Jacob and two buddies headed for a local, small-town rodeo last night. Christian captured this picture of them, and I couldn’t help but think they didn’t look like rodeo kids. I guess I expected jeans, a western shirt, and a cowboy hat. Jacob has almost never shown any interest in the western side of our local culture, although I am a big fan (and student) of it. And he wasn’t all that enthusiastic today when I asked how it was. His answer was that too many people were crowded into a small arena, and he couldn’t see what was going on.
I was
reminded, though, of a book TCU Press published several years ago—Before Texas
Changed, by David Murph who is, incidentally, an ordained minister. The
book was an account of David’s growing up years in the shadow of TCU, years
that encompassed unbelievable high jinks, including attempts to ride the bulls
at small rodeos like the one Jacob just attended. Christian tells me not to
worry—that is not on Jacob’s horizon.
David
Murph, on the other hand, had so many outrageous adventures that when I was
editing the book all I could say was that I was glad I was not his mother. He
drove a car through the back wall of the family garage, rode freight trains to
far east Fort Worth, started at least two accidental fires, got shot in the foot
(or was it his buddy)—anyway with one injured boy, two or three of them ran
away, after harassing a teacher and causing serious property damage. They made
it as far as Oklahoma before they were apprehended. Want to read about life in
Texas for a young boy in the Fifties? I cannot recommend this book too highly. You’ll
laugh, and you’ll weep, because there is a strong element of the importance of
family. And a father who frequently looked at him with a puzzled expression and
asked, “Why?”
Yikes,
how did a picture of three wonderful boys get me so far off track?
Today
was a solitary Saturday, something I’m noticing more and more since the world
opened up again. When the Burtons lived across town, I thought nothing of going
without seeing them for several days. Now that I live in their back yard,
literally, I am a bit disappointed if I don’t see at least Jordan two or three
times a day, preferably around happy hour. I sometimes go several days without
seeing Christian or Jacob. Today I saw Jordan briefly around mid-day, and that
was it.
All
was not lost though. Last night Jean took home a pair of pants to hem for me,
and this evening she brought them back, cleverly timing her visit for happy
hour with the statement, “I’ll drink just a small glass of wine.” And she did,
and we got to reminiscing about childhood in the Midwest when houses were heated
with coal and mothers did their own canning. Such fun to find someone whose
background is so much like mine.
My
accountant called this morning. He’d tried twice to submit my return electronically,
and the IRs wouldn’t accept it. Nor were they answering their phone. So he
decided we’d submit the old-fashioned way. He was on his way to the post office
and could he drop by, have me sign, and take it to mail. I said of course and
by the by will you take a package I have to mail? He was willing; Jordan was
horrified. “You don’t ask your accountant to mail a package for you,” she said.
But he repeated that he was perfectly happy to do it, and I reminded her it
saved her a trip to the post office. So my taxes are now off my worry list—and so
are the books I was sending to a former editor.
Our
sunny days continue—a bit hot, more than a bit humid, but not summertime miserable
yet. Enjoy while the good weather lasts.
No comments:
Post a Comment