A Place and A Time

Anyone who has spent any quality time in Austin, Texas, must read “The Great Psychedelic Armadillo Picnic: A ‘Walk’ in Austin” by Kinky Friedman.

Talk about a nostalgic trip down memory lane!

I got to Austin in the early 70s, about the same time Willie Nelson gave up on Nashville and came home to Central Texas.

It was a great town at that time. It was what I needed at this stage of my life, seeking that oft-mentioned freedom to be, to do, to become. Austin was the epitome of tolerance, everyone doing their own thing, with none of this “I think this way so you should too.”

As Kinky notes in the introduction, one of the most stand-out aspects of Austin is all those fantastic, incredible people. From the early historical days (Mirabeau B. Lamar, Sam Houston, and Stephen F. Austin) to J. Frank Dobie and John Henry Faulk, to Liz Carpenter, Molly Ivins, Barbara Jordan and Ann Richards, to Janis Joplin, Lance Armstrong, Stevie Ray Vaughan, Willie Nelson, and, not to be forgotten, Kinky Friedman and the Texas Jewboys, one could wonder if the town made the people. Of course, it was the other way around.

This book is one in the Crown Journeys Series. I’m sure the series suffers from the fact that none of the other books were written by Kinky. His irrepressible humor and often irreverent style seems to be the quintessential flavor of Austin.

There’s the tale of the Treaty Oak. The village idiot poisoned the historic tree trying to improve his love life. The efforts to help the tree recover is classic Austin, worthy of a whole story by itself.

A treat to visit in this bustling metropolis is the Lady Bird Wildflower Center, down in the southwest corner of town (photo above). It is just one more of the multifarious delights evident in this diverse and complex city, epitomizing the unexpected and unusual. There is 6th Street music and nightlife, the sprawling University of Texas, and skyscrapers, along with the Colorado River in the guise of Town Lake, cutting through town. Perched on the cusp of the Hill Country, Austin’s terrain runs from rolling farmland to the east to rugged cliffs in the west side of town.

Austin was a place and a time in the years I lived there that will never be duplicated or seen again. In a way the change was inevitable, sort of like being a teenager, you can’t stay there forever. I fret that, with so many of those fascinating folks gone far too soon, all the newcomers pouring into town will fail to see and feel the essence of this amazing city.

Kinky’s book could help with that. A copy of “The Great Psychedelic Armadillo Picnic: A ‘Walk’ in Austin” should be given to every new resident. At least they would know there’s so much to look for beyond the skyscrapers and freeways.

Livin' at the End of the Road

When I seized the opportunity to buy my own piece of the Texas Coast nine years ago, I saw #1 on my living requirements list: a great place for my kitties. A place could be perfect in every other way, but if it wasn’t a good arrangement for my furry companions, it wouldn’t do. Here was no through traffic, a big shady yard, bayou behind for exploring, covered porch for sitting on and hiding under. Of course, all those aspects were great for me as well, except for the hiding under the porch.

What I hadn’t expected to find was the entertainment value of living, literally, at the end of the road. Some city work on the street-side drainage ditches awhile back made it very clear: spray painted on the street directly in front of my house were the words “Road Ends.” I suppose that was to make it clear to the equipment operators that the grassy expanse beyond the semi-paved end of the street was no longer the road.

It develops that a large sign with that same sentiment, up the street a ways, would be a good thing. Well, maybe it wouldn’t help. I’ve noticed, in various venues, not many folks actually read the notices and signs placed here and there for their benefit, such as “No printing available on this computer,” “Please use this door,” and at garage sales “These items not for sale.” The attention paid to these guides along our way seems to be seriously lacking.

Often, as I’m enjoying that covered porch with the cats, vehicles will appear from the west, going at a pretty good clip, obviously bound for someplace other than the houses on either side of the road. Most of the time the driver (or a vigilant passenger) notices the grass, trees, and church hall dead ahead, and, after screeching to a halt, make the right turn onto 7th Street, to continue trying to find their way through town. Occasionally the travelers are oblivious to their approach to the end of the road, and will be past my house and onto the meadow. Recent heavy rain will hinder the U-turn option of going back the way one came, hence numerous crop-circle-type depressions will decorate the terrain for some time. Back-ups would be recommended on most occasions, but no one asks me.

On one occasion, on a sunny afternoon, a scene straight out of a CSI show played out in front of the neighbors. The cats had the good sense to flee to their secret entry under the house, where the possibility of getting hit with flying debris is greatly diminished. First, an ordinary vehicle came hurtling down the street from the West, and made no effort to slow or avert, tore across the grassy sward, bounced through the slough, up the slope beyond, past the church hall, and ripped off to the South on 6th Street. Right behind it came a highway patrol car, and a county sheriff’s car, tearing across the grass, over the muddy hollow, up the little hill, making it past the church hall, and then off toward Bay Ave. The saving grace was that we hadn’t received 15+ inches of rain in the previous days. Or, if we had, the whole parade would have piled up in the bog, creating a whole different scenario.

Notwithstanding all of this, it’s more often than not a quiet end of the road that I have here, and I enjoy it tremendously. I DO advocate parking one’s vehicles in driveways, and off the street.

Those Sports Car Days

My writing projects and browsing through a lifetime of photo albums often go hand-in-hand. Sometimes a random thought I want to write about comes first, and I go looking for a photo to go with it, sometimes cruising through memory-laden photos inspires the writing. All those photos from my life! Which seems like it began after I divorced the husband and ran to Texas. While there were rough spots now and then, all in all I have to say I’ve had a great time these 75 years.

Once I began my tenure at G&S Typesetters in Austin in the early 1970s, newly single, I was totally focused on making a living and remaining independent. We had quite good vacation benefits at G&S, with the option of taking the time off, or taking the extra pay. For years I opted for the paycheck--what was I going to do if I took off work??? Well, that's another story for sure.

Taking the extra money gave me the great pleasure of buying a succession of 2-seater foreign sports cars. The first was a Triumph TR6, and subsequent trades brought a MGB-GT, a Triumph Spitfire (above with yours truly in her 40s), and a Fiat. All but the MG were convertibles. Foreign sports cars, to my dismay, were high maintenance, but I adored them all.

The MG was a nifty purple 2-seater hatchback, and was great for trips back and forth to Kansas (family) and New Orleans (friend). My little dachshund loved riding in the back shelf, where she could look out at where we'd been. The Spitfire was the only one I bought brand new, but didn't last long, as it appeared to have a mechanical flaw I didn't want to deal with. The Fiat carried me around while I flirted with trouble for about 8 years, until I decided it was time to grow up and have a car with air conditioning.

In the Fiat years, I turned 50, and to my consternation discovered my car insurance was going up because I was now in a high-risk group: over 50, female, single, and driving a sports car! Is that sexist or what. Yep, I inquired, and if I had still been married, or male, I would not have qualified as high-risk. I'd had only 1 speeding ticket in my life, in the MG on a trip to Kansas. I'm pretty sure the trooper gave me the ticket for 5 over the limit instead of a warning because my dachshund barked at him so severely. Hey, if I was still married to the jerk of a husband, I not only would not have had the money to be driving a foreign sports car, I would be more likely to have an accident due to aggravation and stress. I decided it was too radical to consider getting married again, and paid the extra.

In later years I had a 15-year affair with a Nissan Maxima, 4-door, 5-speed, with all the bells and whistles including moon roof and sound system that would warp road signs when playing "Like a rock" with Bob Seger. I killed it by neglecting maintenance such as timing belt, which let go at 80 mph, completely wiping out the engine, once described by a mechanic as in the realm of jet engine compared to ordinary motors. Hard lesson.

So now I drive a rather sedate 4-door sedan, with AC, but it still has a bit of the sports car feel with 5-speed transmission. It startles mechanics, who assume the old lady would be driving an automatic. I have to wonder, would I fall into that high-risk group again, at this age, if I were to break for a 1995 MG F? Perhaps no one would consider writing me insurance at all, and instead called for the men in white coats.

Life Behind the Circulation Desk

“Mitzy, you must get your shoes down from the encyclopedias!”

It wasn’t something I thought I’d ever be saying when I took on the job of manager at the Branch Library in my small town a few years ago. I have an assistant that works Saturdays, giving me 3-day weekends, and this year we've been able add a part-time worker with Experience Works. Another blessing, since it's a branch of the county library in the nearby bigger town, the technical stuff gets done there.

On particularly stressful days, I’ve even been known to answer the phone in this fashion: “Seadrift Branch Library, Baby-Sitting, and Message-taking. How may I help you?” With a smile in my voice, of course.

These aberrations from yours truly, you understand, occur in the summer months, when school is not in session. Most days, from opening to closing time, the library is thronged with children using the library and staying cool, and my full attention is required to schedule time on the computers (an hour if others are waiting) and maintain a semblance of order, hopefully preventing out-and-out riot. In all fairness, I’ve only had to call the City Police once this summer.

Materials have to be checked out when presented, of course, regardless of mayhem. Other ordinary, on-going librarian duties have to get done when a snatch of time presents itself. It’s not wise to take my eyes off the children for any extended period.

These duties include reshelving returned materials and keeping the shelves in order, preparing book orders, making reminder calls about overdue books and fines, weeding out little-used and worn items to make room for new, processing donated books and movies, preparing periodical lists for processing, filling out time sheets and community service reports, repairing book, DVD and CD covers that were returned ripped and torn or merely run down at the heels. There are faxes to send, copies to be made for patrons, new patron cards to prepare, and research for requested information. Last but not least, picking up toys, books and games thrown about, and replacing chairs and tables where they belong. And, there is getting those shoes off the encyclopedias.

Now, I’m not complaining. Well, maybe just a little. Mostly I love the job: no commute to another town, a comfortable place to work, surrounded by and dealing with books, one of my very favorite things. The county library director comes over once a week with our new materials, and she is an absolute delight for a boss, giving me full support and guidance to do the best job I can.

It would make everything go a lot better if every now and then, a parent would give me a word of appreciation for looking after their children six and seven hours a day. The little devils are waiting at the door for me when I arrive to open up, and I have to scoot them out the door when it's time to close. Sometimes they've been dropped off by a family member with a car, but mostly they walk and ride their bikes over. Population of the town is around 1,800. Some days it seems like children using the library comprise half of that number.

It’s great our tiny town has a facility where the children can play inside out of the weather. Let’s face it, there are not many options in town. We don't have a movie theater, or a mall. We DO have, however, a brand new playground and skateboard park, and we have a bayfront park with new playground equipment, an open-air pavilion, and a couple of nets for various games. Being water-front on a bay, there's a lot of fishing going on, from children right on up to old folks. I get a kick out of hearing all the fishing stories. Yes, from the children right on up to my contemporaries!

Great support from the community is enjoyed by the library. A contingent from the local elementary school had a "Community Heroes" promotion, and came around to City Hall, Fire Department, City Judge, County Commissioner, and the Library, with a poster declaring us heroes for our community involvement.

Once we move the library into the larger building that is currently under renovation, we hope to be able to do so much more than we can now. Plans include a separate TV room, a game area, a little stage for presentations, separate computer areas for adults and children. With more space we can have reading hours and activities year-round. The aforementioned budget cut is worrisome. I'm afraid there will not be the additional full-time staff person that was promised.

Of course, as with any facility dealing with the public, it's the troublesome few that make it difficult for everyone. The way big majority of the children at the library are an absolute joy. Primarily they are just noisy! I've not found any way to impress upon them that a library is supposed to be quiet. Just when I think I can't take it any more and it's time to retire again, one of the wee darlings will pipe up: "Oh CJ! You are the best librarian! Thanks for letting us finish our game before you close."

Ah, well, I'm such a sucker for a sweet little smiling face and sparkling eyes.

Library Budget Cuts

I'm mad as h#*l -- and you know me, I'm not going to just sit back and be quiet. Got word yesterday that the County is cutting the budget for the county libraries by 10%. Do you have an opinion on that? Would you let the powers that be know how you feel? Without firing someone, we will probably have to reduce open hours, trim budget for books/DVDs, provide even less services than we do now. All four libraries in the county: main library and 3 branches.
OK, so the county is tight for money. I want to know what research has gone into the decision as to where to cut. I want to know what other services have been cut and how much.

Please let me know how you feel, what ideas you might have to help with this challenge, and DO let EVERYONE know your opinions!

We need MORE open hours and activities for our children, NOT LESS. The bad guys are out there, ready and anxious to provide them with nurture of a sort, inspire them to illegal activities, and give them a home that's called a gang. Then there is the larger facility under renovation up the street. We're going to move into a larger library, and there will be NO additional staff hired? Sounds like all of us are going to be asked to work harder and do more, for less money.

We have excellent Boy Scout troop, church programs, and the new D.I.V.A.Girls. But it is ALL necessary. Reducing what we have in place at the library NOW is wrong, wrong, wrong.

And I DO NOT want to hear, once again, that the librarian needs to shut up.
CJ (Carol J. Garriott)

Thwarting People's Expectations

I have to smack myself to keep from continuously editing what I’ve written, even after posting it somewhere or printing it in “Livin’ on the Bay.” Even e-mails! I can always see something that could be phrased better. Curse of the typesetter/writer/proofreader.

After reading and hearing the comments (thanks, everybody!) on “On Life and Love,” I remembered something I wish I’d included in it. A quote from a book by one of my favorite authors, Robert B. Parker (thanks for the adventures, Robert, may you rest in peace). Page 130 of “Early Autumn” has a dialogue between our hero and a young friend. It goes like this:

Our hero: “. . . I work too hard to thwart people’s expectations.”

Young friend: “I don’t get it,” Paul said.

Our hero: “The point is not to get hung up on being what you’re supposed to be. If you can, it’s good to do what pleases you.”

Now I tell you, does that sound like something I would write? Truer words were never spoken. I spent entirely too many years in my youth, trying to be what I thought I was supposed to be. I’ve come to the conviction that, to have something truly worthwhile to offer those you love, you have to take care of yourself, be yourself, totally apart from what others would expect of you. You can be, and have to be, unique!

Some would call this being selfish, I suppose. I liken it a bit to what the flight attendant tells you when an airliner is taking off. RE: in case an emergency requires usage of oxygen masks, everyone with children must put their own masks on first, then assist your toddler. You have to take care of yourself first, because if you pass out, you will be no help to your little nipper.

One more thought before I head out into my day. When I’m on the road by myself, my mind runs to the oddest things. Coming out of P.L. again (I appear to do a lot of that!), I glanced over at this old house that was in the process of being torn down. It seemed to be taking them an inordinate amount of time to do so. My fanciful mind brought up the thought that it was like they only went over there when they needed a board for something, and would just rip one off.

Now to launch into a Tuesday. I’ll swing by the Bayfront, to see how many boats in The Texas Water Safari have made it in, then head to the library. Have a great day, everyone.

Giving Meteorologists Fits

For the February, 2010, Livin' on the Bay, I had started no less than three Coffee Chats. Maybe I could have stirred them all together. My little paper was coming out so late, you’d think I could have come up with a column. Hey, it was a hard, cold January.

I had the second one about 80% done, and then I opened the Victoria Advocate on Wednesday.

You all no doubt know how obsessed I am with the weather. So I jump on an article--not only on the front page and above the fold, but top of the left column.

Headline goes for a grabber: “Region braces for freeze.” Now, we go out and get our daily papers when we arise in the morning, unless, of course, we work a night shift (I've done that--5 p.m. to 2 a.m. for 5 years!). First line reads: “A freeze warning is in effect from 3 to 9 a.m. Wednesday.” So, if we weren’t already prepared for a freeze, it’d be a tad late for the warning when we read the morning paper? Ah well, we are so used to instant news on TV and the net.

Three paragraphs or so of the article go into the forecast for the next 2 days, with probabilities of rain, snow, sleet, cold, dark of night.

Now for the part that had me laughing so hard I scared the cats.

A National Weather Service meteorologist is quoted as saying, “From Cotulla to the Goliad area, there’s a slight chance for anything to happen.”

Talk about nailing it! You know, I imagine just about any moment in time there would be a “slight chance for anything to happen”! Then she compounds the consternation by going out on a limb and giving us the down and dirty:

“It would be cold enough for some wintry precipitation, but it’s kind of borderline because it could rain.”

Oh well, we probably ought to give weather forecasters a break. It has to be the worst job in the universe. If they come out and get specific about what they think will happen, Mother Nature will come up with just the reverse.

I gave up trying to finish with something stellar and riveting, and went with a short column. There ARE times when you just can't top some confounding words in the daily newspaper.

New Eyes on the World

I’m looking at the world with new eyes these days.

I’ve known for a long time that I see things along the literal highways of my life that others do not. When I was commuting to Port O’Connor a few years back, I would be struck by an arrangement of vines in a dead tree that resembled nothing so much as a huge brontosaurus, long neck stretched out, lumbering across the salt flats.

My imagination seems to run rampant when I’m held captive by the confines of a vehicle and my mind is like a search engine such as google, seeking something, anything, more interesting than the asphalt stretching out in front of me.

What makes the difference in people, that they see (or not see) different things when out and about?

I suppose it depends a lot on what other distractions or items of concern are whirling about in one’s brain at any one given time. You may be thinking about the job, or a project or relationship that is troubling you, and thus focused inward, not noticing much around you.

You may be a bird-watcher, on the alert for glimpses of a new feathered friend to add to your life count, thus focused outward, more likely to take notice of passing scenery.

There are times when I have been so full of joy about my life, my friends, my place in the world, and I think that makes me more aware of every aspect of my environment. It’s like I’m in tune with the world.

What about folks who are ill? Does one’s physical condition affect one’s observations and awareness of what’s around? Say, for whatever reason, one’s mood is either good or bad. That would make a big difference as well, I would think. An attribute of myself that is sometimes a good thing, and sometimes not so good, is my ability to sort of put myself in someone else’s place. Empathy, according to the New World Dictionary, is “the projection of one’s own personality into the personality of another in order to understand him better; ability to share in another’s emotions or feelings.”

This process can be rather devastating when the other person is undergoing great stress of some sort, say, after Hurricane Katrina, or 911 in New York. However, it can be very helpful in understanding.

In the pursuit of trying to understand the ramifications of a terrible disease to a dear friend of mine, I’m now looking at the world with new eyes. I’m trying to think what the world would be like if I was no longer able to do the things I’ve done all my life: drive a car, do my work, compose and type a story, do my laundry, decide what to wear each morning, cook a meal, read a book, be in control of every aspect of my life. But worst of all, for a time, I would be cognizant that I no longer know how to do any of those things.

What vicious, despicable, vile disease could possibly take all this away from one? Leaving one despairing, confused, so terribly lost? Never to see the world as before?

Its name is Alzheimer.

On Life and Love

“He stopped loving her today.
They placed a wreath upon his door.
And soon they’ll carry him away.
He stopped loving her today.”

George Jones was wailing out of the speakers when I walked in to my ex-husband’s funeral a number of years back. His brother had chosen the music.

Well, it was true. I suppose, in his way, he had loved me. He just didn’t know how to show it. Indeed, he never knew what to do with me. I was not the subservient, obedient homemaker with no opinions about anything, like his mother, that he expected.

And yes, I cried that day at his final services, in spite of the heart-ache, distress, even fear, he had caused me over those 17 married years and especially after I cut and ran to Texas. I still remembered the young man who had hopes and dreams for his life. It was very sad that he was never able to achieve them, or have a happy life.

Life is such a funny thing. In our youth, we think we know it all. We charge more or less blindly into our future, and about all we have to guide us is what we are expected to do.At least in my day (maybe not so much any more), expectations for girls was to graduate high school, get married, and have babies. In that order.

I aimed for that expectation, tho a tad late by not marrying until age 20, to the 2nd man that asked me (and that’s a whole other story!). But children didn’t happen, for whatever reason. I wasn’t terribly concerned about that, I merely thought it was what I was supposed to do. As aunts, cousins, and “friends” began to inquire, I fessed up to really not caring if I had children or not. Well, let me tell you, in the 50s, if you didn’t want children, you were considered a communist or a pervert or both!

I have to say, I worked at my marriage. For years I tried very hard to be what I thought my husband wanted: a version of a “trophy wife,” someone who would remain in the background, looking pretty, complementing him, maintaining a nice home, meals ready whenever he deemed to come home, without ever expressing an original idea of my own. Does it sound like the CJ you know? No, and it didn’t work, just made both of us miserable.

Why did I stay for all those years? That’s what one did. At the wedding, you vowed “for better or worse.” Divorce was not a readily considered option in those days.

Finally, the realization sank in that if I was to have any kind of life for the woman I was, I had to flaunt convention and launch out on my own. It was the beginning of “love many, trust few, always paddle your own canoe,” i.e., be very cautious where you place your trust, take care of, be responsible for, yourself. Accept help when necessary, but do not depend on others for your finances or your happiness.

Coming back from PL the other day, I noticed a highway sign as I turned from 35 onto 101. In big green letters, I kid you not, it read, “Rough Road Ahead.” Now, if there could have been a few of those tossed out along the freeways of my life! Maybe I wouldn’t have done anything different, but at least I would have been warned. I think such a sign should be mandatory in front of every wedding chapel in the country.

Lyrics that resonate with me these days are along the lines of one of my favorites from Vince Gill:

“You just never know
How tomorrow will go
So let’s make sure we kiss goodbye.”