode and asked several questions about whether Dallas still felt a sense of

Simon Caswell
Times of Dublin
Reporter

shame and/or responsibility for the events here 50 years ago today?  I said yes, Dallas in decades past had been at a loss as to how to respond to the JFK assassination, and had tried to ignore and erase the association of his death with this city.  But the memorial today was an effort to grow beyond that and to embrace the future - not the past, a tribute to the very spirit of President Kennedy.  After the interview I inquired as to what particular paper in Ireland he represented?  He replied it is The Times of Dublin.  He arrived in Dallas on Thursday night, he'd leave that afternoon, he did not apply to in time for press credentials to actually get into the ceremony at Dealy Plaza, but he stated he was glad, "since it was so bloody cold out here."  I fancy that after my interview he headed to a good, warm, Texas saloon for some whiskey before flying back.

I, like most of the crowd, had gathered on Elm Street in front of the video and audio relay of the ceremony.  Curious about who it was who surrounded me, I struck up a conversation with 45-year old man standing next to me.  He is a military prosecutor stationed at Ft. Leonard Wood, MO.  I asked what brought him to Dallas?  He said he was attending the COPA Conference (I did not know what that was), and then a couple from San Antonio asked me a few questions



The security cordon set at a 1 block
perimeter surrounding Dealy Plaza.
One of the COPA attendees
commented to me,
"at least security looks better today
than it did 50 years ago."

and I mentioned that Oswald was captured at the Texas Theater in the Oak Cliff part of Dallas.  They asked if I knew the address?  I said I did not; but the military attorney pulled out his phone and had a JFK Assassination app, and quickly provided them with the address and a digit location map.

I later struck up a conversation with a fellow wearing a Gettysburg 150th anniversary cap who is a high school history teacher in Pennsylvania.  He was in town for the COPA conference; this time I had to ask: COPA, the Conference on Political Assassinations - (now I know), rehashing all the conspiracy theories.  I asked if he had attended the 150th anniversary of Lincoln's Gettysburg Address 3 day's previous?  No, but he was there for the July anniversary of the battle.  As we were talking a fellow with a large camera asked if we would agree to give our opinions on the events from 50 years ago for a documentary he was filming and producing.  I looked into the lens and gave my opinion that Lee Harvey Oswald was the lone gunman who shot JFK from his place of coincidental employment in the book depository, then fled and was stopped by Dallas Police officer J.D. Tippett, whom Oswald then shot multiple times and attempted to hide in the Texas Theater, where he was captured with a hand gun in his wasteband.  My well versed companion, respectfully diagreed with my recitation of the "facts" and began to cite evidence and testimony that JFK was shot from the front (not behind) and that "some people in the government" were behind a plot to kill the President.

I asked, who are these "people in the government?"  But he acknowledged that was yet unknown.  However, there was a small group standing nearby with signs saying "LBJ Killed JFK".  We two continued to debate (though I was not nearly as

well versed and immersed in all the conspiracies and conspirators) as the documentary producer continued to film our conversation.  I concluded that if your are buying what the COPA people are selling, the history would read: President Kennedy was killed by a gathering of about a half-dozen assassins firing a withering hail of gunfire nearly simultaneously, striking the President and Governor Connally from multiple angles.  Shot were fired from behind by a marksman on the 6th floor of the school book depository, from the side by a man (but nobody saw a gun) on the grassy knoll, from a sniper secreted in a storm drain and by a group of sharp shooters stationed on the triple overpass.  Who were these mass assassins all firing into to the motorcade?  Well (if one is buying conspiracy), on that day there converged on Dealy Plaza gunslingers hired by Vice President Johnson, a gang of mafia hitmen, Cubans dispatched by Castro, sharp shot ladies from the Junior League of Dallas (hired by Jackie, tired of her husband's philandering ways) CIA assassins and coincidentally, a Marxist by the name of Oswald on the 6th floor who wanted to make a name for himself.  This confluence and collusion of killers is just to confusing and fanciful for my mind.  I think Oswald acted alone and fired three shots, killing Kennedy.       

One can argue the "facts" and run with a multitude of shadowy theories.  But I know this: It was a cold, raw day in Dallas.  It was in 1963 and it was 50 years hence.

JFK banner hoisted as a backdrop for
Dealy Plaza Ceremony honoring the
Memory of JFK

A Desolate "Floating Box"
The roundly architecturally criticized monument to
President Kennedy
Erected by Mr. Marcus (of high-end Nieman-Marcus Department Store fame)

Chicken Soup and Just So

It is a perverse world, when we think we are fortunate when we get sick on the weekend so we will not miss work. 

Wheeze, wheeze, gees Louise!
Susan Louise has gotta sneeze.

Thursday night her airways were sounding submerged and listening to her breathe sounded like I was eves dropping on some grindylows.  She muddled through Friday at home, her normal day off, but by Saturday I could tell she needed big medicine.

This is what works; I cooked and served her breakfast in bed with a large helping of bacon.  Recent studies from the Journal of Wishful Thinking prove bacon has curative effect for those suffering with clogged sinuses. Another study from the Danish Journal of Downer Diagnostics purports to show that 9.71 seconds are removed from one's life span for every strip of bacon that is consumed.  This hypothesis can be patently proved as false by calculations from my own life which would indicate that I would have died in March of 1792 if it were actually true.

For good measure and more big medicine, I cooked a pot of Thai lemon mint chicken soup for consumption during the rest of the day.  And when it was time to sleep, she tucked in under the covers and I read to her selected Just So Stories by Rudyard Kipling.  She selected the The Sing-Song of Old Man Kangaroo, the tale of how the yellow dingo dog helped give Mr. Kangaroo his large hind hopping legs.  She was asleep by end of the tale.

When she awoke the next day, Oh best beloved, all was better.

Oh, chicken soup and bed-time tales are the best medicine. And they make the world a little less perverse. It is just so, best beloved.

This Time I was Paying Attention

It happens to me every year.

I think "Wow!".

Then I think, "Whoa! When did this happen?"

Once again I am caught by surprise, I think, "I must not have be paying very close attention."

The sunlight comes later in the day and I inevitably back out my garage on a November morning, or maybe some years it was October - but like I said, maybe I wasn't paying very close attention; anyway, I begin to drive down the neighborhood streets and I can't help but notice that the trees I see are adorned brighter than Solomon in all of his glory.  Against the blue sky are bright golds, reds, rusts, plum, yellows, purple, and some interspersed greens.  I always think, "Now when this this change happen?"  I could swear by the hair on my chinny chin-chin that they were all green the last time I looked.  Dang! This botanical changed sneaked up on me again.

Years ago I caught the Tooth Fairy bringing in a dime as she collected my tooth, and about the same time I realized that those were not reindeer hoofs on the roof, but actually the noise was just the furnace coming on.  But Jack Frost has been elusive. Ah, but this year, Old Mark was going to sleep with one eye open and I would document the very night that Ol' Jack Frost, the Fairy Foliage King, went to work with his autumnal palette.  Indeed, it all changed suddenly on November 5th.

This year as the light came late to the day, I backed out of my garage at the start of a rather humid day to discover than what was green is now red, what was flower was now seed and what was Summer was now Fall, what was Monday November 4 was now Tuesday, November 5.  And everything was different (except those thing that weren't).

So Sunday, November 10, I say lets go take a late afternoon stroll through the Spring Creek woodlands and see what the colors look like.  It was a good stroll along the limestone banks of Spring Creek, under oaks, pecans and other rooted residents of the blackland prairie.  I thought you might like to come along with us.  Follow me.

Sue leads into the Holy of Hollies
(and oak, pecan, ash and elm)

As I approached the Burning Bush - The Voice said:

"Remove your shoes for you are on holy ground".

But I said, Mr. Bush, "If I go barefoot, I might step on a sticker".

And The Voice said unto me. "OK. If you want to be a weenie,
go ahead and keep your shoes on".

I said, "Thanks Mr. Bush".

The Voice said, "Enjoy the journey!"

And I lifted my eyes to the heavens,

And behold, it was if the rim of the sky had ignited

The Juniper berries are abundant this year.

We pick a few and crush them between our fingers and

then hold our fingers under one another's nose

and pretend we have been stirring martinis

With the scent of gin on our fingertips
from the Juniper berry,
this Bond Girl explains,
she prefers her martini "shaken, not stirred".

The world has gone to pod and seed

The land has gone to seed and pod

We cross paths with a coyote fording the creek

With a hemi-moon rising in the east
and the shadows growing deep
we take the path back to our home

Meet Me at the Plaza Theater

Abbott and Costello meet Frankenstein.

Abbott and Costello also meet Dracula, the Wolfman and the Invisible Man.

Also

Boy meets Girl

at the Plaza Theater

The night following Halloween, my wife suggests that I take her on a date to the refurbished downtown Garland Plaza Theater for a free showing of the monster movie, Abbott and Costello meet Frankenstein.  

"Free" you say?  

Well then, put your party T-shirt on and lets go!  

The screening was sponsored by a local service organization and they sold popcorn and refreshments in the lobby.  We bought a couple bags of popcorn and some drinks, something I never do after paying $10.50 for a movie ticket at the multiplex movie palaces.  This was a good cause.

The crowd gathered early and filled about two-thirds of the 375-seat theater. Mostly folks aged 50-plus in attendance, but a few younger folks as well.  Before the house lights dimmed, we conversed with a couple seated in front of us about the "old days" in Garland, as a festive atmosphere had settled in at this old 'moving picture show house'.

Once the curtain went up (yes, there actually was a curtain in front of the screen), there were plenty of guffaws and hoots from the crowd as Count Dracula (Bella Lugosi) arose from his coffin and schemed to get Lou Costello's brain transplanted into the Frankenstein Monster with plenty of slapstick chase scenes throughout the plot.  In the end, with the monsters dispatched and our heroes (mostly) safe, the credits rolled and the audience busted out in appreciative applause.

After the show we strolled a block to Dos Banderos and had a late tamale dinner as we asked ourselves, "Whose on first?"  

"Yes! That's what I said." 

But we decided we'll save that Abbott and Costello routine until baseball season.  

This movie date wrapped up our Halloween season as tight as The Mummy.