In the Texas Hill Country, near Austin TX this weekend where I survived many a hot summer and frequently enjoyed the rustic beauty of Central Texas, earlier in my life.
Neither Dallas, nor my present hometown of Houston, possess the rugged physical beauty of the hills and ravines of the Texas hill country. Whether on Inks, Travis, LBJ, or Lake Austin, traversing the area reminded me of the God-created beauty of the landscapes, including distant memories that were watercolor-blue on my mind.
Weaving around the sage and cedar, on the hot blacktop of state highway 71 as it meanders west of Austin; one feels the tension between the old, ageless limestone walls, shade bearing live oaks and the new glistening houses of suburban neighborhoods, with modernized-Texana names like River Bend Crest, Falcon Ridge, or Rio Cactus.
Ten years of “free-blue-sky” life played out under the puffy Cumulonimbus clouds which roll on forever. Enjoying the cold water of the highland lakes, the simple life of Coppertone and Coors, ski boats and hill country socializing during evenings at Rosie’s Cantina, we grew from boyhood into manhood.
The other part of my story was lower down, out of the hills, among the classic architecture of The University of Texas and the old traditional state capitol in the city of Austin. We were lovers, thinkers, planners and dreamers, and our lives were before us. How little did we realize or contemplate our futures?
Summers were a time of relaxed schedules, romantic pursuits, making pocket money, and generally staying out as late as one could, without interfering with school, jobs, or one’s parents. I wasn’t nearly as bothered by the hot weather as today, but that could be more about the way the sun brought out the supple tans of our young friends proudly wearing colorful bikinis that time of year.
During the ten years between 1976-77 and 1987-88, the Texas Hill Country was not as populated as it is now, and the droughts had not yet severely hurt the chain of lakes tied together from Burnet to Austin. Almost every summer during that period, activities brought me back there for a time, however, I did not realize what a beautiful blessing it was. That concept however, was clear to me this weekend:
[those years provided the plentiful opportunity to be exposed to sun, sand, power boats, gasoline, cars, recreation, girls, good food/drink, sparse traffic, beautiful vistas, good roads, friendly police, rivers that ran strong and cold, and the safety granted by God to make it back and forth, up and down, around hills and dales, to and from Austin, at all hours of the day. The blessing of those years, struck me this weekend; it was unmerited grace.]
Nonetheless, the Austin area still today feels smaller, slower paced, more relaxed, hipper, and friendlier; that might just be the observations of a frequent visitor. The grind of living in the highly-populated hotbed, fighting traffic and modernism, might change my perspective quickly, harshly; but it hasn’t yet?!
I saw two disappointing things this weekend on Highway 71
Travis County Life Flight Helicopter:
(photo credit: mine)
http://imgur.com/jJAAZ
Dry Perdernales River:
Dave Shaffer photograph from the bridge
http://tiny.cc/n1p5s
Not sure whether the massive surge of population causes the kind of reckless driving and overuse of available water I saw here, but these two incidents reminded me that people, places, things (memories) tend to degrade over time. These two photos are sad footnotes of pleasant memories.
What do you remember about your childhood summers?
Monday, June 27, 2011
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Dirty Dozen (questions) about Matthew 7:12 "golden rule"
Mark Goulston a consultant and coach asks these tough questions about the Golden Rule:
1. How often do you say, “I’m sorry” vs. expect others to say, “I’m sorry”?
2. How often do you say, “Thank you” vs. expect others to say, “Thank you”?
3. How often do you say, “I was wrong” vs. expect others to say, “I was wrong”?
4. How often do you patiently wait for people who are taking too long vs. expect people to patiently wait for you when you are taking too long?
5. How often do you go out of your way to help someone without their having to ask vs. expect someone to go out of their way to help you without your having to ask?
6. How often do you give people the benefit of the doubt vs. expect people to give you the benefit of the doubt?
7. How often do you give others a compliment vs. expect others to give you a compliment?
8. How often do you root for others vs. expect others to root for you?
9. How often do you acknowledge the deeds of others vs. expect others to acknowledge your deeds?
10. How often do you listen to others vs. expect others to listen to you?
11. How often do you take responsibility for your actions vs. expect others to take responsibility for their actions?
12. How often do you accept no for an answer from others vs. expect others to take no for an answer from you?
1. How often do you say, “I’m sorry” vs. expect others to say, “I’m sorry”?
2. How often do you say, “Thank you” vs. expect others to say, “Thank you”?
3. How often do you say, “I was wrong” vs. expect others to say, “I was wrong”?
4. How often do you patiently wait for people who are taking too long vs. expect people to patiently wait for you when you are taking too long?
5. How often do you go out of your way to help someone without their having to ask vs. expect someone to go out of their way to help you without your having to ask?
6. How often do you give people the benefit of the doubt vs. expect people to give you the benefit of the doubt?
7. How often do you give others a compliment vs. expect others to give you a compliment?
8. How often do you root for others vs. expect others to root for you?
9. How often do you acknowledge the deeds of others vs. expect others to acknowledge your deeds?
10. How often do you listen to others vs. expect others to listen to you?
11. How often do you take responsibility for your actions vs. expect others to take responsibility for their actions?
12. How often do you accept no for an answer from others vs. expect others to take no for an answer from you?
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Charlie Rose - An hour with David McCullough
Author David McCullough spent a career writing on Presidents and history for 45 years, winning the Presidential Medal of Freedom (see image above), the nation's highest civilian honor.
In his new book about Paris in the 1830-1900 he chronicles the vast influence of the returning Americans who grew, learned, and flourished in Paris. The unique, massive, early French influence on the young USA, such as support during our revolutionary war, cities, monuments (SOL), land (LA purchase), nomenclature, as well as society, arts, sciences, writing, etc. all have great French influence, he notes.
McCullough and CR discuss the cause/effect, action/reaction, give/take of human nature that is studied in the field of History. He stated Truman, John Adams, Washington, Lincoln, FDR, and Theodore Roosevelt are the greatest presidents, but that all the "great" presidents were readers of history.
He states at 12:34 the essential nature of the study of history to any position of leadership, and that a liberal arts education is the under-pinning of any further profession because of the depth it adds to the student in later years (11:48)
Later in the program he again stresses how important reading, writing, and the liberal arts are to education, which at 42:20 he claims is the basis of who we are as a nation (centering the discussion on Education at 43:30). This is an inspiration for any educator!
Mr. McCullough reminds listeners that the "Arab Spring" and other democratic uprisings in recent months show that the peoples of the world want what we take for granted here: the opportunity to live under a Bill of Rights, individual freedoms guaranteed by laws, and not men, and the ability to learn and develop our own strengths. This is the country's great exceptional trait. He adds that much of this is provided by Teachers' noble work (his son is a teacher 49:28).
Remarkable is the story of one of his life's inspirations: John Hubbard, a California history teacher who taught David to remember what happened, to whom and why, not so much dates and facts as was taught traditionally in high school. This was a breath of educational fresh air to McCullough's young mind. (see 48:17)
One of the best interviews I have ever watched; conducted by Charlie Rose Show on June 9, 2011. David McCullough spent 52 min. recounting his great life in the study of history, he is a dear jewel of our country worthy of great respect.
tiny url for interview:
http://tiny.cc/oqeyw
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Stimulus Package a/k/a TARP and "shovel-ready" jobs
I heard President Obama joke: "Shovel-ready was not as . . . uh . . . shovel-ready as we expected..." The problem with that is . . . uh . . . he wasn't very funny!
Why does the POTUS just get a pass on this type of behavior? When the previous president would have been eviscerated for such an insensitive joke/comment.
No sir, the whole "shovel-ready" scam did not even occur; not even sure that GAO could measure what it turned out to be, but jobs did not spontaneously arise out of the vaunted stimulus package.
Was it a way to appeal to the old FDR notion of the WPA work creation on public works and infrastructure projects that admittedly need some work? Even construction jobs are much too sophisticated to just hand some out-of-work-dude a shovel and solve the economy's problems. It was immature and naive to think "shovel-ready" was a viable alternative to the economic woes of the country at that time.
What we need now is not the absence of uncertainty, which is so often written about in the newspapars. The economy needs a rolling-back of much of the Obama legislation and the freeing up of small business to start hiring again. Small business is not "afraid" of uncertainty, in fact, on the contrary, they are afraid of what the anti-business administration has accomplished since 2009.
http://tiny.cc/78ae5 (article link)
By CLIFFORD S. ASNESS (Wall Street Journal)
Suggests that drag on the economy in such legislation as Dodd-Frank and ObamaCare, is what actually slowed down hiring, which is still our most pressing problem, and something that POTUS still is not acknowledging. The economic engine will not run smoothly without full employment. Could the POTUS acknowledge that Keynesian solutions have not worked in the market and work with Congress to throw off the fetters on small business? Either he will, or the voters will force the point.
Why does the POTUS just get a pass on this type of behavior? When the previous president would have been eviscerated for such an insensitive joke/comment.
No sir, the whole "shovel-ready" scam did not even occur; not even sure that GAO could measure what it turned out to be, but jobs did not spontaneously arise out of the vaunted stimulus package.
Was it a way to appeal to the old FDR notion of the WPA work creation on public works and infrastructure projects that admittedly need some work? Even construction jobs are much too sophisticated to just hand some out-of-work-dude a shovel and solve the economy's problems. It was immature and naive to think "shovel-ready" was a viable alternative to the economic woes of the country at that time.
What we need now is not the absence of uncertainty, which is so often written about in the newspapars. The economy needs a rolling-back of much of the Obama legislation and the freeing up of small business to start hiring again. Small business is not "afraid" of uncertainty, in fact, on the contrary, they are afraid of what the anti-business administration has accomplished since 2009.
http://tiny.cc/78ae5 (article link)
By CLIFFORD S. ASNESS (Wall Street Journal)
Suggests that drag on the economy in such legislation as Dodd-Frank and ObamaCare, is what actually slowed down hiring, which is still our most pressing problem, and something that POTUS still is not acknowledging. The economic engine will not run smoothly without full employment. Could the POTUS acknowledge that Keynesian solutions have not worked in the market and work with Congress to throw off the fetters on small business? Either he will, or the voters will force the point.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Part one: Fire and Rain (fiction ripped from the headlines)
Part one: Fire and Rain (fiction ripped from the headlines)
Storm chasers at work: https://youtu.be/8jWOq3lWvz0
©Mark H. Pillsbury (2011)
[Some material may be deemed inappropriate for less mature audiences]
They were storm chasers, but the spring tornado season was so active with over 100 tornadoes in June, they were looking for a change. After dating a year and working together almost two, Rick and Jessica often finished each other’s sentences. They were Sooners, trained in meteorology in one of the finest departments for weather in the country, schooled in the heart of tornado alley, Norman Oklahoma.
“Jess, why are you so quiet? Aren't you happy to take this cruise?”
Jessica was tall, thin and sweet. She liked the rainbows better than the thunderstorms,and on weekends at FOX25 she “did the weather,” indeed, she was proud during the broadcast when underneath her name sat the big word: Meteorologist. She wasn’t big like that girl in Dallas so many years ago who could block out most of East Texas by turning sideways, however when they split a big royalty check from the Discovery channel for video of the big twister in Millbury Ohio, she did sneak away that summer and get some work done on the second floor, so to speak. Rick loved it, and all her small-screen associates assured her good looks were the way to rise through the ranks, as long as you had talent to team with the girls.
Rick, the hard-charger of the group, founded Tarleton & Associates (or TNA like he loved to snicker when he used initials to name his company) right out of OU. He minored in business, but wanted to chase the biggest storms each spring, film them up-close and hi-def, sell the footage to networks and Cable shows that specialize in high tension reality-TV.
“I only see my cousin one weekend every couple of years, babe; can you try to be nice to me? This is an expensive date we are going on next week.” Jessica had no idea where Liberty County was; maybe she would feel better once they cut through the blue water of the Caribbean Sea.
Even though they had only a Chevy Tahoe and a satellite link to their laptops, Rick usually rode the waves of instability first, and that is where he earned his money. He arrived early at the boundary separating hot, dry air to the west from warm, moist air to the east, known as a “dryline,” and like a wildcat driller, he molded an opinion how the next cloud would play; he then drilled down into the data on the laptop (for which he paid a fortune in subscription fees) in order to back up his gambler hunch. Rick seemed to know instinctively which way to run. Jessica lingered on the idea that despite her love of weather, indeed because she understood them both, her man would have to retreat from the dangerous mistress twisters had become.
His training at OU quickly focused on what produces “meso-cyclones;” an area founded by Ted Fujita more than a decade before Rick was born. Fujita, a Japanese-American scientist, invented the recycling hypothesis of “tornadogenesis” including the spotting of RFD (rear-flank downdrafts) which showed-up clearly on radar as “hook echoes.” Rick read radar as an oil man reads 3D seismic imaging from the Gulf of Mexico; watching the bright hues of his laptop change as the data crunched through his Pentium processor. He used the cell phone to chat with other storm-chasers only when he felt behind in the race, but Rick was usually a front-runner.
Rick’s "Christmas shopping season” was between April and June, and usually the hours of operation were between 4 and 9PM, when big storms heated up. Classic stormchasing occurred in Tornado Alley, an area in Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas, and South Dakota where the proper atmospheric conditions existed in abundance during that time of year. At 10 he watched the movie Twisters, and he was 13 when Doppler radar recorded the fastest wind speed ever measured, 318 miles per hour, in a tornado that hit the suburbs of Oklahoma City, OK, on May 3, 1999. He remembered that storm like a kid remembers how many trophies Michael Jordan collected with the Bulls.
“Why do you squeal like a school-girl when we hit the gas heading up one of those dirt roads? [toward a storm]” Jessica was ribbing Rick, because she knew he loved tornadoes more than she.
“I do not?!” Rick said.
They were headed to a cousin’s ranch in Liberty County to do a little four-wheelin, cat-fishin, and hanging out in the country as they travelled toward Houston’s new cruise ship terminal to jump on a boat. This would be a great opportunity to relax with Jessica and talk about their future. Not surprisingly, he had some very specific plans.
“Maybe it is the adrenalin rush, but when I look across the prairie and see one of those huge grey elephant trunks reaching down out of a supercell,” Rick was excited even in this retelling, “I’m not trying to joke, it pulls me closer!”
“Remember when we dove last year off the wall of Cozumel?” Rick asked Jessica, “The deep blue of the abyss was calling in a way, wasn’t it?”
“Like hell,” Jessica snapped.
“You didn’t see it?” Rick responded. “No,” said Jessica, “I mean it reminded me of the depths of hell and I wanted to go up; I didn’t like it at all.” She continued warily, “if we do this storm thing much longer Rick, it is going to be the end of us.” Jessica went silent, knowing somehow what she said had multiple facets.
Rick was lost in thought. He remembered filming at Millbury and feeling like the trap had ensnared him once, only to thrust through the howling winds back to the truck as Jessica peeled out at a 90 degree angle away from the storm path, fleeing down an anonymous country road.
They pulled up to the ranch house in mid-afternoon, and the mercury was flirting with the century mark. Both of them knew innately that the dewpoint and the air temperature were sticking too close for comfort. Rick piled out their bags and went inside to drink in cold air and maybe an adult beverage, his throat was dry from a long day in the saddle.
His cousin Clay was very different than Rick. He was older, taller, more direct, fearless, graduated as a Texas Longhorn, a Christian, and he usually made a quick shot across the bow to put you off-guard, nevertheless, Rick thought of him as a brother, and was delighted to see him.
After big back-slappin hugs, and Clay popping the tops on chilled Coronas, they settled down on the couch and turned on the satellite television. Rick hoped that Clay would ask him about what was playing on Discovery Channel, but instead he got right to the point, “How long ya’ll been dating?”
Rick and Jessica sort of grinned as they looked at each other like doubles partners in tennis, sending silent messages to each other: "You take-it!"
“Coupla years, Clay, why do you ask?” from Rick. Jessica just chuckled and sipped the cold beer.
“Trip like this almost seems like a honeymoon?” he said sardonically.
“Nope. Just getting away after a busy spring chasing dollars.” Rick was not defensive, but he did not want to get into any of this with anyone but Jessica.
“Do you think what you do together is as dangerous as bullfighting?” Clay continued, unabated.
“What do you mean ‘what we do together?’ Clay?” Rick replied cleverly, still parrying with his cousin.
“Getting right up close to a tornado, is that like snake-charming or Russian roulette?”
photo credit: Reed (1909)
"Many entertainers, pilots, sports stars, explorers, journalists, cops, Marines, nurses, drivers, have to go in harm’s way to make a living, but the natural disaster that is most accessible, shocking, loud, and violent, is the tornado. It does more in 5 minutes than any army. People want to look at it up close, just like they go to the zoo. They pay to stay at a distance," said Rick, continuing, "Aren’t we meeting market demand? There are hundreds of storm-chasers in Tornado Alley?!"
“Does the number go down every year?” Clay sipped as he grinned. “Will you guys, put a car seat in the Tahoe when Junior rides along after the twister?” Jess lit up.
That one went a foot slightly outside the boundary line, but Rick was used to this kind of joking. Most of the time he dished it out more than took it.
Most biting humor is equal parts truth and jocularity.
Eventually they changed into cooler clothing and went down to the little pond at sunset, fishing (casting), talking and drinking; nothing much happened until the sun went down.
Fortunately, Clay brought frozen pizzas from CPK, and plenty of cold-longnecks. There was no more talk of relationships, storms, cruises, business, or Houston. It was time for youthful socializing, talking sports, family gossip; and Clay getting to know Jessica.
Considering all their rustic reminiscing, back to nature fun, listening to music, and staying up late into the night, they were remarkably “unplugged” for their generation. They did not know that burn warnings were up in all the counties around Liberty, and the NWS was under high alert for wildfire. They had no idea that bearing down upon their little chunk of the woods, was a ten-mile wide wall of flame.
This menace did not rain, hail, or spin. Considering how few roads went away from the ranch, even in their wildest nightmares, neither of these kids would be ready for this inferno. It was as if all the devils in hell showed up in southeast Texas, and they were flying in high and hot…
(To be continued… in Part 2)
photo credit: Red Cross
Storm chasers at work: https://youtu.be/8jWOq3lWvz0
©Mark H. Pillsbury (2011)
[Some material may be deemed inappropriate for less mature audiences]
They were storm chasers, but the spring tornado season was so active with over 100 tornadoes in June, they were looking for a change. After dating a year and working together almost two, Rick and Jessica often finished each other’s sentences. They were Sooners, trained in meteorology in one of the finest departments for weather in the country, schooled in the heart of tornado alley, Norman Oklahoma.
image: Tegtmeier, NSSL
Jessica was tall, thin and sweet. She liked the rainbows better than the thunderstorms,and on weekends at FOX25 she “did the weather,” indeed, she was proud during the broadcast when underneath her name sat the big word: Meteorologist. She wasn’t big like that girl in Dallas so many years ago who could block out most of East Texas by turning sideways, however when they split a big royalty check from the Discovery channel for video of the big twister in Millbury Ohio, she did sneak away that summer and get some work done on the second floor, so to speak. Rick loved it, and all her small-screen associates assured her good looks were the way to rise through the ranks, as long as you had talent to team with the girls.
Rick, the hard-charger of the group, founded Tarleton & Associates (or TNA like he loved to snicker when he used initials to name his company) right out of OU. He minored in business, but wanted to chase the biggest storms each spring, film them up-close and hi-def, sell the footage to networks and Cable shows that specialize in high tension reality-TV.
“I only see my cousin one weekend every couple of years, babe; can you try to be nice to me? This is an expensive date we are going on next week.” Jessica had no idea where Liberty County was; maybe she would feel better once they cut through the blue water of the Caribbean Sea.
Even though they had only a Chevy Tahoe and a satellite link to their laptops, Rick usually rode the waves of instability first, and that is where he earned his money. He arrived early at the boundary separating hot, dry air to the west from warm, moist air to the east, known as a “dryline,” and like a wildcat driller, he molded an opinion how the next cloud would play; he then drilled down into the data on the laptop (for which he paid a fortune in subscription fees) in order to back up his gambler hunch. Rick seemed to know instinctively which way to run. Jessica lingered on the idea that despite her love of weather, indeed because she understood them both, her man would have to retreat from the dangerous mistress twisters had become.
His training at OU quickly focused on what produces “meso-cyclones;” an area founded by Ted Fujita more than a decade before Rick was born. Fujita, a Japanese-American scientist, invented the recycling hypothesis of “tornadogenesis” including the spotting of RFD (rear-flank downdrafts) which showed-up clearly on radar as “hook echoes.” Rick read radar as an oil man reads 3D seismic imaging from the Gulf of Mexico; watching the bright hues of his laptop change as the data crunched through his Pentium processor. He used the cell phone to chat with other storm-chasers only when he felt behind in the race, but Rick was usually a front-runner.
Rick’s "Christmas shopping season” was between April and June, and usually the hours of operation were between 4 and 9PM, when big storms heated up. Classic stormchasing occurred in Tornado Alley, an area in Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas, and South Dakota where the proper atmospheric conditions existed in abundance during that time of year. At 10 he watched the movie Twisters, and he was 13 when Doppler radar recorded the fastest wind speed ever measured, 318 miles per hour, in a tornado that hit the suburbs of Oklahoma City, OK, on May 3, 1999. He remembered that storm like a kid remembers how many trophies Michael Jordan collected with the Bulls.
“Why do you squeal like a school-girl when we hit the gas heading up one of those dirt roads? [toward a storm]” Jessica was ribbing Rick, because she knew he loved tornadoes more than she.
“I do not?!” Rick said.
They were headed to a cousin’s ranch in Liberty County to do a little four-wheelin, cat-fishin, and hanging out in the country as they travelled toward Houston’s new cruise ship terminal to jump on a boat. This would be a great opportunity to relax with Jessica and talk about their future. Not surprisingly, he had some very specific plans.
“Maybe it is the adrenalin rush, but when I look across the prairie and see one of those huge grey elephant trunks reaching down out of a supercell,” Rick was excited even in this retelling, “I’m not trying to joke, it pulls me closer!”
“Remember when we dove last year off the wall of Cozumel?” Rick asked Jessica, “The deep blue of the abyss was calling in a way, wasn’t it?”
“Like hell,” Jessica snapped.
“You didn’t see it?” Rick responded. “No,” said Jessica, “I mean it reminded me of the depths of hell and I wanted to go up; I didn’t like it at all.” She continued warily, “if we do this storm thing much longer Rick, it is going to be the end of us.” Jessica went silent, knowing somehow what she said had multiple facets.
Rick was lost in thought. He remembered filming at Millbury and feeling like the trap had ensnared him once, only to thrust through the howling winds back to the truck as Jessica peeled out at a 90 degree angle away from the storm path, fleeing down an anonymous country road.
They pulled up to the ranch house in mid-afternoon, and the mercury was flirting with the century mark. Both of them knew innately that the dewpoint and the air temperature were sticking too close for comfort. Rick piled out their bags and went inside to drink in cold air and maybe an adult beverage, his throat was dry from a long day in the saddle.
His cousin Clay was very different than Rick. He was older, taller, more direct, fearless, graduated as a Texas Longhorn, a Christian, and he usually made a quick shot across the bow to put you off-guard, nevertheless, Rick thought of him as a brother, and was delighted to see him.
After big back-slappin hugs, and Clay popping the tops on chilled Coronas, they settled down on the couch and turned on the satellite television. Rick hoped that Clay would ask him about what was playing on Discovery Channel, but instead he got right to the point, “How long ya’ll been dating?”
Rick and Jessica sort of grinned as they looked at each other like doubles partners in tennis, sending silent messages to each other: "You take-it!"
“Coupla years, Clay, why do you ask?” from Rick. Jessica just chuckled and sipped the cold beer.
“Trip like this almost seems like a honeymoon?” he said sardonically.
“Nope. Just getting away after a busy spring chasing dollars.” Rick was not defensive, but he did not want to get into any of this with anyone but Jessica.
“Do you think what you do together is as dangerous as bullfighting?” Clay continued, unabated.
“What do you mean ‘what we do together?’ Clay?” Rick replied cleverly, still parrying with his cousin.
“Getting right up close to a tornado, is that like snake-charming or Russian roulette?”
"Many entertainers, pilots, sports stars, explorers, journalists, cops, Marines, nurses, drivers, have to go in harm’s way to make a living, but the natural disaster that is most accessible, shocking, loud, and violent, is the tornado. It does more in 5 minutes than any army. People want to look at it up close, just like they go to the zoo. They pay to stay at a distance," said Rick, continuing, "Aren’t we meeting market demand? There are hundreds of storm-chasers in Tornado Alley?!"
“Does the number go down every year?” Clay sipped as he grinned. “Will you guys, put a car seat in the Tahoe when Junior rides along after the twister?” Jess lit up.
That one went a foot slightly outside the boundary line, but Rick was used to this kind of joking. Most of the time he dished it out more than took it.
Most biting humor is equal parts truth and jocularity.
Eventually they changed into cooler clothing and went down to the little pond at sunset, fishing (casting), talking and drinking; nothing much happened until the sun went down.
Fortunately, Clay brought frozen pizzas from CPK, and plenty of cold-longnecks. There was no more talk of relationships, storms, cruises, business, or Houston. It was time for youthful socializing, talking sports, family gossip; and Clay getting to know Jessica.
Considering all their rustic reminiscing, back to nature fun, listening to music, and staying up late into the night, they were remarkably “unplugged” for their generation. They did not know that burn warnings were up in all the counties around Liberty, and the NWS was under high alert for wildfire. They had no idea that bearing down upon their little chunk of the woods, was a ten-mile wide wall of flame.
This menace did not rain, hail, or spin. Considering how few roads went away from the ranch, even in their wildest nightmares, neither of these kids would be ready for this inferno. It was as if all the devils in hell showed up in southeast Texas, and they were flying in high and hot…
(To be continued… in Part 2)
photo credit: Red Cross
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Author Henning Mankell of Sweden (Stieg Larsson's inspiration)
http://books.google.com/books?id=o83Ty47d-VwC&dq=henning+mankell+pyramid&sitesec=reviews
Allow me to introduce you to a friend that you might not have known about:
Henning Mankell's detective Kurt Wallendar is an engaging character because he is not a super-sleuth, rather a methodical, hard-working, tenacious policeman who lives each case in almost all conscious moments (or so the author would have you believe). Wallendar is an anti-hero, imperfect, at times neurotic, but always pursuing truth (even in his own dark heart). This book is the prequel to the long Wallendar series Mankell wrote in the 1990s, with four short stories plus the introduction to the detective (Pyramid). Despite a translation into English the prose is captivating.
Popular Swedish novelist (www.stieglarsson.com) Stieg Larsson (deceased) counted his inspiration as reading the books of Henning Mankell. I like these writers because I learn about another country and their culture, the characters are flawed, asymmetrical, and the prose is straight-forward, in that the writing is not complicated but the plot certainly is. I give this genre a high recommendation, although Larsson is rather graphic (adult subject-matter) at times.
Allow me to introduce you to a friend that you might not have known about:
Henning Mankell's detective Kurt Wallendar is an engaging character because he is not a super-sleuth, rather a methodical, hard-working, tenacious policeman who lives each case in almost all conscious moments (or so the author would have you believe). Wallendar is an anti-hero, imperfect, at times neurotic, but always pursuing truth (even in his own dark heart). This book is the prequel to the long Wallendar series Mankell wrote in the 1990s, with four short stories plus the introduction to the detective (Pyramid). Despite a translation into English the prose is captivating.
Popular Swedish novelist (www.stieglarsson.com) Stieg Larsson (deceased) counted his inspiration as reading the books of Henning Mankell. I like these writers because I learn about another country and their culture, the characters are flawed, asymmetrical, and the prose is straight-forward, in that the writing is not complicated but the plot certainly is. I give this genre a high recommendation, although Larsson is rather graphic (adult subject-matter) at times.
irrelevancy kills
Don't know whether Lady Gaga is more talented than Madonna or whether Lady Gaga has leveraged the modern digital age like Google, YouTube, Facebook, Twitter, etc.
Her phenomena is chronicled by Google:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YZoRX3CMeao&feature=player_embedded
photo credit: Vanity Fair (Sept. 2010)
All of these media serve different purposes, and she has used all of them adroitly.
I am now attempting to use blogging as a way to say more and not bog down the other services. #FB has 600 million users, and Twitter is the quickest way to follow thought-leaders, however, the blogosphere is where thoughts are hashed out in depth.
It is like 9/11 launching texting (for me it was the Hurricane Rita evacuation). The texting channel is now more relevant than email.
Blogging is just as relevant as a newspaper page. How many youngsters have ever noticed the black newsprint film on the surface of their fingers. Newspapers may not be dead, but their writing is no longer relevant.
People all around the world have the ability to look up the topic about which their passion has caused them to get online and look up something. (www.technorati.com)
The internet allows people to be self-advocates with what they really want to know. Relevancy is the key. From Syria to Seattle, the blogs people trust are the ones they visit. Why would I trust the NY Times, given their track record? They have been rated as the most liberally slanted news source of all major newspapers.
http://www.usnews.com/news/blogs/washington-whispers/2011/06/16/book-liberal-media-distorts-news-bias
My intent in starting The New Rostra is using a blogging platform just like Cicero stood on the rostra near the Forum, in the public square, except my writing will be about all sorts of things, hopefully some of which are relevant. This blog is also a way that will force me to write. Creative writing is a skill that must be practiced like a sport, and I hope to post some of that as well. Here's to relevancy!
Her phenomena is chronicled by Google:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YZoRX3CMeao&feature=player_embedded
All of these media serve different purposes, and she has used all of them adroitly.
I am now attempting to use blogging as a way to say more and not bog down the other services. #FB has 600 million users, and Twitter is the quickest way to follow thought-leaders, however, the blogosphere is where thoughts are hashed out in depth.
It is like 9/11 launching texting (for me it was the Hurricane Rita evacuation). The texting channel is now more relevant than email.
Blogging is just as relevant as a newspaper page. How many youngsters have ever noticed the black newsprint film on the surface of their fingers. Newspapers may not be dead, but their writing is no longer relevant.
People all around the world have the ability to look up the topic about which their passion has caused them to get online and look up something. (www.technorati.com)
The internet allows people to be self-advocates with what they really want to know. Relevancy is the key. From Syria to Seattle, the blogs people trust are the ones they visit. Why would I trust the NY Times, given their track record? They have been rated as the most liberally slanted news source of all major newspapers.
http://www.usnews.com/news/blogs/washington-whispers/2011/06/16/book-liberal-media-distorts-news-bias
My intent in starting The New Rostra is using a blogging platform just like Cicero stood on the rostra near the Forum, in the public square, except my writing will be about all sorts of things, hopefully some of which are relevant. This blog is also a way that will force me to write. Creative writing is a skill that must be practiced like a sport, and I hope to post some of that as well. Here's to relevancy!
Friday, June 17, 2011
Fictional account for Father's Day (or what Hamp and me talk about)
“Daddy, what’s a world-view?”
“What do you mean, Hamp?” he replied, as the wispy hot breeze blew through the car windows.
They idled at a stoplight on Westheimer, Houston’s version of the Sunset Strip, but with more car alarm/stereo shops than tattoo parlors. The weather was actually gorgeous for the wintertime, the week or two every year where is was just as nice here as in LA. Mark looked around the five-lane stoplight crowd and noticed they were the only Anglos waiting for green, in this multi-ethnic melting pot of opportunity fueled by the energy business and supported by massive immigration; Houston stood as an oasis of economic hope in an ocean of recessional despair--many of these commuters were here for one thing only and it wasn’t the weather.
“What that man just said on the radio, about his world-view?”
Hamp added, “Was he talking about what the astronauts see from space?”
“No, son, a world view is how somebody looks at life, sort of like your perspective from your car seat, or how I can see green through these sunglasses.” “Except a world view is deeper than that, really.”
“It means how somebody makes sense of the things that happen to them in their life, and when life goes on almost a hundred years, like say your mommy’s grandmother, Dean; humans see a lot, Hamp, and some of it makes no sense. Like when bad guys do well and there is no Spidey to take them down.”
“Kind of like whether they believe in the Force or not?!” Hampton questioned.
The light turned, but he went on, “You’re right, son, but the Force is in the movies, and a world view is in somebody’s heart.” “You know how the skeleton holds the body together and the muscles and flesh hold onto that?” he asked. “Well, a world view is deeply held inside, and different people grow up into their worldviews, just like a body grows bigger and taller, a lot of it is affected by how they are raised.”
After a quarter mile of silent driving eastbound toward the bright buildings of the Galleria, Hampton finally adjusted in his car seat and blurted out, “but do I choose the worldview, or does the worldview choose me?”
Mark almost hit the brakes to pull over. His son often made profound statements without prompting and it caused dad to feel almost reverent, even fearful, “Man that is a great question!” “Where do you come up with such great ideas son, I want to read what you’re reading?!”
Remember that Mexican hat I showed you from the big telescope picture of the Virgo galaxy, the one that is something like 55 million light years away from earth? How beautiful and majestic it is, and all we can compare it to is a lousy sombrero? [see photo above credit: Barthel/eso.org]
“I thought that was funny!” Hampton giggled.
“People say there is no use in studying what it is like to exist. Some only see what we have on the earth; they feel that we can make telescopes made out of glass that can see things far away, but all there is is the here and now: what we are walking upon, or this car, or the food we ate for breakfast; and when you die it all ends: the world just goes black.”
“What are those people called?” “You know son, forget about memorizing labels or calling people by –isms, just focus on what they think, who they are, and how they look at things, you will be able to keep it all straight when you get to college.”
“There's a world view where people think the human race is all there is; and some people believe that what we see and hear and are taught is only given to us at a particular time, like you did not choose to go to ROE; those folks think that all the stuff we learn is able to change based on time and place.”
He went on, “and some people hold that what is good for you Hampton, is good for you and just because you say it doesn’t mean a thing. What’s good for you is OK for you and what I think is good for me.” “That is said to be relative: like your relatives are yours and my cousins are mine!” Daddy was getting as tangled up as this traffic jam. “Hampton, I feel like you choose your world view. It doesn’t grab you.” “What do you think?”
"I think that sombrero galaxy is out there in space. We can see it! It wasn’t like a drawing in a book. But I can’t touch it, how do I know it is there 55 gillion light years away?" (This was an important intersection).
“How far is a light year, Hampton?” “I don’t know, a long long long way away!” he said. “How long does daddy usually run, when he gets to?” “4 miles” Hampton quickly replied. Do you see the difference? “Could we ever get to that Mexican hat? Even on a spaceship?” daddy pressed. “Probably not.” Hampton replied. “But I still believe it is there…”
“That is called Faith, Hampy” and that is also a world view. “Faith is being sure of something you hope for, convinced of it even though you don’t see it!” Hampton smiled, like he'd heard that before.
Do you think even if you studied real hard at Rice you would be able to find out how that beautiful galaxy was made, Hampton? “Nope.” He replied. “It’s too big, too old, too amazing!” “I would just have to know it’s there.”
“Hampton, who do you think made the whole universe, including that big hat?” he asked.
“God did.” Hampton answered. “He made me too.” “Son, you are just as amazing as that cluster of stars, you are what God looks like to me.” (daddy was starting to grow salty tears in his eyes).
They were finally making their way onto the street of their home, about to turn into the driveway, when Mark continued: “Son, what makes you think God has been special to you?”
“He gave us Jesus,” Hampton responded with joy. “God sent his son;” daddy interrupted, “but I don’t think I could send you Hampy,” “but I’m not Jesus daddy, so I don’t have to!” "He did it."
“Jesus is the way we believe dad, God was so good to make a way for us to come home. Jesus came here; now we can go out towards the sombrero.”
“That makes all the difference, son, he is the way and the difference.” Daddy warmly agreed, and then threw the car into park. “It makes all the difference, Hampy.”
“So that’s a world view?” Hampton finished, and was jumping out of the car.
“Yessiree it is…” “Let’s get some lunch.” “Well done Einstein, you will make a good teacher someday”
Hampton ran up the drive yelling back: “Quarterback, dad!”
(fictional short story composed June 11, 2011)
copyright: Mark H. Pillsbury
##
Ahem... I am up on the rostra novum... Hello!
Just opened up a blogspot account for The New Rostra (rostra novum)
This is a forum where I can share my thoughts and writings without weighing down other social media outlets. (facebook.com/mark.pillsbury or @markpills on Twitter)
In the new world of digital media the "town crier" can amble up to the platform on the square and literally broadcast to the world in a new (digital) way, that Cicero would never have been able to comprehend. (see image of the rostra vetera near the assembly ground of the old Roman Forum)
Thank you for checking this out. Please make comments or come back.
I look forward to sharing the conversation with you.
For now let me step down off the rostra and gather some material.
Best,
MHP
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