Dick’s Classic Garage – San Marcos, TX

I gave Dick’s short shrift in my last post and I mean to make up for it here. Here are some pictures from the amazing collection:  

Indian Motorcycle

Duesenberg Model SJ (?)

Duesenberg Touring Car

Duesenberg Speedster

Boat Tail Speedster

Speedster Engine Bay

Auburn Speedster

Ford Convertible

Revolutionary Tucker

The Usual Suspects

Woody Wagon w/ Chris Craft in Tow

And finally, my personal favorite: 

Model A Ford

If you are interested, you can find more information on Dick’s at http://dicksclassicgarage.org .  I highly recommend an extended visit.

  

Surprising San Marcos, Texas

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Recently, I received a message from my cousin, Suzanne.  Her email asked, politely, if I was willing to donate one of my photographs to an auction benefiting victims of domestic abuse. I had to think it over before making a decision.  I considered the expense involved in producing my photographic wonders, the years spent searching out images and the utter lack of compensation or recognition I would receive for my effort.  After weighing each of these considerations, I told Suzanne “I’m in.”

The next day, I sent her a catalog of all the images I consider fit to print and advised her to pick one she liked.  She and her daughter, Dawn, in cooperation with our first cousin once removed, Amy, selected “Moon Mountain.”  I dredged up my last print from the closet.

On the day of the auction, I threw my overnight kit and the print in the car and headed south.  San Marcos is a quaint little town about 30 miles south of Austin.  I had an uneventful three and one-half hour mosey down scenic Interstate 35, AKA the “NAFTA Super Highway from the Bowels of Hell.”  Traffic seemed light as I whizzed past everything else on the road in my rush to put Austin traffic behind me.  I made it without incident.

I arrived at Suzanne’s place, the Cool Mint Café, just in time for a gourmet lunch.  I treated myself to a plate of smoked chicken enchiladas with mango-habanero sauce.  I learned later that I ordered their most popular dish.  I could easily see why.  Refer to http://coolmintcafe.com

Suzanne

It was great to see Suzanne again.  Her long list of accomplishments would hardly fit in my measly blog and yet she is a kind person with a down-to-earth view of the world.  My own life has been a modest endeavor by comparison.  Frankly, I am surprised they let me use the good flatware at her amazing eatery.  

After my hearty lunch, I made my way to the auction event site, Dick’s Classic Garage.  It was there I made a second stunning discovery.  Here in a small town wedged into the heart of the Texas Hill Country (recently extinguished, for the most part) I discovered an excellent automotive museum. The cars and trucks were American and vintage from the 1920s through the early 1950s.  I strolled the aisles, gawping first at the Duesenbergs and ending with the last Packards and Studebakers.  I must have drooled like a little kid, because at the end of the trail, I was shriveled and dehydrated.  I would do it again, in a minute!


My delivery complete, I trundled back to my motel room and collapsed. 

One of 2 Outlet Malls serve your spending needs

On Sunday morning,  I drove around the town taking pictures to share with my devoted readers.  There are many attractions in San Marcos, not least of which are two, count 'em, two outlet malls.  Cowboy boots, pantyhose and Ferragamo shoes are among the items for sale at bargain basement prices, or so they tell me.

Downtown San Marcos on Sunday Morning

The downtown square was crowded on Sunday morning.  One of the cafes on the square attracted a large following.  I watched several couples sprint the last few hundred feet to the door as if there was a famine in the town.  Maybe their appetites were stimulated by the sermon at the local house of worship.

1878 Building - Newer Tenants

County Courthouse

Cool Mint Cafe

I was becoming a little peckish, myself.  I made my way back to the Cool Mint and settled in for brunch with Susanne and Amy.   Over  South Texas Migas, Suzanne explained that when she first opened, they had a ghost in residence.  For months, the spirit threw glasses and plates across rooms.  The staff eventually became accustomed to the disturbances and scolded her whenever she acted up.  She, the ghost, was probably one of the two spinster sisters who built the house that now houses the Cool Mint.  Miss May is generally assumed to be the haunt.  Her sister?  I cannot recall her name, but they were both creepy, even in this life.  That is according to local lore.  I find myself charmed into believing it.

Finally, I have sad news.  Suzanne is planning to sell the cafe and retire.  To my eye, this is a serious injustice.  Retirement from a worthy enterprise while still in the first blush of youth seems wrong.  What can I say.  If she sends me copies of my favorite recipes, I shall bury my grief in a mountain of the most delicious food in Texas.  

I recommend the entire experience in San Marcos.  I only hope you can get to The Cool Mint while Suzanne is still around, just in case she sells it to someone less imaginative.

PS:  I am told the woman who won the picture left the auction early to go home and hang it in her livingroom.  She was happy.  So am I.

Readers’ Salvation

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Glad to see everyone this morning.  I suppose you are wondering why you are here.  I do not blame you.  I think you have suffered long enough, so today; I bring good news for everyone.  I will share it with you right after this important message:

I wish to share an experience with you.  As you know, many of us have had brushes with the authorities regarding drinking and driving.  Well I for one did something about it. 

The other night I was out for dinner with some friends and frankly, I had way too much wine.  Knowing I was wasted, I did something I had never done before.  I took a bus home.  I arrived safe and without incident which was a real surprise since I had never driven a bus before. 

(Sent to me by Zita)

Ta tump!

I have long searched for ways to write and tell better stories.  In fact, I searched the nation for a writing program, but to no avail.  Then, about a month ago, I happened upon the Southern Methodist University (SMU.  Pronounced S’mooo) website.  I was delighted to learn the school has a creative writing program, right here in my own city.  Well, Dallas anyway.  I signed up immediately and ordered my textbook the next day.  The program offers a “core curriculum,” a “non-fiction track,” a “children’s book track,” and a “fiction track.”  I have ruled out non-fiction for lack of interest.  I shall consider the other two at my leisure.

There you have it.  In a few months, you will be able to throw away your head massager, headache remedies and extra strength reading glasses.  I will produce nothing less than Pulitzer Prize winning, quality prose.  You will eventually be glad you stuck it out for all this time.  Mebbe.

Meanwhile, let me know what you think.  Should I devote my golden years to writing children’s stories?  Perhaps the children would be less corrupted if I concentrated on fiction for an older audience, less eager to sue.  You be the judge.

PS:  I hope you do not mind being Guinea pigs for my homework assignments. Heh, heh.

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Kinky for Perry

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My friend Odis alerted me to this piece.  I feel compelled to share a glimpse of what politics CAN be.  After reading, you are welcome to draw your own conclusions.  Oh, I voted for Kinky over Perry.  Can I pick ‘em, or what?

                                                                                    

By Kinky Friedman | The Daily Beast – 14 hrs ago

Rick Perry has never lost an election;    I’ve never won one.  Maybe that’s what’s wrong with the world.  On the other    hand, I’ve long been friends with Bill Clinton and George W., and Rick    Perry and I, though at times bitter adversaries, have remained friends as    well.  It’s not always easy to maintain friendships with politicians.  To    paraphrase Charles Lamb, you have to work at it like some men toil after    virtue.

I have been quoted as saying that when    I die, I am to be cremated, and the ashes are to be thrown in Rick Perry’s    hair.  Yet, simply put, Rick Perry and I are incapable of resisting each    other’s charm. He is not only a good sport, he is a good, kindhearted man,    and he once sat in on drums with ZZ Top.  A guy like that can’t be all bad.  When I ran for governor of Texas as an independent in 2006, the Crips and    the Bloods ganged up on me.  When I lost, I drove off in a 1937 Snit,    refusing to concede to Perry.  Three days later Rick called to give me a    gracious little pep talk, effectively talking me down from jumping off the    bridge of my nose.  Very few others were calling at that time, by the way.  Such is the nature of winning and losing and politicians and life.  You    might call what Rick did an act of random kindness.  Yet in my mind, it made  him more than a politician, more than a musician; it made him a mensch.

These days, of course, I would support    Charlie Sheen over Obama.  Obama has done for the economy what pantyhose did    for foreplay.  Obama has been perpetually behind the curve.  If the issue of    the day is jobs and the economy, Rick Perry is certainly the nuts-and-bolts    kind of guy you want in there.  Even though my pal and fellow Texan Paul    Begala has pointed out that no self-respecting Mexican would sneak across    the border for one of Rick Perry’s low-level jobs, the stats don’t entirely    lie.  Compared with the rest of the country, Texas is kicking major ass in    terms of jobs and the economy, and Rick should get credit for that, just as    Obama should get credit for saying “No comment” to the young people of the    Iranian revolution.

More to the point, could Rick Perry    fix the economy?  Hell, yes!  Texas is exhibit A; Rick’s fingerprints are all    over it.  He’s been governor since Christ was a cowboy.  The Lone Star State is booming.  The last time I checked, Texas is kicking in a hell of a lot of    the U.S. GDP.  Unemployment is lower than the vast majority of the other    states.  Hell, we could probably even find a job for Paul Begala.

As a Jewish cowboy (or “Juusshh,” as    we say in Texas), I know Rick Perry to be a true friend of Israel, like Bill Clinton and George W. before him.  There exists a visceral John Wayne    kinship between Israelis and Texans, and Rick Perry gets it.  That’s why he’s visited Israel on many more occasions than Obama, who’s been there    exactly zero times as president.  If I were Obama, I wouldn’t go either.  His    favorability rating in Israel once clocked in at 4 percent.  Say what you    will about the Israelis, but they are not slow out of the chute.  They know    who their friends are.  On the topic of the Holy Land , there remains the    little matter of God.  God talks to televangelists, football coaches, and    people in mental hospitals.  Why shouldn’t he talk to Rick Perry?  In the    spirit of Joseph Heller, I have a covenant with God.  I leave him alone and    he leaves me alone.  If, however, I have a big problem, I ask God for the    answer.  He tells Rick Perry.  And Rick tells me.

So would I support Rick Perry for    president?  Hell, yes!  As the last nail that hasn’t been hammered down in    this country, I agree with Rick that there are already too damn many laws,    taxes, regulations, panels, committees, and bureaucrats.  While Obama is    busy putting the hyphen between “anal” and “retentive” Rick will be rolling up his sleeves and getting to work.

A still, small voice within keeps    telling me that Rick Perry’s best day may yet be ahead of him, and so too,    hopefully, will be America’s.

Enter the Tooth Fairy

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My telephone buzzed one afternoon last week.  It was my grandson, William, on the other end.  He is six years old.

“Hello,” I offered cheerily.

“Gwand faver, I wost a toof!”  The excited voice said.

“That’s great.  Where did you lose it?”

“Just a few seconds ago.”

“Uh, Congratulations!  I am sure you will have a visit from the tooth fairy tonight.”

In the background, I began hearing a wailing sound.  Even though it was hard to hear William over the screeching, it sounded as if it were coming from far, far away and gradually getting closer.  William and I chatted a while and said goodbye before his Mom got on the line.

“Sounds like someone is unhappy,” I offered.

“It’s Sophia,” my daughter replied.  “She’s upset because William lost a tooth.”

“Odd,” I thought.  “Maybe she wanted to be the one to knock it out?”

At that moment Sophia, four, arrived at the telephone.

She screamed “I’M MAD!” into my ear.  Ah, a precious moment had arrived.  It seemed she was miffed that her brother would be meeting with the Tooth Fairy that very evening and she couldn’t go too.  I wondered, “Who wudda thunk it.”

“Don’t worry, Princess, your teeth will soon fall like rain.”  I tried to comfort her.

She was having none of it and returned the phone to her mother.  The set-your-teeth-on-edge wail slowly faded into the background.

The conversation ended soon after.  My daughter had to rush into the kitchen for a headache reliever.  Whatever she took, she earned it.

The next morning, I rang up my daughter.

“Just calling to check up on you,” I said.  “I hope the Tooth Fairy showed up alright.”

“Yes, the Tooth Fairy arrived right on schedule; she answered,“ and left William three dollars.”

“What do you plan to do with his first lost tooth?”  I expected something like “Have it mounted on a marble plinth and placed in a museum.”  What I got was:

“Oh, William wanted to keep the tooth, so we wrote a note explaining that the Fairy could have the next one.  We placed the note under his pillow at bedtime.”

“So, William went into debt to the Tooth Fairy and mortgaged his next tooth as collateral?”

“Well, that might be one, demented way to look at it.”  She replied. “William even gave one of his dollars to his sister so she would not feel left out.”

“And he is paying hush money to his sister? Cool!”

I admit I was a little flabbergasted at first.  Now, I see the light.  Children are much more complicated now than when I was among their ranks.  They understand political power by age four and negotiate with the supernatural by six.  At that age, I dreamed of living with The Three Stooges.

Now, I hope I live to learn where this leads.  I anticipate the return of “William the Conqueror” and an “Empress Sophia” in the next decade or so.  Be forewarned…

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