November already? I swear, where does the time go. At least we can turn off the AC – finally! – and open the windows. Although that does heighten our appreciation of our next door neighbor’s relations with his two basset hounds; one male who is alert and ready to give voice at any provocation, and one female who is quiet and sedate, and very likely pregnant. Well, when you have two young unfixed dogs of the opposite sex this kind of thing is gonna happen sooner or later. He has also not been able to housebreak them with any degree of reliability (although we have tried to tell him about crates) so they spend a large part of their day outside. This does mean that anyone who comes close to the front of either of our houses gets barked at, which does have some benefit. He has offered us one of the puppies, though.

We will have a booth at the Boerne Market Days this weekend; half with my books and half with Blondie’s origami art. This is her big roll-out for Paper Blossom Productions. She has been working away at various pieces for the last couple of months, and only this weekend got around to inventorying and packaging up a number of pieces … like $300 dollars worth of earrings featuring beads and miniscule origami cranes. I will have three plastic tubs of books – as this month is the roll-out for The Quivera Trail. Later on in the week we will turn from organizing inventory to organizing the display of it; stands, hooks, baskets and s-hooks and hangers, as well as table cloths to cover the tables with. The weather is predicted to be mild – neither too hot or too cold, which is a good thing. The Market Day is traditionally held on Town Square, under the shade of a massive stand of pecan trees, but we have to be there for two days, from 10 AM to 5. Having a broiling hot day, or a freezing cold and /or rainy one will be … uncomfortable, to say the least. This is the time of the year when I do most of the face-to-face book-selling – so, apologies in advance if the blogging is brief and to the point.

The land sale meant that there is a cushion of sorts to fall back on – and I was able to clear away one ongoing debt entirely, although having to have the transmission in Blondie’s Montero rebuilt entirely has delayed plans for replacing the windows in the house. Ah, well. On the bright side, she went through a lot of trouble early this year to procure health insurance for herself, believing our President’s assurances that if you had a plan you could keep it. So she went with an $87 a month plan from Humana – which she could afford without much stress on the budget. Call it The ACA-compliant plan offered by Humana as option B this last month cost $230. For now, she is sticking with option A, in the fond hopes that the whole unAffordable Healthcare Act will implode as terminally and as messily as the planetary monster transported through the digital conveyer on Galaxy Quest.
Spent part of the weekend setting up two crocks of homemade sauerkraut; yeah, we’ve gotten a taste for the stuff, and it couldn’t be easier and cheaper to do. Cabbage, 4 heads, finely shredded, and a scant cup of pickling salt. Pack tightly into a clean glass jar, ad a little brine to the top if the cabbage hasn’t exuded enough moisture to cover – and let ferment for three to six weeks. Then heat to a simmer, pack into hot canning jars, seal and process in boiling water. We’ve just eaten the last of the jars that I processed last summer. Oh, and the last of the mixed vegetable pickles as well, so here goes some time and fresh carrots, cauliflower, pearl onions and sliced cucumber the weekend after next to stock us up. We’re doing OK on jams and preserves, though – and still have some jars of pickled okra. And that’s our plans for the immediate future.

03. November 2013 · Comments Off on All Righty, Then · Categories: Ain't That America?, Literary Good Stuff, Local

Since the Amazon Author Page function which supposedly allows one to post a schedule of events doesn’t seem to be functioning in any useful way, here I go, posting the my schedule the old-fashioned way, as a blogpost:
November 9th and 10th from 10-5 both days – at Boerne’s Market Days, which are held on the town square, just off Main Street in Boerne. Look for the four rows of white pavilions, set on the grass among the pecan trees lining the square. My daughter and I are sharing a booth; I’ll have books, my daughter her original origami art. Very likely there will be live music in the bandstand for most of the days, and if the people who have the mobile kitchen serving gorditas – check them out. Their gorditas are awesome, and almost big enough for two people to share.
Mistress of the PuffyTacoShells

November 22nd and 23rd from 10 to 5 on Friday, and 10 to 6 on Saturday – I’ll have a table in the Hall of Authors at Weihnachtsmarkt in the New Braunfels Civic Center, which is located at 380 South Seguin, in New Braunfels. The whole Christmas Market is to benefit the Sophienburg Museum and Archives. There will be several huge rooms full of vendors, selling all kinds of neat and crafty things – and there will be a good assortment of local authors with their books. What makes a better gift than a book, I always say. Which reminds me – my 10-year old niece wants one of my books for her Christmas present from me; To Truckee’s Trail is the most appropriate for that age, so she will have it with my best wishes and personal message for her. My brother says she loves historical fiction…
Christmas Onna Longhorn
Saturday, December 7th from 9 to 4 (or so) At Christmas On the Square in Goliad. They usually set up Miss Ruby’s Author Corral in a little area next to the Chamber of Commerce, on Courthouse Square in beautiful downtown Goliad. Santa arrives mounted on a long-horn, and there is music and revelry, food and crafts for sale and a dog costume contest.
I will have a good stock of books, including the latest – The Quivera Trail – and if we run out, I will have order forms. This year, we have obtained one of those little attachments for Blondie’s cellphone which allows us to process credit/debit cards, so the 21st century has caught up to us at last.

Dog as Mrs. Santa

21. October 2013 · Comments Off on How To Tell If It’s A Really Bad, Bad Monday · Categories: Critters, Local, My Head Hurts, Veteran's Affairs

1. Unhappy cat who gets bullied by other cats and looses bladder control when frightened by other cats is frightened by another cat while I am out running … and pisses on bedding. While out walking the dog – having put unhappy cat in locked bathroom, another cat pisses on bedding in another place.

2. Car does not start. Have to borrow Blondie’s Montero to pick up prescription at Fort Sam Primary Care Clinic.

3. Get speeding ticket from SAPD for doing 54 in 45 MPH stretch of road in the Montero. Didn’t notice that I was going faster than anyone else. Suspect this stretch of road is now a speed trap.

Any questions?

20. September 2013 · Comments Off on Cutting the Tie · Categories: Ain't That America?, Local, Veteran's Affairs

Well, that’s it – the escrow on the hillside acreage near Julian, California, that I bought and about 1986 with an eye towards eventually building the retirement house on – the escrow on the sale of it closes today, and I should have a large part of the payment hitting my bank account very soon. I’ve just about broken even on it – which considering a number of factors – is passing miraculous. There was no electrical power on it, and the purchaser will have to have a well dug, the real estate market in California continues sort of rocky, the pine bark beetle in the 1990s killed the pine trees on it, and the fire that raged through in 2003 burnt the oaks to a charcoal crisp … I talked to a friend of Mom and Dad’s who went up to the place shortly afterwards and said that it looked not just like Hell, but the seventh circle under the Pit. There were deep holes all over, where the oak roots had burned out and the whole hillside looked as if it had been basically scalped.

But the fire did clear away a lot of undergrowth, and the buyer and the realtor say it looks rather pleasant now; the brush and young oak trees are coming back, and the view is astonishing – you can see all the way to Oceanside, practically. That’s the bit that I do regret now … the view. But I’d never be able to afford to build anything on it bigger than a garden shed. The buyer is really keen, serious and can afford it – and besides, it was the first solid offer to come along in the three years since I put it on the market. Save for the family, that’s the last tie holding me to California. If I read the news right, getting out and breaking even is a damn fortunate thing, considering.

And I’ve only visited the place once. Better to sink funds from the sale into an acre or so of the Hill Country. And into fixing some of the things on this present house … which to be honest, I sorely need to do; replacing the craptacular contractor-grade HVAC system for one and the equally craptacular contractor-grade windows for another. The business that I am a partner in is here, and it is picking up even as my partner’s health deteriorates. She’s in her eighties, after all – and deliberately brought me in to train me up in small subsidy-press publishing and editing. I’ve written six books set in Texas, and am about to write one more, I have friends and associations here … so why not declare absolutely for the Lone Star once and for all?

Still, a bit of a wrench, this last bit of letting go. As much as it was selling the VEV – although, paperwork wise, a hell of a lot more complex. Which is one more reason to be at least a little relieved at seeing the end of it.

07. September 2013 · Comments Off on Another One of Those Weeks · Categories: Ain't That America?, General, Literary Good Stuff, Local

It’s been one of those weeks – very little time to work on the book stuff, what with the press of work, a couple of emergencies to do with the prospective work to be done on my house, necessary work for the Tiny Publishing Bidness, involving editing, designing a book layout, and in hand-holding various clients. I still work for a living, one way and another – it’s just the work that I do, I have freely chosen to do, on my own schedule, which in the long run, makes a lot of difference. And we just gained another client who would like one of our higher-end, quality products, which is all to my business partner’s liking, as we shall make a very tidy profit from it … as well as kick-starting our appeal to those who like and can afford our high-end editions. And I have a thick packet of papers to sign and have notarized, with regard to the sale of that land in California, which I finally had a solid purchaser for, after three long years of being on the market.

I sent off the semi-monthly newsletter, opened pre-orders for The Quivera Trail, fiddled a bit on various websites, went to Seguin on Saturday for a funeral, went downtown on Monday to take some pictures of an art show on the Riverwalk and Friday, I had a trip to one of the more interesting industrial areas on the fringe of downtown – which no one would ever find unless they were hopelessly and irretrievably lost off the IH-10 … look, it’s an unmistakable indicator that when you are in a place where all the ground-floor windows in the neighborhood have barred windows, and there is concertina wire threaded across the top of a 6-7ft tall chain-link fence around any lot containing anything of value – that you are in a slightly sketchy neighborhood. Just saying – it is OK in broad daylight, but not a place you want to be fumbling around in after sunset or before sunrise … not without your good friend Mr. Colt, or Mr. Smith-Wesson, or Mr. Beretta, anyway.

But on the upside, I think that I have found the next ready-to-be-gentrified old neighborhood in San Antonio … that stretch of Blanco, south of Hildebrand. It’s adjacent to several a very nice old neighborhoods – Woodlawn and Monticello – but obviously still affordable and full of nice old decrepit but repairable houses. A few of them along Blanco are already under repair, amid a a scattering of determinedly upscale restaurants and businesses, before trailing off into the semi-industrial wilds closer to downtown.

And this very week, I was invited to another book club meeting in Fredericksburg, late in October when we can count on the weather having cooled down a bit. This meeting may also may also involve a walking trip around town to the various sights where scenes in the Adelsverein Trilogy were set, and an overnight stay in a guest house. The book club members are all coming from Houston, so they might as well get something extra special for their long trip.
And finally – the project – which began as kind of a joke, regarding rebooting the Lone Ranger story as a straight-up historical adventure (after carefully filing off all the superficially identifying serial numbers) turns out to be strangely appealing. Especially if I made it more or less G-rated and aimed to appeal to boys; the suggestion of my daughter, who has noticed that in today’s bookstores, boys tend to be rather underserved when it comes to teen and tween adventure novels. I’ve already been able to work out half a chapter … so there will be that to look forward to.

01. September 2013 · Comments Off on The Way of Things · Categories: Ain't That America?, Domestic, Local, Working In A Salt Mine...

So, I haven’t paid much attention to the blogs and books this week, and am falling behind in posting reviews of stuff … no kidding, there are two books at the bottom of the pile that I have been waiting on my attention for months, and possibly a year in the case of one. But real life happens, and never in accordance with deadlines and plans. The sale of my California land went into escrow a week ago Friday. We’ve been auditioning window replacement experts and a HVAC installation company with and eye to using some of the funds to improve this house.

And Alice, my partner in the Tiny Publishing Bidness had surgery a couple of months ago for a cancerous mass on her lung, which was successfully removed … but it turns out that some of the cells have gone wandering looking for another organ to settle down in, and so in order to keep that from happening, some cycles of chemotherapy are in order. Which means that she does not feel really up to doing the work of the Tiny Bidness, not that I blame her in the least, and so the last couple of book projects have been left to me to manage. Which takes up that amount of time left to work on my own book, both the one which I have just finished – The Quivera Trail, for which I am now taking advance orders – and the two that I am just starting.

For the last couple of years, Blondie has been serving as a bi-weekly housekeeper, handy-person, regular driver and runner of errands for Alice, which works out well, because eventually Blondie will be my partner in the business. They really like each other, which is also good. Blondie also did the same house-keeping, general help and driver for another elderly neighbor, Mrs. Y., who moved in a house around the corner from ours some years ago. Mrs. Y. was confined to a scooter chair as the result of a number of chronic health problems, a widow with four married daughters about my age. We first met one of her daughters and her husband when they began fitting out the house for her to move into – the husband does cabinetry, carpentry and general renovation work. They lived in the neighborhood also. Mrs. Y.’s health was too precarious to live alone in her long-time family home out in Canyon Lake – so, she was moving into our little patch of suburbia where the two daughters who lived close by could keep an eye on her.

About a month or so after Mrs. Y. and her cat (eventually to be two cats, both of whom she loved very much) moved into the house, we saw her rolling out on her scooter chair to the community mailbox, and stopped to say hello. In conversation, she asked if we could refer her to a regular housekeeper – someone to come in once a month and do the heavy work that she couldn’t manage from her chair. One thing and another, Blondie agreed to come in once a month, and spend three-quarters of the day doing housekeeping. I swear, Blondie must be the only purely Anglo housekeeper in this part of Texas – but one way and another, she and Mrs. Y. also got to be rather fond of each other. The daughters threw a Mary Kay party at Mrs. Y’s house, and Blondie did some housekeeping and moving-into-new-house help for one of the daughters. Two of the daughters lived a fair distance away, and the two who did live close in have fairly demanding jobs – so, now and again Mrs. Y. called Blondie to take her to an appointment. Last month, it seemed there were a lot of appointments in a short time span – and the housekeeping day was cancelled because Mrs. Y. was hospitalized.

About mid-month, we saw the garage door opened, and some familiar cars in the driveway. One of the daughters and a cousin sadly told us that Mrs. Y. was home – but that there was nothing that could be done for her. She was too frail for any more treatments or surgery, and was in hospice care at her house. She wanted more than anything to come home and spend her last days there with the cats; her daughters, the niece and the visiting hospice-care nurses taking care of her. Blondie volunteered also, and spent much of late August taking a turn at looking after Mrs. Y. She was very frail, and took a turn for the worst almost at once, passing away barely a week later, in the wee hours of early morning. We went to the funeral service in a funeral chapel in Seguin yesterday. It was a pretty brief service, mercifully, and conducted by a minister who was a friend of the family, and a gospel alto singing “I’ll Fly Away” and “In the Sweet By and By.” Generally the Methodists and Baptists seem to have much more cheerful hymns than Lutherans – our funeral hymns tend to be stern and gloomy. It wasn’t a crowd which overwhelmed the chapel in any case – the extended family, and friends and Blondie and I. Open casket, too – but the funeral home had done very well by her; she looked quite natural; very much her once-relatively healthy self.

We followed in the cortege to the cemetery; about twenty-five cars and four motorcycles. One of the daughters belongs to a motor-cycle group, so three of her friends came along on their bikes, flanking the hearse. One curious thing I noticed, which I had never seen before – once outside Seguin, just about every car going the other way on the road pulled over onto the verge, until the cortege had passed. “It’s a country thing,” one of Mrs. Y’s daughters explained. The graveside service was even briefer; we stood at the back, in the shade of a young oak tree, with puffy cotton-wad clouds floating in a blue sky – the cemetery was a very serene and well-organized place, even if I am not quite sure if I approve of artificial flowers for the graves. Most of the monuments had them – flat stones with a metal vase set into the center. Another local custom, I think. Mr. Y. was also buried there; I think it was comforting for the daughters, knowing that they were together.
And that was my week. Yours?

20. August 2013 · Comments Off on One of Those Weeks · Categories: Ain't That America?, Home Front, Local

And it’s only Tuesday, too. It’s also Red Hat evening, for the ladies of the small group who are in the habit of sampling the delights of a select restaurant, on the evening of the third Tuesday of the month. Hey, I need a social life, or so says Blondie. It’s about the only darned time I do eat a restaurant meal – and the informal rules of the club are that the person whose’ birthday falls in that month picks the restaurant, and that it be a reasonably priced one. So an evening out in the offing tonight – although it will be a goodish drive over to the venue for this evening.

Otherwise, it’s been kind of a mixed bag; this morning I had an email from the California realtor who is listing the once-wooded and now-possibly-wooded again acreage that I own in Julian, California. I’ve been trying to sell it for almost three years now, and the realtor finally had a good solid offer for it, which he wanted to run by me. Well, the offer is for $5,000 more than I paid for it myself, which I am perfectly happy with. The last serious offer was for $10,000 less – and that I considered a bloody insult. So … when the check is in my hot little hand, then I will go to my ranch realtor friend and sometime employer, and see about a couple of acres in the Hill Country. I did up a brochure for him yesterday, with pictures of a little place in Frio County – not that I want that place, but it is something like it that I would be looking for. Meadows dotted with large oaks, a water well and two tiny and rather ramshackle appearing cottages on it. Something like that, I told him – something small and unpretentious. If it’s structurally sound, repair and renovate the house (or houses) and if not, tear down and build something like it. I wouldn’t be interested in a big house, either – just a small one with room for a little guest cottage or two. So, if the sale goes through – then, one step closer to my dream Hill Country retreat.

The Tiny Publishing Bidness has a couple of clients on board, and a prospective big project in the offing – but my business partner, the original owner of it – has not been entirely well this year. She’s in her eighties, and this week is going in for treatments. Both her mother and her brother died rather painfully from pancreatic cancer, and so of course she is dreading the same fate. Naturally, her mind is not the least focused on work. Still, she is in better shape than one of Blondie’s regular employers, another sweet elderly lady living around the corner. (Blondie cleans house for her once a month, and is on call for errands and to drive her to doctor appointments when the sweet elderly lady’s daughters are not available. She has not been well either; and has been hospitalized for several weeks. Her chronic problem is back again, and she is not strong enough for chemotherapy … or anything, really. She was released from hospital, into home hospice care, and it’s a matter of just waiting, now. Blondie is gutted, of course – she is very fond of both these senior citizens.

The friend that Blondie was going to go into business with – to found a little art enterprise which would eventually support both of them – that one fell by the wayside, although we both rather saw it coming. The friend loves drama, having that traditional artistic temperament. We thought that she could at least focus on business matters sufficiently to be able to avoid inflicting the drama on Blondie … but nope. All is not lost, though – Blondie is going to forge ahead with the origami art, and set up a website of her own, and go through all the hoops and requirements of getting the sales license, and setting up a boutique business of her own.

And I am just fiddling with the final format of The Quivera Trail – the next book, which will roll out at New Braunfels’ Weihnachtsmarkt in November. And as soon as I am done with that, and the other Tiny Publishing Bidness projects, I will start on the next book…
And that’s my week. Yours?

08. July 2013 · Comments Off on Monday Miscellany · Categories: Geekery, Local, Media Matters Not · Tags: , ,

Yeah, I know – work, work, work … but really; I’ve been working like a dog over the last three days on the Watercress Press website. I had finally given up on updating my Celia Hayes site with Adobe Contribute – the software package I had been trained on by my late good friend and occasional employer, Dave the Computer genius. It turns out that when I upgraded to a new computer last year – a 64 bit model, from a 32-bit model, not that I know precisely what that means and I am only repeating what the current computer-expert friend tells me – it meant that basically, all the software I had for the old computer was incompatible. Thus, I bought new; a legit copy of the stuff I needed, Photoshop, MS-Word, Adobe Acrobat (an older version but still compatible and very useful.) Through the good offices of Amazon Vine I also have Quicken – but alas, the costs for a whole new Contribute package were quite out of the question. Even an upgrade to the package I did have wasn’t doable. The current computer-expert friend, as well as a couple of other people whose word I know to be solid, have said that WordPress can do everything that Contribute can … and doesn’t cost a dime. Well, the top-end templates do cost and considerably more than a dime … but there are enough free WordPress templates around for perfectly attractive and functional blogs … like this one, and enough available plugins to do just about anything you can imagine, given a degree of familiarity and a certain sense of adventurous experimentation.

So, a good few weeks ago I consulted with the very knowledgeable local host (who was also a friend of Daves’s) copied everything valuable from the original Celia Hayes website at the domain that own, downloaded all the archives from the free WordPress blog – and reconstituted it all under one internet roof, such as it is. Such a relief – now I could update and edit my own darned website! Without driving across town! Add the Paypal buttons for direct sales, and simplify, simplify, simplify. There comes a point when a website is so overgrown and encrusted with old material and pages, hastily bolted on any which way and sprouting off at odd angles, and half the links are corrupted … that it easier to just start again from zero. So that’s what I did with my own site. And so – here we go for Watercress; three days and counting. Sigh. There was stuff happening over the weekend? I hardly noticed, laboring as I was over a hot computer.

As for news and all – it seems as if the ghastly Westboro free-standing church o’morons is threatening to show up at the funerals of the members of the Arizona Granite Mountain Hot-Shots. Well, that’s their thing – provoking outrage in the locals by showing up at funerals with their nasty signs and hoping that someone will beat the c**p out of them so they can bring a profitable suit for having their civil rights violated. It’s their system – it’s how they endure. The adult members of this whole revolting clan are lawyers; this is well-known and their patriarch is or was a Dem in good standing and former civil right worker. So members of this revolting clan are going to trek off to Arizona … long drive, you revolting perv-obsessed indy-called-Baptists. Plan on stopping for gas anywhere? Spending the night someplace? Ooooh, I thought so. It’s very likely that the locals will think of a way to … inconvenience you … without opening themselves to a lawsuit from your disgusting organization. I wait with breathless anticipation to see what form it will take. Yes, I am charitable, that way.

So many targets this week – so little spleen to vent in their direction …

08. May 2013 · Comments Off on Tah-Dahhh! · Categories: Ain't That America?, General, Literary Good Stuff, Local

Air Force Daze - CoverSorry for the light posting here, with all the interesting stuff going on in the world; the Benghazi matter finally breaking into full daylight, Israel squaring up to Syria, the Beantown Blaster Brothers shoved off the front page of mainstream media by the escape of three young women kidnapped and held for ten years by three pervy brothers … I’m spoiled for choice of news developments to vent on, actually.

The thing is that I’ve got some projects for the Tiny Publishing Bidness going on, my business partner was briefly hospitalized for surgery last week, and I am coming down the home stretch on the next book – The Quivera Trail. But I took time to trawl through the archives and come up with a collection of rants, memos and reminiscences about my time in the military. It just went live on Kindle, and will be up on Nook in a day or so. Air Force Daze – check it out.

30. April 2013 · Comments Off on The Way We Do Business Today · Categories: Ain't That America?, Domestic, Local, Working In A Salt Mine... · Tags:

me and Jeanne at graduation-001With the employment prospects being what it is these days, I have read repeatedly in the last couple of years that really enterprising individuals are tempted to turn indy and go free-lance. They look to establish a small enterprise, vending whatever talents and skills they possess as a so-called ‘independent contractor’ to the public at large, and earn a living thereby, rather than scrounge and maneuver and hope for a paying job on the bottom rung of the corporate and/or government establishment. Pardon the sarcasm – it seems that certain large and well-connected established corporations these days are almost indistinguishable from the government, at least to judge from the rapidity which which the well-connected move back and forth.

Oh, but enough about national policy – this all next is personal. My daughter and her best friend from high school have come to that point, of seriously pursuing independence in their own business. Edith – the best friend – is qualified as a nurse, and has two children and a husband who works at a blue-collar job. She lives for art – passionately, as she is a skilled painter with a small local following. Yes, it sounds improvident to give up on a sure-thing … but I can sympathize deeply. I also came to that point where I just couldn’t do a normal job any more. I had to go and do what I loved as a freelance writer and partner in the Tiny Publishing Bidness.

My daughter Blondie, the two-hitch Marine, currently works three different part-time jobs, having gotten the sense that until the higher-education bubble bursts, there is no use pouring any more of her G.I. benefits down a rat-hole. So, she was agreeable to Edith’s proposal that they form a business partnership. Blondie also has some artistic talents – although not a painter. She dabbles in beading and origami, and devises rather clever paper jewelry and hair ornaments. Blondie has a sense of organization, through having been an office manager – and through me and the Tiny Publishing Bidness, an idea of how a small business needs to be nurtured and run … especially when it comes to things like … oh, sales taxes, keeping track of expenses, customer care, buying a domain name and publicity. All of these things, Edith had never really considered before; she’s the dreamer, Blondie is the level-headed organizer.

Edith’s father is going to contribute a certain amount of money next year, to be used specifically for necessary art supplies for this business; myself, I can contribute nothing beyond advice and skill with words, a camera and advice. They are starting slowly and carefully; tables at local art shows this summer, a website, plans to sell small prints of Edith’s paintings, of appearing in art shows and galleries. Blondie and Edith both have a very good idea of who they are appealing to with their paintings and paper art. There is a thriving art scene in San Antonio, concentrated mostly in a funky but slowly gentrifying area called Southtown. Ideally, Edith and Blondie would eventually like to have a retail establishment and gallery, either in the heart of Southtown or on the fringes, one which incorporates living quarters over the gallery for Edith’s family. Eventually, Blondie would like to sell the occasional bit of vintage furniture, glass and decorative elements through this outlet. She does have the eye for good-quality vintage stuff, and after going to a couple of estate auctions, knows exactly how little such items go for at auction – and then how much when they appear in a retail antique outlet. We would also like this future venue to offer book-signing events for local authors, many of whom do not feel well-served any more by the one independent local bookstore. But that’s a dream far in the future.

As for now, we are nurturing the seedling of the business – which, incidentally, is being called Pastel Junque. I’ll keep posting updates.

(Cross-posted at Chicago-Boyz.net)

25. April 2013 · Comments Off on Another Day, Another Dirty Shirt · Categories: Ain't That America?, Fun With Islam, Local, Media Matters Not, Politics, sarcasm · Tags: , , ,

It seems, from the link posted on Da Blogfaddah, that our very own President Kardashian will be gracing the great state of Texas with his presence for a brief and flying visit … which to no one’s surprise (at least in my household) – includes an appearance at a fund raising event. Holy jumping Jesus, does this political leech’s every move outside the White House involve a fund-raising event? Guess so, although Blondie’s cynical guess involved the presence of a hitherto-unknown prime golf course in the vicinity of Dallas or Waco.

He is, according to the news reports, intending to visit with and console the bereaved of West-comma-Texas, a tiny mid-state town of which I am certain that he and most everyone else who never traveled the IH-35 between San Antonio and Fort Worth, had never heard … until the local fertilizer plant blew up during a fire last week. Which explosion killed one-third of the local volunteer firefighters, and demolished a good portion of the town, since it went up violently enough to register on the Richter Scale. Honestly, reading the brief obituaries of the identified, I wonder exactly how his visit will console any of the next-of-kin. Firefighter volunteers, members of local fraternal organizations, small business owners, people who liked to hunt, rodeo riders, NASCAR fans, devoted to family, church, and the community of their little town. What a rootless, drifting cosmopolitan like the current POTUS has in common with them, besides being red-blooded vertebrates is anyone’s guess. He might as well be teleporting in from Mars; my suspicion is that his scheduling office was shamed into adding it to the itinerary for the day.

On the other hand, this hideous tragedy occurred in the very same week that the Beantown Blaster Brothers set a couple of home-made bombs which killed and de-limbed a goodly number of people either running in or waiting at the finish-line of the Boston Marathon. And it’s a lot easier to cover that news which happens within an easy commute of New York, Los Angeles or Atlanta.

It now appears that the Beantown Blaster Brothers were motivated primarily by the ever-refreshing well of Islam in it’s most radical application. Which is ironic to almost an industrial grade, as the aforesaid brothers lived and … well, occupied themselves in the most blue of blue-state enclaves, an enclave which afforded them every indulgence and liberty, marriage, higher education, refuge and support … and yet, they repaid all that with savagery and violence. And as it turns out, it’s the Islamic version of the above, which must be terribly embarrassing to the current administration. Don’tcha know, Islam is all about peace, and tolerance and the cries of the imam calling all to prayer being the sweetest sound, and you’re the most awful bigot if you say otherwise.

And I am just cynical enough, after the events of last week, if President Kardashian would rather that the public memory of developments in Boston just go down the ol’ memory hole as far as the mainstream media and low-information voters are concerned? Hence the flying visit to Texas … which visit incorporates an appearance at the dedication of the Bush II library, which (again and cynically) moves me to wonder how heroic an effort will it take for Bush II to be polite to him in private.

I am fairly certain that Bush II, and the residents of West-comma-Texas will be polite. Perhaps frigidly so … but always polite. This is how we roll.

16. April 2013 · Comments Off on Rebuilding the Collection · Categories: Geekery, History, Local, Memoir · Tags: , ,

What I Got at the PTA Book Sale

When the house that my parents had built for their retirement retreat burned in a catastrophic brushfire in 2003, they had only about half-an-hour warning, and so there were a good many things they simply did not have time to pack into the car, or even to remember certain items that would have been easy enough – if they had thought of them in that half-hour. One of those items was my mothers’ nearly-complete collection of the run of American Heritage Magazine. She had all but the first two or three years of issue, back when the enterprise was under the supervision of Civil War historian Bruce Catton – Mom had a complete collection of his books, also – as well as the full run of their companion publication, Horizon. I grew up reading American Heritage – of course, I delved into them as soon as I could read, and possibly even before then, as the articles within were all beautifully illustration with contemporary paintings, portrait photographs, lithographs and modern photographs of the relevant relics. Even if I couldn’t grasp the meaning of the bigger words, much less pronounce any of them, I was still intrigued.

Until the late 1970s, the regular issues all had a uniform look; a pale ivory-white cover, matte finish, with an illustration on the front cover to do with the main article and a smaller one, sometimes as a kind of humorous coda on the back cover. The ivory-white yellowed over time, and given heavy reading, the spine usually began to peel away from the rest. In the late 1970s, they flirted with dropping the standard ivory-white cover – now the cover picture spread beyond the formerly conscribed margins and wrapped around the spine. That lasted a year or so, and then it was an edge-to-edge illustration with a black, or sometimes a dark brown spine – the last gasp before it went to paperback, accepted advertising, and looked like just about everything else on the newsstand. The big articles of note seemed to concentrate on the 20th century, which became rather tiresome for Mom, and she had dropped the subscription entirely around the time the house burned, with all the back issues.

But I have begun to reconstruct Mom’s collection, especially my favorites – the issues from the late 1950s, up to when they abandoned the ivory-white covers and went to worshipping strange designer gods. Once a year, my daughter and I head for the massive PTA book sale which is held in a regional school sports and recreational facility; the entire floor of the basketball arena is covered with tables piled with donated books. I head for the Texiana, mostly – and then to the general history; most shoppers head for the novels, kid’s books and YA, so I usually don’t have to get there early and elbow my way to the good stuff. Last year I found about a dozen issues of the old American Heritage, and snapped them up – the wonderful thing about the sale is that the PTA prices to sell; a flat $1 for a hardbound book (even lavish coffee-table books) and 50¢ for a paperback. This year, I found another twenty-five or so, and it’s a darned good thing that I added three shelves to the wall next to my desk; for the printer, and the paper supplies – and now one of them filled with American Heritages. Next year, I’ll have to make up a list of the issues that I have, so as to avoid duplication. But every issue is an old friend; and many of the articles are as sublime as when I first read them.

31. March 2013 · Comments Off on Fun and Games with the Norks · Categories: Cry Wolf, Fun and Games, Literary Good Stuff, Local, Military, sarcasm, War

Ok, so it looks like North Korea, in the person of Li’l Pudgy Kim has upped their game in the routine and semi-annual national unity game of chicken. (The Norks do this every six months, usually when they want to squeeze some concessions out of the outside world. It’s like an overgrown toddler throwing an international temper tantrum.). Likely, all of his generals (or uncles, even the generals who are not his uncles) have to go along and make the usual noises and poses for the cameras, in spite of the fact that for all their resplendent ribbon-salad displays – they have not fought an all-out, balls-to-the wall war since 1954. Which war was nearly sixty years and three wars ago, as Americans are counting it, which means that their equipment must be getting pretty worn-out as well as their tactical schemes and field practice for using them – outside the boundaries of a pretty tightly-controlled war game which will allow no margin for making the Kim dynasty’s pet soldiers look bad in any way, shape or form.

So, while they might have been able to buy some new stuff on the international black market – which hints that those drug sales by their diplomatic staff must really be paying off, big-time, and they might actually be able to hit what they might be aiming at, on a good day, depending on what they have purchased, and if their vendors didn’t rob them blind, and if the Chinese actually gave them some of the good stuff … still, I remain unworried. Relatively, it must be noted. Alas, while I do believe they can hit Seoul on a good day with their artillery, and kidnap lonely strangers off the beachfront towns in Japan in the wee hours, and possibly come close to hitting Japan with something high-explosive … whacking the continental United States with a ballistic missile is a bit of a chancy prospect. Even trying to smuggle something past the borders in a box-car would probably be a better shot.

But Li’l Pudgy may be just the one maniac to walk it far, far beyond where it can be gracefully walked back. Although this current administration likely will give him every assistance in doing so, being as they seem to be ready to give away the farm every time some international bad-ass gives them a hard look. Still, I’d love to know why the Norks are appearing to target Austin, Texas, as part of their threats to launch missiles in the general direction of the continental United States. Really – Austin? That little patch of blue in an otherwise red state? Holy crapola, Batman, the Leg may be in session this year, but on an Easter break. Was Li’l Pudgy mad at Samsung, or not getting an invite to SXSW this year, or is he just assuming that Austin is the storage site for our vital strategic barbeque reserves. It is good to see that apparently the local humorists are having fun with all this. (See this category on Twitchy.)

And that’s my weekend; half spent in the vegetable garden, seeing how many new varieties of tomato plants that I can sneak in without my daughter noticing, and the other half scribbling and posting on line.

PS- I just put up a new Kindle book of my blog-posts about Texas – The Heart of Texas. Think of it as a set of extended footnotes from my books; The Adelsverein Trilogy, Daughter of Texas, Deep in the Heart, and the latest – The Quivera Trail, which should be ready to roll in November. Assuming that the Norks aren’t really aiming for San Antonio, and this Austin stuff wasn’t a diversion.

11. March 2013 · Comments Off on Dream Home · Categories: Ain't That America?, Local, Memoir, Veteran's Affairs

Period log and stone farmhouse at Becker Vinyards

Period log and stone farmhouse at Becker Vinyards

Old Officer Quarters - Ft. Martin Scott

Now and again, I dream of what I would like for my very own bespoke retirement property … only that it wouldn’t be retirement, actually; I’ll be working until the day that the medical examiner’s van carts me away. Being retired just means that you do the work you want to do, not the work you have to do … but I would like to have a place done up to my own specifications. To start with – the land itself; an acre would do, maybe an acre and a half. I’d like a slightly rolling property, oriented towards the west to catch the sunset.. I’d like the land to be scattered with a few oak trees – craggy, with gnarled branches, but I’m not particular about what kind. Just oaks; post oaks, live oaks, red oaks, all for the shade, and to hang a wooden swing from a thick branch that parallels the ground. I don’t need a spectacular view, but I would like it to be mostly of countryside: perhaps a glimpse of a distant creek or river.

Victorian Greenhouse
I’d want a good-sized vegetable and herb garden; expanded from what I have now. Raised beds would be ideal; filled with good soil and the proper nutrients. A good-sized kitchen garden would have to be surrounded with a stout wire fence. It is exasperating to have a good crop of tomatoes or squash coming in, only to discover that hungry rodents and deer – those enormous rats with hooves and antlers – have helped themselves. I’d have a good variety of kitchen herbs hanging from baskets. Herbs seem to do incredibly well in coconut-fiber lined baskets; this year I have one with a thyme plant spilling over the side and hanging halfway to the ground. Perhaps my garden and dream-house plan would include an arbor of unpeeled cedar poles, from which to hang the baskets of herbs. I’d have to have a place to shelter tender plants during those cold winter snaps when it gets down to or below freezing. Plants that scrape through a cold snap in San Antonio would not do as well during the winter in the Hills … so I likely I would need a permanent small greenhouse.View - Rooster Springs

In addition to the existing trees, I would also plant more; at least a couple of almond verbenas, which start as shrubs and with any encouragement at all turn into medium-sized ornamentals. They aren’t much to look at, but the clusters of tiny flowers have the most amazing sweet almond smell. I’d also have some redbud trees for the look, and a couple of bearing fruit trees. My choice would fall on peaches, plums, and a good pecan tree. The trees would bridge the gap between the practical vegetable garden, and my dream ornamental garden; heavily tilted towards native and native-adapted plants which look after themselves. There would be roses, though – the hardy varieties which would be picked out more for their scent than their appearance. There would also be shrubs to attract birds, butterflies and bees, and a tangle of jasmine somewhere, which would bring their scent in through the windows on those spring days before the summer heat sets in.

And that leads to the house; and that is where I go off, into the the non-standard. I wouldn’t want a single big house, but an eccentric collection of cottages, set in the landscape described. I would like a little house for myself, and two or three others, one for my daughter, and another one or two which would serve as guest quarters when I had company, just enough set apart that we all would have privacy. I’d love to have a well, with one of those old windmill pumps, to bring the water to an above-ground concrete or wooden cistern on legs … just as I have seen on some old properties around the Hill Country.
As for the little houses on the property … I would prefer Craftsman-style bungalows or small Texas farmhouses, maybe even a one or two of them might be repurposed log cabins. The cabins would be the kind with a main room and a loft bedroom over, a kitchen lean-to on the back and a deep porch across the front. One or two of those would suit just fine, but even just a couple of those kit houses from Home Depot would work well, assuming that I could adorn them with vintage architectural surplus.

The final element would be a separate entertainment kitchen – just one large room set up to do brewing and cheese-making, an industrial-sized stove and a deep sink, and outside of it, another deep porch with a barbeque grill and enough space to throw a good party. I’d have an area nearby this all paved in brick or stone; and where the main garden ornament would be. That would be a fountain; a good-sized tall stone one, rather like the ones that adorn the private courtyards in the old houses I used to see in Spain, with a wide enough ledge to sit on surrounding the lower pool. And when I had a party, the guests could enjoy the sound of trickling water, the scent of almond verbena, and look at the late afternoon sun setting in the distance. I love what I have seen in the Sisterdale area; the hills, the creeks, the view to the west, with rolling hills. Ah – I might dream. It is my profession, of sorts; that dreaming thing.

(Crossposted at my book blog)

12. February 2013 · Comments Off on A Bleg to Benefit My Little Doggie · Categories: Critters, Literary Good Stuff, Local, Old West

Connor, the middle-aged Malti-poo is at the veterinarians office today, to sort out why he has been throwing up for the last day and a half, has no appetite and is terribly lethargic. The bill for his treatment will be an unexpected expense for me … so anyone going to my book blog and purchasing copies of To Truckee’s Trail, Daughter of Texas, Deep in the Heart, or the Adelsverein Trilogy in the separate volumes will help me to square matters with the vet, and put Connor back where he belongs, sleeping peacefully under my desk.

I’m still fighting the remnants of the Cold From Hell (possibly complicated by an allergy to blowing cedar pollen which hits a lot of people around here) but at least I am starting to feel a little more in the Christmas spirit. Not much more, but at least I am enjoying the Christmas music on the radio, and just last Monday I was inspired to go ahead and sort out the last of the Christmas presents that I wanted to give to some people I am fond of. So, all that is sorted. Our Christmas dinner is sorted also. Blondie will be out doing deliveries for Edible Arrangements until the last minute, so practically everything to do with Christmas was done in the last day or so.

Which leaves me looking out at next year, and considering what I will do, and what I can do, as the fiscal cliff approaches; no matter how you slice it, 2013 is going to be a bumpy ride. So, in no particular order of importance, I am resolved to – More »

12. December 2012 · Comments Off on See the Violence Inherent in the System! · Categories: Ain't That America?, Local, Media Matters Not, Tea Time · Tags: , , ,

So it is not like violence by union members in Michigan against pro-right-to-work activists came as any big surprise to me … or should have to any other sentient being. I mean, this comes after a couple of years of incidents involving members of the SEIU – better known as the Purple People Beaters – and Tea Party protesters going at it. Not that our gutless establishment press organs ever seemed to take notice … or as little notice as they can and still retain a few lingering shreds of credibility, while they remain prostrate and adoring the mighty figure of Ozymandius … sorry, Obama. And in pop-culture circles, historically unions seem to enjoy at least a token respect, for which I hold Hollywood responsible. Why the entertainment industry adores unions, as they are full of plucky, honest blue-collar laboring types, and if it weren’t for unions, why we would be working seven days a week, up to our knees in toxic sludge, owing our soul to the company store, and breaking rocks in the hot sun … oops, sorry, flashback there to about a million Phil Ochs pseudo-folk songs.

This sentimental fondness persists to this day, even though it would appear that most people in the here and how who have had any personal encounters with any sort of union, either public employee or the private sector do not seem to have been left with a good impression generally, either as a consumer, a customer, a worker, manager or business owner. I’d venture to guess that most of the public also do not have a terribly good opinion of the senior management cadre of unions like … say, the Teamsters. Theoretical good will towards the historical struggle for the rights of working men and women is balanced against a present-day monstrous, self-serving, and possibly criminal – or criminally incompetent reality.

Anyway – the kerfuffle in Michigan will resolve itself one way or the other. My own personal hope is for criminal prosecution, or a civil suit, but in this current atmosphere, I am not holding my breath. No, what concerns me about this is something a little deeper … the willingness to do violence against the ‘other’ and a perfect willingness to do it in public, before cameras, and apparently in the assurance that there will be no repercussions … ever. Shades of the brown shirts and black shirts of the twenties and thirties in Italy and Germany, energetically going after political opponents and even relatively uninvolved citizens … because it is perfectly OK to bash opponents over the head and beat them bloody. Why … oh, just because they deserve it, because they don’t agree enthusiastically with the prevailing and carefully-cultivated orthodoxy. And because they disagree, and because they have been effectively ‘othered’ or ‘monstered’ it is thus perfectly OK, even laudable to beat them up, shout them down at public speaking venues, harass their families, sneer at them on television, flame them on the internet, libel them in publications and movies, ‘swat’ them, and trash whatever area they might be using for a meeting place or headquarters, vandalize their motor vehicles and other property … all that and more is legitimate and acceptable.

I have noted this going on increasingly since 2004, and picking up steam in 2008, although certain elements have been in play for longer than that. I watched it happen close up when posting at Open Salon over the time that I was blogging there, although I tried to avoid the more fetid depths of political nutbaggery on offer. I had the disconcerting experience of being active in a local Tea Party from the earliest days of that movement, and then observing how easily and efficiently – and without any basis in fact at all – that the meme of Tea Partiers as racist-stupid-red-necked-reactionaries was perpetuated in the general public by a consortium of the mainstream press, on TV and among the commentariat. Now that vicious meme is embedded in a good segment of the public like an impacted wisdom tooth – even among people whom I would have thought might know better. It was frustrating and frightening to me, how thoroughly it took hold among the OSers and in the general public who had never, ever actually gone to a Tea Party meeting or rally – and just about all of it without a single element being true. Now and again I did try to point out the dangers of reducing people with whom one had political differences to a caricature and then metaphorically burning the caricature at a stake. That way leads eventually to burning real people at a stake, or consigning them to reeducation camps. I don’t know that I had any success in making this plain with any but the most thoughtful and philosophically-inclined.

And very likely it is too late to make this clear to those who are already ready, willing and eager to work out their frustrations by beating up on the ‘other’ – as has been demonstrated in Michigan this week.

(Cross-posted at Chicagoboyz)

11. December 2012 · Comments Off on A Touch of Murder in Suburbia · Categories: Local, Working In A Salt Mine...

Our neighborhood – the street that we live on – was in the news last week because of a double murder. We didn’t know the victims personally, although we might have seen them now and again. We knew the house, as we walked by it frequently – like nearly every day. We definitely had talked casually to some of their close neighbors; this is the kind of neighborhood and street we live on. People know each other – and their dogs – by sight, wave to each other’s cars, take note of the condition of the yards … that kind of casual suburban thing.
The house where the murders happened is on one of the main cross-streets in the suburb where we live, about three blocks uphill from our house. Last Wednesday evening, as I was starting to put dinner together, we heard a siren in the street just outside, a siren which cut off very abruptly. Blondie cares for an elderly and disabled neighbor who lives a little way up the road, and our first thought was for her, as she has had to have the ambulance come for her a couple of times. So Blondie ran outside, to see what was going on – sirens in the neighborhood are rare enough that running outside to see what is going on is a perfectly understandable reaction. She did not return immediately, and after a few minutes, I went outside as well – to find a good many of my neighbors standing in their driveways, looking up the street. It was just getting dark, and there looked to be a perfect convention of police cars clustered in the road at the top of the hill, and more screaming past at every moment.
“There’s been a shooting,” my next-door neighbor reported. “And the man who did it ran down the street. He went right past … D____ (the next neighbor over) was just leaving for work in his truck, and he tried to get D_____ to give him a ride! He went that way!”

Another close neighbor had been running out her trash can when the shooter ran by – when a police car screeched around the corner, practically on two wheels, she flagged the patrol car down and gasped out a description, which turned out to be mostly although not completely accurate. It seemed that the shooter was on the loose and still in the neighborhood – all this as people were coming home from work. More lights and sirens, baffled neighbors just returning home, pulling over to ask us what was going on, as police cars burned rubber going around corners. The road was blocked – and the police were only letting residents in. A teenage girl came down the hill walking home from the high school, exclaiming about the shooting; Blondie told her to wait – she would get her own car and drive the girl home. When she got back, she went to check on another neighbor, diagonally across the street. Meanwhile, helicopters rotated overhead – flashing red and green and white lights. The smallest and speediest was a police helicopter; the others, said our next-door neighbor, were from the television stations. It was already on the news, that there had been a shooting; at first it was that some kind of Fatal Attraction thing; a jealous boyfriend had killed his girls’ father. Then it seemed there were two victims, and it wasn’t a jealousy thing at all.

Another van went past – the medical examiner, or maybe the evidence lab. Our immediate neighbors were all accounted for, and all right. We were not much worried about the prospect of a single armed man on foot – not with what seemed like every patrol car on day-watch screaming up and down the street, and anyway, if you did a shake-out of every house in the neighborhood, you’d likely find enough small and medium arms to fit out a small European country’s military. Our neighbor laughed, at that – and told us what she had sorted out from her mother-in-law’s personal armory, including a machete tucked between the mattress and box-spring of the master-bedroom bedstead.
It eventually calmed down after about forty minutes – the news helicopters vanished, and there weren’t as many police cars, although there were still flashing lights at the top of the hill. The shooter was reported to have been captured after a brief struggle in a nearby strip-mall; the parking lot of the HEB grocery store which we frequent, about a mile away. It turns out that he was a disgruntled former employee, and not a particularly upright citizen – more here, from local news. The two people murdered were a husband and wife. They had only lived here for about a year, and apparently were very well thought-of by people they had done business with. Their 20-year old daughter jumped from an upper floor bedroom window to escape, while a business associate who was at the house tackled the shooter and managed to get the gun away from him. That’s when the shooter went hare-footing though the neighborhood, having also lost his car keys in the struggle. I don’t think there is anyone at the house now, although there were a couple of news reporters around doing follow-up stories the next day.
We told them – this is not a neighborhood where this kind of thing happens routinely and without comment. It was a kind of horrible random-chance, which could have happened in any neighborhood.

04. December 2012 · Comments Off on Becoming at One With Texas · Categories: Fun and Games, General Nonsense, Local, Old West · Tags: , , , ,

It was a gradual process … the place grows on you, even back before it became clear that it was one of the states – out of these occasionally United States – which has a good chance of emerging comparatively unscathed from impending economic disaster. I don’t know why Texas should be so fortunate among states and nations, but perhaps it is because of a part-time Legislature. Yes, this might tend to discourage professional busy-bodies from taking up a full-time career dictating the teensiest minutia of every scrap of our lives, from the number of flushes our toilets need to the wattage of the light-bulb in our porch light and the knotty question of whether a puddle in the back forty qualifies as a seasonal body of water. The Texas Lege can only assemble every two years for a set period of time to consider these and other weighty matters, and so must find other and more remunerative means of earning a living and staying out of their constituents hair. There was an adage to the effect that work expands to fill the time you have available for it – very likely it works the same way for legislative bodies. Perhaps limiting the time available to them forces legislators to prioritize and focus their potential mischief on only the most necessary tasks. Still, what a thought, that Texas might be the last best place to survive the impending economic and political meltdown – who would have thought, eh?

So, Texas took us over, bit by bit – although it wasn’t without a struggle, especially when enduring the ghastly heat of summer, which occasionally felt as if it were lasting all year. Or when there was a highway alert because … er, there were stray cows on the roadway … Or when I could not get just-introduced men in a social setting to not straightaway start addressing me as ‘darlin’’. There were charms, insidious ones – the Hill Country, and sweeps of wildflowers in spring, breakfast tacos (the breakfast food of the gods, I swear), the many splendors of the HEB grocery chain, real Texas BBQ … oh, the list goes on and on. I suppose the first sign that assimilation had begun was when my father began to say that Blondie and I sounded a little more Southern in our speech – there was, he swore, a faint interrogatory lift in tone at the end of certain sentences, which had not been there previously. Blondie began to like country-western music, I began to giggle at Robert Earl Keen’s “Merry Christmas from the Family” … and upon finally retiring from the military I had to get a Texas driver’s license. And then I began to write historical fiction … and well, it was all over, then. Assimilation was complete, or nearly so.

I do like to dress up in a slightly western-fashion when I do a book event now; a long skirt, western-style shirt and vest – and I have let my hair grow long again, so that I can do it up in a roll with a curved Spanish comb in it – and I have been looking around for a pair of Western boots to complete the look. I’ve substituted a pair of high-laced old-fashioned ladies’ boots for now – but a pair of cowboy boots would really complete the look. But not just any boots – being thrifty but with high standards means that I’d like I. Magnin style at a Walmart price, so we’ve been checking out the various thrift and resale stores for a pair of good and broken-in (yet not broken down!) boots. We almost thought we’d found them at a little boutique in Boerne last week, but I couldn’t get one pair on, and the other was too big … for me, but not for Blondie. So, she has herself a pair of Tony Lama’s now, and for me, it is just a matter of time.

Assimilation complete. I got here to Texas as fast as I could.

21. November 2012 · Comments Off on Weihnachtmarkt in New Braunfels · Categories: Ain't That America?, History, Literary Good Stuff, Local, Working In A Salt Mine..., World

All the other authors and publishers whom I talked to over the three days of the Christmas Market agreed – as an author, and none of us being of the NY Times best-seller class – it is profitable and much less dispiriting to do an event like a Christmas craft fair in company with a bunch of other authors. Much less foully dispiriting than doing a single-author event at a book-store, which is usually total ego-death-onna-stick. First and most importantly of all – customers with money and the intention of spending it are plentiful at a craft fair or a similar community market event, especially in the holiday gift-giving season. Trust me; many of them can see books as the perfect gift, and they are inclined to buy. Secondly – it’s a venue where one is in completion with vendors of a wide variety of consumer items – not every other published author on the shelves. And thirdly – in the slack times, there are other authors to talk to.

Seriously, nothing quite beats the tedium of sitting alone at the Dreaded Author Table in a not-very-well-frequented bookstore, and watching the occasional customer slink into the store trying to avoid your eye. Or worse still, at a large and popular chain bookstore, observing them heading into the computer games or DVD movie section. Which is the trouble with the Hastings chain, as I experienced and other authors concur; the staff are wonderfully helpful, great about ordering and stocking the books, but alas, the client base usually is there for the games, the music and the movies, eschewing the printed word generally. Not even libraries are proof against this; another author told me of participating at a local author event staged at a big public library. He and the other hopeful authors watched as a large crowd assembled out side the library, every one of them anticipating that they would have a wonderful and author-life-affirming event … only to see that every one of those in line headed straight for the library computers.

Yes, the Author’s Life (especially as a not-very-well-known indy author) is full of little kicks to the ego as this – but an event that sells out half the stock of books that one arrived with, is indoors, well-publicized in advance, and mostly-well-attended (although Sunday afternoon slacked off considerably) and having the organizers being quite generous and helpful – this is one well worth recollecting with fondness and returning to again. The good volunteers for the Weihnachtsmarkt even had a vendor’s lounge, stocked with coffee and ice water and all sorts of home-made pastries and baked delights. New Braunfels is Little Germany – they DO that kind of thing here! The whole event is to benefit the local historical museum, the Sophienburg – and it did draw a good crowd. My daughter was afraid that I had pretty well tapped out the market for the Trilogy in New Braunfels; not so, as there were a fair number of fans who came and bought the follow-up books (Daughter of Texas and Deep in the Heart), or asked impatiently about the next book, and even two who bought the German translation as a gift for friends and family who would appreciate a German translation of the first of the Trilogy. In between all these high points though – I spent time studying the interior architecture of the New Braunfels Civic Center, briefly wandering down the hallway to other author tables and the occasional quick foray into the main sales floors. The shops set up in the main ballroom and the annex all featured a great many lovely things that I just cannot quite yet afford.

Ah, well – someday.

18. November 2012 · Comments Off on A Note for My Dedicated Commenters… · Categories: Local, Rant

I just came back from a long stint at the dreaded Author Table at New Braunfels’ Weihnachtsmarkt, and found a full 61 pages of spam-comments … over 1,200 accumulated in the last 24 hours or so. I am sorry, if you posted a legit comment on anything I have posted in the last couple of days, and it went to the spam-queue, I just deleted the whole lot, without even an attempt at scanning them for legit comments. I am tired, and the spam-generators seem to work overtime on weekends.

If either of you had a genuine comment in the last day or so, which has never appeared … this is why. My deep apologies – and go ahead and repost. I’ll screen the comment-queue properly in the morning.

Really, I am beginning to hate, with an unholy passion, Uggs boots, Laboutiene shoes, Moncler jackets, and a whole lot of other overrated and undoubtedly spurious merchandise.

07. October 2012 · Comments Off on Back Roads in the Hill Country · Categories: Ain't That America?, History, Literary Good Stuff, Local, Old West, Working In A Salt Mine...

Having reason to head up to Fredericksburg last Saturday, we decided to explore doing it by the back roads; honestly, I would rather – unless in a tearing hurry – travel across Texas by the secondary roads. (Unless it is in the dark, or in the rain, and when the deer are especially depressed and suicidal.) We decided to travel north on the old Bulverde road, and stop and take pictures of anything interesting – and of course, one of the first things we pulled over to stop for was a very charming vista of a turn-of-the-last century cottage painted yellow with aqua-blue trim, surrounded by oak trees, a mown field of grass, and backed with a couple of stone buildings. The nearest stone building still had a roof – the farthest didn’t. I took some pictures from the roadside, and then my daughter noticed that there was a driveway, and a sign; obviously the place was some kind of enterprise more or less open to the public. We’re the public … so we pulled in. From the circular parking lot we could see the screened porch on the back of the cottage, and a round table and four chairs under the huge ancient oak tree at the back – and in a moment the owner came out to join us. Essentially, we had a tour of the old buildings; it’s what remains of the old Pieper farmstead, which was established round and about 1850. (It’s now an event venue, and the cottage is a bed and breakfast.)
More »

14. August 2012 · Comments Off on Comfort and More · Categories: Domestic, History, Local, Old West, Working In A Salt Mine...

We were in Comfort this last Saturday … no, that doesn’t mean we were comfortable, exactly – just that we were in Comfort, Texas – a nice little town about an hour’s drive north from San Antonio, a lovely little Hill Country town situated where the Guadalupe River is crossed by the IH-10. In the larger world, Comfort is known for being the final burial place of a number of German Unionists, who either died in a vicious fire-fight on the Nueces River in August of 1862 or were murdered shortly afterwards. I was there because … well, this is the community in which a number of my books are set, and the ‘middle’ book of the Trilogy covers this tragic period. So, when another writer and enthusiastic local historian told me at the Meusebach Birthday celebration that I really ought to get in with this one … and we swapped copies of our books … well, I really must do things like this, meet people, talk to fans, and sell some books. It’s not a chore to actually be there and do that, but setting it up is sometimes a bit of a job and full marks to Blondie for taking the bull by the horns.

The plan was that a number of other local authors, some of whom had books about the Germans in the Hill Country, the Civil War in the west, or about the Nueces Fight and the subsequent execution of a number of Hill Country Unionists would have table space to sell their books at a picnic luncheon in the Comfort City park which would follow the commemoration ceremony and wreath-laying at the monument. After the the luncheon, there would be a symposium in the parish hall of the Lutheran Church … and we could set up again to vend books, through the good offices of the Comfort Historical Association … for a simple donation of 20% of total sales to them when all was done for the day. We headed up to Comfort, located the park without much problem, and set up on our portion of table, which was just large enough and under the shade of the park pavilion.
More »

09. August 2012 · Comments Off on In the Post · Categories: Ain't That America?, Domestic, Local, Veteran's Affairs · Tags: ,

I’ve been thinking for a while – based on my own use of the service – that the good old US Post Office is something well past its best-if-used-by date. Oh, no – not that it should be done away with as a government service entirely. But I can contemplate delivery of the mail only two or three times a week with perfect equanimity … which is at least a little tragic for there were times when the daily arrival of the mail was a much-looked-forward-to thing. When I was overseas, or in a remote location – like Greenland (and in military outposts today I am certain) the arrival of the mail (three times a week) was anticipated with keen interest, since it was our lifeline to the outside world. There were letters from family, loved ones, magazines, catalogues and packages with goodies in them – sometimes gifts, sometimes items ordered … the whole world, crammed into a tiny box with a locking door in the central post office; the magical envelopes, the catalogues and magazines in a tight-packed roll, the little pink slips that meant a package … and then, between one or two decades, it all changed.

Now, the packages come mostly through UPS or Fed-Ex. The various utility bills arrive as emails and are paid on-line. My pension and my daughters’ VA disability are paid by automatic deposit to bank accounts. Magazines? I dropped a lot of my various subscriptions through lack of interest (I am looking at you, Newsweek and Entertainment Weekly) or through the magazines or the publications themselves going under. My news and intellectual-contact jones is fed on-line. Email works for just about everything else save for birthday cards to Luddites like my mother. My various businesses as a freelance are conducted thru Paypal, or through email with my business partner. I realize that not everyone has this kind of luxury – and in the case of the zombie apocalypse or some sort of solar event that crashes the internet I will be SO screwed … but then I am not advocating abolition of the post office. Just that in those metropolitan areas in the continental US that are well-served by internet services and by the various rival delivery services, the Postal Service can probably dial it back, quite a bit. Nothing much comes in the daily mail any more, save the print equivalent of the stuff that I empty out of my spam email box. Really – I am never going to respond to the Capitol One offers for a credit card, so do they need to have their weekly c**p underwritten with tax dollars? My way back into the house from the group mailbox leads past my trash and recycle cans; convenient, as that is where the bulk of it winds up.

I’ll shed a nostalgic tear for the USPS, when they cut back services. I really will – as there are (or were) the occasional business that would send a payment check by mail, instead of an automatic transfer. And the businesses which depend upon cheap bulk mail deliveries will be set back a peg or two. I do dispatch my own books when bought by readers through media mail, and the workers at the post offices where I do and have done business are wonderful, competent and cheerful people (Yeah, I know that is SO much against the usual stereotype) … but otherwise I fear that the USPS is a zombie corpse, being kept alive out of habit. To enable it to keep shambling around in those places where it does truly provide a neccessary service, I’d be willing to give up delivery service on Saturdays and at least two weekdays.

I’d also be able to avoid encountering my slightly-deranged and very chatty neighbor, who haunts the group mailbox; another win-win, as I count it.

(Cross-posted at www.chicagoboyz.net, and my book blog)

25. July 2012 · Comments Off on Junker Delight · Categories: Ain't That America?, Domestic, General, Local · Tags: ,

This week in the neighborhood where I live was designated for the annual bulk-trash pickup – so residents were notified a week or more ago. Once a year we can put out on the curb … well, just about anything except concrete rubble and chunks of stone. The city sends out a couple of long open-topped trailer trucks, and a special truck with a large mechanized claw that reaches down and gathers up the bulk items.

Well, all of those who have not been picked over thoroughly by the pros … and the other neighbors, of course. This year, we were amazed at how little was left for the city crew, as the professional junkers had already descended like a swarm of locusts. Usually there are only two or three; they are easily recognizable. They are the people driving battered pick-up trucks, sometimes towing a rough flat-bed trailer of the kind usually used to haul yard-maintenance equipment – and pick-up and trailer piled tower-high with salvage. Rusted-out barbeques, metal frames of this or that, battered furniture of all kinds, upholstered chairs with gruesomely stained upholstery and stuffing and springs bursting out of the cushions, clapped out appliances and monitors, cheap furniture with the thin veneer peeling off the disintegrating pressed-board that it is made out of, and construction grade kitchen/bathroom cabinets that have been replaced by upgrades …

Yes, and if I am sounding very familiar with the contents of what is put out in front of my neighbor’s houses … it’s because I am. We inspect the bulk-trash offerings quite thoroughly ourselves, and have shamelessly selected a number of still-useful and/or salvageable items for our own use. At least half of the ornamental elements in our garden were picked out of trash-piles, including a good number of large pots, plant-hangers, plant stands, a standard to hang a banner from, shepherd’s crooks, bird-houses, the big pottery chiminea, a small ornamental bench … and those that weren’t gleaned from the bulk trash were bought at yard sales for pennies on the original price. So, I have that funky-junky shabby chic style going in the garden. It works, and it’s cheap. A good number of the plants in it were also rescued from here and there.

This year it seemed like there were a much larger number of junkers, circulating. As soon as it hit the sidewalk, within minutes – or hours at best – the battered pickup swooped in, and the item was gone. We noted that one neighbor had put out three or four clapped-out vacuum or carpet-cleaning units; they were gone by the next day. I had read somewhere or other, of a tinkerer who would scoop up items like this, repair and clean them, and sell them for a small sum on eBay, and was doing very nicely out of it, too. There are gifted amateurs, people like my Dad who could take apart an appliance and put it back together again and have it work, but there wasn’t – well, until a bit ago – too many many professional small-mech tinkerers working the retail trade any moe, not when it’s usually cheaper to throw it away and buy a new one. When I wrote about this once before, commenters waxed lyrical about items they had salvaged entire, or rehabbed for their own use; it’s all to the good, you know – it’s all being recycled, one way or another. Better to fix it up, and use it again, than let it take up space in the dump.

This year, we put out a garden chaise lounge made from lengths of two-by-four, which had weathered to the point that it was near to falling apart. We had actually picked it out of a bulk-trash pile five or six years ago, but now the legs and armrests were rotting away, the squirrels had raided the cushion (bought on sale at Lowe’s at the end of the season) and I didn’t want to take the time or effort to repair it. It was gone by the next morning. My daughter thinks another neighbor scooped it up. It will be kind of amusing to see if it continues going the rounds.

(Cross posted at my book blog, and at www.chicagoboyz.net)

10. July 2012 · Comments Off on Deep Summer in the Heart of Texas · Categories: Ain't That America?, Domestic, Local, World · Tags: , ,

Well, because of the drought and all, and in spite of the occasional productive storms blowing through, it’s not entirely bone-dry and ready to blow away on the next stiff breeze. As a matter of fact, the garden is looking quite beautifully lush, almost tropical. Of course, this may be due to about half an hour of hand-watering the pots and the hanging baskets every morning. But still – the back yard is no longer something I am embarrassed to have people see. Nothing like the desolation left in the wake of a hard and prolonged frost a year and a half ago, and the depredations of a pair of stray mutts that my daughter took pity upon, and we housed until we … umm, passed them off on a couple of likely suckers … no, make that fond and indulgent dog-lovers. As for rain – we went halfsies on a rain-gauge, and there’s been rain in it, every couple of days; how coincidental is that?

Anyway, the back yard was left pretty much as a wreck after these twin disasters, but now it is brought back, and if I can figure out a way to cram in even more raised beds to grow vegetables in, I will – for next year, at the very least. And there seem to be more and more people doing that backyard homestead thing; keeping chickens for eggs, bees for honey and all. If I had half an acre to spare, I’d consider one of those mini-cows … one of the regulars at Chicagoboyz suggested that breed, a couple of months ago, and don’t think I didn’t consider it, for when I have my eventual country retreat. My grandmother kept chickens during the Depression, and we had a hive of bees for a couple of years.

We went up to Canyon Lake for the 4th of July – rather than spend a day baking under the hot sun at the rocky edge of the lake, as we did last year. Since we took the dog, we had to go to the campground, rather than the public beach, so this year we omitted the dog and floated a bend of the river instead. Candidly, it wasn’t all that much fun, since the current wasn’t all that, and the river ran so shallow that we wound up portaging the tubes over the last third. Struggling out of the tube, schlepping through the rocky shallows, wondering what the heck is that nasty thing you are stepping on all unseen, knowing that the odds of turning an ankle on a slime-covered rock are pretty good, seeing that most everyone else is pretty well toasted – from alcohol and the sun – before they have gotten out of sight of the launch-point … not again, I don’t think. Unless we do the Comal, take some friends, a picnic lunch and remember to slather our shins with waterproof SPF-30 … I did remember to bring a hat, though. But the views of the banks, of cypress trees and of vacation houses that cost more than my entire family (including the brother-in-law who works for JPL) will make in five years or more were very nice. They went by, very slowly … and the tubers with loud, waterproof radios were … not pleasant. Mom and Dad always preferred a ‘stay-cation’ – they were doing it before it was cool, and now I see the wisdom of that.

John O. Meusebach was born exactly two hundred years ago in Dillenburg, Germany – and his birthday was celebrated in Fredericksburg last Saturday with a community picnic in the city park, with beer, BBQ, singing, dancing, gemütlichkeit and all. Who was John O. Meusebach, besides being the founder of Fredericksburg? He was the second commissioner for the Mainzer Adelsverein in Texas, the first commissioner being Prince Carl of Solms-Braunfels; a well-intentioned but hapless princeling stranded well-beyond his depth in the dangerous waters of frontier Texas in the late 1840s. John O. Meusebach was also a noble, but a mere baron – and he sensibly gave up the title and became an American citizen as soon as he arrived in Texas. He was also a lawyer and experienced civil servant, whose family motto was “Steadfast in Purpose”. He spoke five languages, including English, and had a wide circle of friends both in Texas and Germany.

His was the herculean task of sorting out the fortunes of an unfortunate venture into a Republic of Texas-era scheme to take up an entrepreneur grant and settle thousands of Germans on it. By the time he arrived in Texas, the whole project was in a shambles; and that it didn’t collapse completely was due to John Meusebach’s skill and diligence. That the network of Hill Country settlements weren’t wiped out by Comanche Indian raids almost immediately upon establishment was also his doing, for he sought out the leaders of the Southern, or Penateka Comanche, negotiated a peace treaty with them – which the Penateka lived up to, much to the surprise of practically every Texan who had ever dealt with the Comanche other than at gunpoint. Even after the Adelsverein organization floundered and went under, John Meusebach remained a strong and respected figure among the Hill Country German settlers, and served in the State legislature, where he advocated for public education. A man of worth and consequence, and held in respect by three very different communities; the Anglo Texans, the German-Texans and the Comanche.

A celebration of his birthday was well worth a trip up to Fredericksburg and a warm Saturday evening in the Pioneer pavilion in Ladybird Johnson park, listening to the band, and talking to many of the stalwart citizens that I’ve met through the writing of the Trilogy … which adventure involved reading practically every shred of material written about the early days. A local historian, Kenn Knopp invited us to come, and bring books – and although Blondie is certain that Fredericksburg was tapped out as a market for them, we wound up selling a respectable number of books: I do wish that we had more copies of Daughter of Texas and Deep in the Heart on hand, as those two are the prelude to the Trilogy, and so they would have gone like hot-cakes to everyone who had read it and wanted more, more, more.

Note to self: maybe I’d better finish the sequel about Dolph Becker and his English bride first, before tackling the adventures of Fredi Steinmetz in Gold-Rush era California. Well, Kenn has always said I should do something about the Mason County Hoo-Doo War, which was one of those horrific post-Civil-War range feuds wrapped in in a layer of mystery around nougat of enigma embedded in a riddle…eventually, so I have been told, even the participants themselves lost track of why they were fighting each other so viciously. Present-day historians are still baffled.

Anyway, Blondie and I set up the table with our books next to Kenn’s table of books, and we spent almost three hours, eating our own picnic supper between talking to friends and people fascinated by books and history. Another local author set up next to us, with his wife minding his own books; and we wound up swapping copies: James C. Kearney, who has the dignity of being published by the University of Texas Press. A fellow local historical enthusiast! A common interest and knowledge-base! He did a translation of a book by an early settler at Fredericksburg – one Friedrich Armand Strubberg, who was a bit of a con-man, actually – and another about one of the early Verein purchases; a plantation property, which turned out to be a bit of an embarrassment, all the way around. (The German nobles of the Adelsverein were abolitionists, you see.Aristocrats, giving commands to the lower orders. Likely the irony escaped them, completely.) I swapped some email addresses, talked face to face with some people who I had only email exchanges with before … including a gentleman who was related to the Townsends (from To Truckee’s Trail) and recalled visiting the mansion and gardens that Dr. John and Elizabeth Townsend’s son built in San Jose in the 1880s … alas, the house was ransacked and then condemned and torn down, and if Dr. Johns’ diary was anywhere in it, then it is long gone. Still – we hope that it will turn up someday…
Anyway, that was my long Memorial Day weekend – yours?