Cowboy Christmas

Christmas comes but once a year, and sometimes even that is a little too often. Don't get me wrong, y'all. I love Christmas - the lights, the bells, the mistletoe, the sleepy horses and buggies that clip-clop down our street on their way home after the party every night. It is a truly spectacular show - the sights, the sounds, the smells, the glitz, the glam ..... It's Broadway, Hollywood, and Las Vegas wrapped up in red ribbon and a bit of tinsel.

Yes, I want to buy a ticket; however, I do not want to write the script or direct the production. For me, every year, no matter what, my favorite thing is sitting in the dark, holding that cheap candle with the white paper collar, softly singing the familiar carols, and thinking peace on earth might just be possible, after all.

disclaimer: not my house, not my cows

Ghost Busters

Pretty much the story of my life, currently at least, is a day late. Another Halloween, come and gone, with nary a ghost nor goblin nor raven tapping at our door ..... or window pane, for that matter. The untouted joys of condo living in a childless neighborhood.....

The Long Hot Summer

Some-some-summertime. The plant outside our door pretty much sums up the season. Simmered -scorched-fried. Not to insinuate that we are frazzled or overheated. Everybody knows that the days are longer and hotter in Texas. We wouldn't have it any other way. But let's not be ridiculous, people. July: thirty out of thirty-one days with temperatures soaring over one hundred degrees. August: another thirty out of thirty-one. Do we really have to make this heat wave a pattern? At least, we have avoided earth quakes and hurricanes, for now. Like I said, "I love Dallas .... in the summer ..... when it sizzles."

A Dream in a Drawer

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore -
and then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over -
Like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?
--- Langston Hughes

Y'all are looking at my art studio. Oh, well, of course, I do not climb into the drawer and set up my easel, but I might as well because the table I employ for my endeavors is a jack-of-all-trades piece that serves for dining, package wrapping and clutter gathering.

I have always dreamed of being an artist, not one who works for a living, but rather one who occupies a garret in Paris. Let's just skip over talent and instruction. Maybe I'll go the Grandma Moses route. The biggest obstacle in the path of my dream is .......... myself. Shockingly, I am lazy (so much trouble getting everything out of the drawer, setting up, cleaning up) and I procrastinate ( tomorrow, for sure, I am going to spend time with my paints unless something really important intrudes). So, Langston, I really wish I could tell you what happens to this dream deferred, but tomorrow begins a brand new month, August, in fact. What better time to start on that New Year's resolution?

Memorial Day

....and those caissons go rolling along ....

Who Do You Think I Think I Am?

Who are we IRL, as they say? A friend once told me that we are who others think we are. Maybe. But in this age of blogging, facebooking, and tweeting, we are able to create and manipulate our images so that it might be impossible for anyone to ever know who we really are. In other words, we are able to star in a drama (or comedy) where we are the protagonist, the screen writer, and the director. Let's face it (oh, yeah), we don't choose unflattering photos to post on our pages. On line we are able to interact with others in an environment of our own making, and the keyboard makes it easier to be witty, pretty, and wise. We share TMI, but only what pertains to our online persona. Maybe we are who our "friends" think we are.

Maybe not.

Hoops

We're talking hoops, people. And I don't mean earrings. I have ranted about this before, but here we are in Dallas (athletic center of the world. wha..? you don't think so?) on a Friday night with both the Mavs and the Rangers in town. Now, I don't like to be a spoil sport, but should basketball season really be intruding on baseball's turf? I think not. Let's all play outside in the sunshine. That being said ...... Go Mavs.