It’s all about where you're aiming

Up early because my pups though going outside at 0400 was a good idea, I found myself in the kitchen with little on my mind than last night’s Aggie loss to tu. Oh yah, it was a loss despite what they teach you at A&M when you first get there—the Aggies don’t loose, they may get outscored, but they don’t loose.

Well last night they lost. I blame it mostly on the coaches; the kids played hard and most of the night was the better team—play calling was the biggest downfall; both on offense and defense. In the final minutes the defense was coached into the loss. Had they played the way they got to the final two minutes, they just might have won.

But let us move on to the larger issue, that being the role of the red-header step-child. That is where Texas A&M has found themselves ever since its creation as a land grant institution back in 1876—the first public institution of higher learning in a reconstruction state in the south. Later the school on the 40 acres was established—you know the one I mean. The Texas Legislature controls this stuff; if you are knowledgeable of the situation you already know how that situation goes—it’s not a pretty sight.

Where’s the beef might be the appropriate question that next pops into mind. That would be the Permanent Fund that provides a great deal of the funding for both A&M and tu. The fund was established as far as I can remember from oil revenue garnered by the state lands producing the revenue. Right or wrong in my belief, the fund is divided evenly between tu and A&M: two thirds going to tu and one third going to A&M—the Legislature you understand. From some perspective this may have seemed to be a good idea; giving the greater even share to what was envisioned as the state’s greater institution of higher learning.

Through the years tu did become the major institution of higher learning within the state; routinely three times larger than any other—public or private. Is there any question why the lopsided records of the schools slant one way and not the other?

Upon the scene comes Earl Rudder and the changes of the 60s. A&M began to grow but still remained in the shadow of tu. If I recall the stats correctly, from 1975, A&M actually holds a slight advantage in the athletic records. Quite coincidently, this is about the same time that the two schools became comparable in size.

The kitchen has become over populated all of a sudden and keeping my two fingers headed to the correct keys has become more of a challenge; I will do my best.

At any rate, changes were for the best and A&M progressed, becoming larger and larger. Under the leadership of Robert Gates, I had no doubt that this would be the right course. Then came the call from Washington and Gates was snatched away for a higher calling.

Plans had been established to take A&M into the future and the progress is still in the works. Money is being spent that will provide for more and more development and still the cronyism of the Governor seems to be the largest impediment to real progress.

A&M continued to flounder with its selection of coaches of the major sport—football. The last two selections just haven’t worked out. When you are trying to grow a program, why would an administration settle for anything but the best available? Franconia was a failure right up to the point in time that he had probably figured out the right direction—too late though. Sherman brought these questions to my mind: Who? And then Why? With all those available: Who? And Why?

Talent was present and nationally it was recognized. But the coaching staff figured out a way to hinder that talent—failing to make half time adjustments and giving away game after game and eventually leading us to where we are now—disappointed again.

Now the school is headed off to the South East Conference (SEC). According to one former coach; the Aggies are gonna play all there home games in Texas. I guess this means that we are to be satisfied by this rhetoric. We really deserve better information than has been provided.

The news and sports media claim it has more to do with money, sports networks and mostly egos. Regardless the reason, the move is ready to happen and it’s too late to alter the course. The decision is a done deal! The course has been set.

The media guys all say that A&M will not compete in the SEC any time soon. This can’t be good. They have to do better than they have, but that course is doubtful with the current coaching staff—can you say outclassed?

This brings me to the question of traditions. What are we to do about the traditions that we have all held dear for so long? Leaving the SWC or the Big 12 means that changes will have to be made—some will be tougher than others.

OK, so the War Hymn still refers to the orange and white; but that is the War Hymn. That didn’t change even with the upgrade from college to university. It stands for something bigger than a football game with tu once a year.

The Bonfire. This is a question that will have to be addressed—sanctioned or not. It can not represent the burning spirit to beat a school that isn’t being played. Outlawed by the administration since the tragedy that killed 12 students; it has become a yearly student activity, authorized or not. AS much as I hate to say it, the Bonfire should be abandoned until the game question is resolved. I know this is not a popular idea but that’s my thoughts on the situation.

The Corps of Cadets represents the real tradition of A&M. More than any other it is the longest lasting tradition and stands for what the hearts of all Aggies love about the school. Whether they are members, were members, wished they could have been members or stood with those that were members; it’s the Corps that still functions almost as it once did. This tradition has to remain and should be addressed with a stronger approach than it has attracted in the past.

The Corps itself should examine it’s traditions with a hard look to the future. I know that LTG Van Alstyne had this in mind and is probably high on the list of BG Ramirez also. The school can no longer be considered the West Point on the Brazos. Time has moved on.

Again last night, like it was when the Aggies had an opportunity to finish as the last champion of the SWC; A&M chose to come in second in what might have been their last chance to beat the hell outta tu! But second is not where we want to stay.

I know this has run long and I may have rambled too far astray. I’m gonna blame it on the interruptions that kept happening here in my morning kitchen with my pups.

It’s all about where you aim. If you want to win second place; the aim has been right on target. If you are not satisfied with second, the school’s aim must be altered

For a Soldier died today

by A. Lawrence Vaincourt

http://www.jacksjoint.com/soldier.htm

I have removed the post as I found later that it was copyrighted material. Please visit the post above to read the poem. It is well worth your time.

Howard

Veterans Day 2011

"Citizens by birth or choice of a common country, that country has a right to concentrate your affections. The name of American, which belongs to you, in your national capacity, must always exalt the just pride of patriotism, more than any appellation derived from local discriminations." -- George Washington Farewell Address, 1796

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OgwJ1ZzlGqM&feature=related

My wife & I just returned from the Austin Veterans Day Parade.

I had the distinct pleasure of standing with SGM Gill; retired Air Force and Army - 44 years service in active and reserve. He started his service in 1942 and retired in 1977—having served in three wars: WWII, the Korean War & the Vietnam Conflict. He is 92 years and has been slowed just a bit by a recent stroke. SGM Gill stood and saluted every American Flag that passed, color guard unit or not. His son kept putting him back in the chair that he had brought which just made the standing task harder each time. I guess anybody that’s been with us for 92 years deserves to take longer to get to their feet each time they do so. What a pleasure this was. We promised each other to meet again next year on the same street corner to watch the 2012 Veterans parade.

SGM Gill and his son

Standing along side of also was Perry Jefferies, the manager of the TexVet Initiative of the Texas A&M Health Science Center, College of Medicine in Round Rock www.tamhsc.edu

Perry is an interesting guy and doing fine work. He coordinated a visit with SGM Gill and his son to meet and record the Sergeant Major’s story. This, I want to hear—44 years, it oughta be a good one.

Another one of my favorite entries in the parade every year is the Retired Chief's Association. A continual participant is Dale Lyons who also happens to sit on the board of directors at the credit union where my wife, Patsy, is the VP of Human Resources.

Dale Lyons

This was the longest Veterans day Parade that I can remember. We watched for an hour and a half at least. The entries just kept coming.

The one thing that struck me was the number of youth enrolled in the ROTC programs at the local high schools. What a bunch of good looking young leaders of tomorrow. I have included some shots of the various groups below.

James Bowie High School ROTC unit

Akins High School ROTC unit

William B Travis High School ROTC unit

Bastrop High School ROTC unit

I hope you got out today and showed your support. It kinda makes you feel good inside and has the same effect on those around you.

Yesterday was Election Day - Fond memories of Jesse James & more - 09 Nov 11

Did you get out and vote yesterday?

Sitting here in the kitchen this morning, I got to remembering elections of the past. Nostalgic, you might say? I’m OK with that? It was just me and my pups so the feeling wasn’t rampant and actually took us exactly nowhere.

In my early adulthood days and primarily during the 1970s I was in the military serving in such foreign lands as Alaska, Virginia, North Carolina and New York—foreign to a Texan, at least. Because of this fact, I was left to cast my ballot via absentee.

Every year I would send to the State of Texas for my ballot and finally receive it in the mail with plenty of time to study it and return it via the same, U. S. Mail—regardless of the foreign land I was currently stationed.

I always took the opportunity to take that same ballot to work with me and brag a little bit about my activity—a pure Texan activity you understand?

Pursuing the names on the ballot always brought a bit of laughter from my associates. The reason will become obvious the further I relate the specific circumstances.

For most of the 1970s, one name always appeared on the Texas ballot at the State level regardless of who else was running. This name brought the questions of the validity of the document that I would proudly show around the area. Most thought that I had somehow made the entire document up and was just doing it to get a laugh—not so, not by a long shot. It was as real as it could be.

Right there about the 3^rd or 4^th office down was the name: Jesse James, a Democrat running for State treasurer. Most of the office holders at that time in our state’s history were Democrats—not nearly the case today. But there it was, one of the most famous names in American History and obviously not a name anyone would associate wit the position of State treasurer.

For those that don’t remember, Jesse James (Oct 1904 – Sep 1977) was the longest serving Texas State Treasurer; having held the post from 1941 until his death in office in 1977—appointed to the position by Governor Coke Stevenson when Charley Lockhart became ill and could no longer serve. Then duly elected and reelected over and over, year in and year out from that time on.

The second point of contention associated with my absentee ballot was the device furnished by the Secretary of State to be used in the recording my votes onto//into the actual ballot. The instructions included a statement (I wish I could locate the copy I have retained all these years; I think maybe my wife might have thrown it out.) advising (more like a warning than a piece of advise) me that I was “to use the provided device to punch the holes in the ballot and only the provided device to punch the holes.” This was odd for reasons I will clear up in a moment.

I would show the warning and the device around the office and have my associates read the instructions. They all would look at me with this dear-in-the-headlights grin and ask: “How they gonna know?” My only response was: “Oh, they’ll know. We’re dealing with the State of Texas here!”

The ballot itself was sort of the consistency of one of those manila envelopes and had a Styrofoam backing—those hanging shads had to go somewhere. I was always amazed that the State allowed me to keep the poking device—after being so specific about it’s use, one might have assumed that they would want it back to reuse next election day. Not so, they never requested it back.

The all-important device came taped across the bottom of the ballot itself. Right there for all to see was one of those large paper clips—not just one of those used to lip three or four pages together, but that big kind—suitable for heavy duty work. Now, it wasn’t just your everyday paper clip. No, not by a long shot. This clip had one of the legs bent straight so you could get a real hold on it prior to tackling and punching that ballot—a task not up to just your ordinary man without the aide of such a device which could be supplied ONLY by the State of Texas.

Needless to say; I followed the instructions to the letter. I didn’t want a all expenses paid trip to Huntsville the next time I showed my rosy red cheeks in the State.

I welcome your comments and remembrances of election days past. Please leave a comment.

Are we scared yet?

Had the opportunity to attend three plays over the weekend in the McKinney and Frisco area. The common thread was my daughter and grand daughter.

The Bremon Town Musicians

You see, my grand daughter, Alison, the freshest electee to the student council from the 3^rd grade at Ogle Elementary School, was the Cat in the Bremon Town Musicians—with lines to deliver you can bet. She did a marvelous job—no brag, just fact. The performance was a short little ditty—no more than 30 minutes—for the monthly PTA meeting. The ones in charge—you all know how controlling PTA types can be—dispensed with all proceedings excluding the financial report. PTAs may have to report on their finances at their monthly meetings; maybe something to do with the transparency in government. In any event their current treasury stood at a little over $20,000. I don’t remember Crockett Elementary, which I had the thrill of attending for some five of the longest years of my life, ever reaching a combined total of $20,000 over the complete range of my attending years. Finishing with the business, they went straight into the play.

In any event, the kids were just fantastic. Everybody enjoyed it very much. Of course the audience was made up of some of the most impartial critics walking the earth—fathers, mothers, grand dads and grand mothers. The brothers and sisters forced to sit through the performance may not have held the same esteem as the rest of us, but most—well, almost most—were well behaved. I can’t believe they got that many kids to memorize that many songs by someone other than Justin Bieber. Scanning the entire group as they sang I could not detect a slacker on any of the risers. I will report that the first narrator either knew her lines so well from an immense amount of practice or she is the third fastest reader in the free world—I could understand only maybe every fifth or sixth word—good thing I knew the Grimm’s classic by heart having performed it in one of my first grades, either in New Mexico or Montana; I can’t recall which.

My granddaughter was PERFECT! She was the hit of the show. You can ask her grand mother; you don’t have to take my word for it.

We hard trudged over to the school in the blinding rain and wind—only two blocks away, you can see it over the back fence of my Son-in-law’s and daughter’s back fence—we now had to quickly hike back home. Now trailing two quick stepping kids—we had managed to acquire my grand son Gavin just prior to the performance, he’s a kindergartener at the same school. I don’t care what the calendar says, winter had come to McKinney this very evening. Arriving at the house, we quickly traded out for dry jackets for the kids and reloaded to make our way to the high school for the next two performances.

Horror High

The ticket booth had already quit collecting money, so we found some seats—an almost completely packed theatre made this fairly difficult—as the show was already in progress. Every character from your worst memories was represented in the students attending the mythical high school: Nosferata, Gillman, Jacqueline Heidi, Larry Wolf, Carol Ann, Georgia, Claudia, Holly Goblin, Bigfoot, Blair Witch, Doctor Frankenstein, The Monster, the Invisible Girl (not enough male actors available, I’m guessing), Jim Ho-Tep (I probably misspelled this one badly.), Principal Reaper, Miss Medusa the vice-principal, and Coach Minotaur (the football coach Minos). I’ll leave it to you to connect the dots between the characters and their original movie role—see how many you can match up.

Gavin got into the play on Saturday

The lines in the play were some of the lamest I have ever come across in my play-watching career, but the kids seemed to be having a good time and that’s all that counts, especially on opening night and the first performance of the year. This attempt would have challenged Yellowbeard (the movie) for it’s current position on my all time favorites list. The impression that I got from my daughter, Stephanie, was that she was not a bit satisfied with the performance. But, ya gotta start somewhere.

 

Alison is the cute one in the center!

You might have guessed that the play was all about love: the Blair Witch and Doctor Frankenstein, the Monster, Larry Wolf and Nosferata—their parents actually don’t want them together—you realize how well werewolves and vampires get along. , Bigfoot and Georgia (Braineater girl zombie), Jacqueline Heidi and Gillman,—it just goes on and on—love was everywhere and it all worked out at the end.

During the intermission, Gavin and I got us some popcorn and the extremely abbreviated concession table in the hall outside the theatre.

Night of the Living Dead

The lights soon dimmed and we were quickly into our third play of the night—another zombie filled thriller. Steph did use some nifty effects to help tell the story and I was impressed with one specifically. They had a tech guy sitting in front of the stage proper that projected the TV news leads up on the wall in front stage right in black and white.  I thought it was very effective, even though you knew that the videos were pre-recorded—at least you thought you knew.

After the first three or four killings my grand daughter appeared in a scene. She was sick and being comforted by her parents. You surely remember that the dead were brought back to life by a huge release of radiation from outer space. The stress of the daughter’s (Karen, actually my grand daughter Alison: I can’t say that enough) illness heightens the need to get to help before she expires and is effected by the radiation also. The cast keeps killing one-another as quickly as possible but never having to leave the stage—just to lie there motionless in full view of the audience. Keeping still for an extended period of time is tough for a kid; but for a teenager, I am sure they just took another nap.

The story continues and more deaths take place and Karen (my grand daughter—see how I worked that back in again) continues to grow worse and worse. Of course she is lying on the couch center stage and twisting and turning and feeling worse as time goes on. The sympathy of the situation has all our heart strings so tight that one could not believe. Still more deaths!

About this point in the proceedings, Gavin fell asleep in my lap. It had been a long day for a kindergartener. I still managed to watch the carnage taking place on the stage only three rows from my seat.

Miraculously, Karen (Alison) has expired, has now left the couch and is eating her own dad’s brains right in front of us all. From her dad she turns and takes out her grieving mother—what has my daughter done to my grand daughter?—how will she ever recover from this scaring? It’s so unbelievable, I can not imagine the results and the thoughts running through my grand daughter’s mind.

 

Alison about ready to expire!

All of a sudden, we are greeted with the curtain—an opportunity I had been wishing for some time now.

Quickly out to the parking lot and on our way to my son’s house in Forney to watch the end of Game 6 of the World Series. Patsy (my wife) sent him a text to stop watching at the seventh inning stretch and go no further so I can watch the ending with him. I’m hurrying now through north Dallas traffic in a pouring rain shower—are we there yet?

Actually both plays were much better on Saturday Afternoon. Have you seen any good young actors in plays yourself lately?

Considering adoption

Night before last, I was struggling to stay awake—way past my normal bedtime—to watch the outcome of the St. Louis Cardinals and Milwaukee Brewers baseball game. The National Pennant and a trip to the World Series was on the line for the Cardinals, if they could remain ahead and take the NLCS at 4 to 2 games. It was getting tougher as every pitch seemed to take the game deeper into the night. Both teams were scoring runs and pitching changes were coming every inning. Man! I didn’t ,think I was agonna make it to the end.

My wife, Patsy, decided to knuckle under at the end of the 5^th inning with the Cards up by a score of 11 to 6. She went upstairs to bed to read for a while and doze off when the occasion seemed right. I, on the other hand, felt that the occasion was right to watch the game until the end—why start if you’re not gonna finish?

Both teams seemed determined, as they should have been, to score as many runs as they could and stretch the end out as far as possible into the Milwaukee evening. I don’t begrudge them that—that’s as it should be.

No more runs but still pitching changes came over the next half inning. After singing God Bless America and taking his 7^th inning stretch, Little Gus ambled his way upstairs. He likes to be on his pallet at 10 PM sharp—if he’s up much later, he is impossible to deal with the next day.

I really didn’t like it when Gus deserted, but Otis was still downstairs with me and looked to be in it for the long haul. He understands the game pretty good—well, he understands the going to get the ball part, but isn’t very obliging with the handing it over after the fact part. But, he was at least still on the same level of the house with me.

The last of the 7^th came and went. The 8^th started and Otis was still awake and watching intently. The Cardinals added another run, making it now 12 to 6—I thought at he time that would keep Otis enthused. I did see him nod a couple of time in the bottom of the 8^th, but there he stayed.

I’m not sure if Oti heard something from the second floor or not, but after the commercial break and just as the Cardinal 9^th started, he lopped off and disappeared upstairs—not to return that evening.

The loss of my last compadre really ticked me off. But, there I sat—six outs away from the World Series. If the Cards could just stop scoring; maybe it could be over quick.

An out here and an out there and the Cards were down to the bottom of the 9^th and still leading 12 to 6. Just three more outs—but still closing in on 11 PM. It was becoming harder and harder to remain awake and fully cognizant of what was taking place. I was trying hard to do so even as alone as I felt—I just had to sit through three more outs. Every pitch seemed to drag on and on.

Then quicker than you can say: “All alone am I, ever since your goodbye,” it was over. I looked around for somebody to celebrate with and again realized that “All alone am I, ever since your goodbye.” What a downer!

I watched just the slightest bit of the jumping around on the field, turned the TV off and made my own way upstairs.

Did anyone welcome me into the bedroom. Patsy and Little Gus did not even move a muscle. Little Otis raised up onto his front feet and stared just the slightest. I told him to lay back down and he quickly did—usually he gives me some teenager-like guff, but not this time—he just looked the part of the tired puppy.

What disappoints me is that I was left behind, deserted—all by myself—to watch my favorite team in all of professional sports to win their way into the World Series all by myself. That’s right deserted—left all by myself.

 

 Little Gus

(2 & ½ years, 37 lbs, almost-male )

Loves: Me, neck rubs and children (especially those his height)

Believes: Squirrels can be caught

Terrified of: rides in a vehicle

 

 Little Otis

(just barely over 1 year, 40 lbs, almost-male)

Loves: Me, the day and the night

Believes: the world is his toy

Terrified of: Garbage trucks

It is for this reason alone that I am strongly considering putting up for adoption two of the best friends I have. I can’t count Patsy in this offer because she says I can’t. But if I could, it would be my three best friends. Any takers?

UPDATE - useless devices from the backyard

After the rains this pas Saturday—I’m guessing that was what we received; hadn’t seen anything like it in several months—and after the water level in the backyard had resided, the pups and I ventured out back there to determine if we needed to apply for some form of federal disaster aid—a tough choice to make; there’s just so many different categories and so much money to choose from.

While out there, I thought I might take a look and see how those useless devices I reported on last month had weathered the storm. The most of them fared pretty well—no federal aid money to be made there unless I can come up with some sort of  natural disaster failure to remove backyard clutter—I probably oughta look and see if I can find a federal agency that specifically handles problems of this nature. I’m sure the Democrats have one; it’s just a matter of finding the agency.

Well, at any rate, in my final check, the last device I came across seemed to have taken on a task of its own. I’m still not sure that my assessment of its ability to function as a spider trap—not with the amount of liquid it had managed to store up. No self-respectin’ spider is gonna get itself caught in that mess.

This sent me to wondering again—maybe my original idea was completely off point. What could it be?

Puttin’ the ole grey matter in gear, I began to ponder:

• Maybe it’s a substitute bird watering hole

• Could it be a mosquiter breedin’ device—that seemed fairly plausible

• How about a knat swimmin’ pool

I wasn’t getting anywhere; all good ideas, but they just didn’t seem to be the solution.

Standing there while I crunched the brain cells, it began to dawn on me that I was closing in on real trouble. The pups had continued there quest of backyard relief—they’d been cooped up for some time and not allowed out. As they churned up the mud and what little grass remains, I realized that my wife wasn’t gonna let them back inside without some form of cleaning, washing, or scrubbing. They were beginning to look pretty bad; Gus not so much—he doesn’t like to get wet for any reason; but Otis is another matter entirely. He has no fear of  water unless it’s in the form of a bath. Otis will get as dirty as dirty will comply with his need, desires or devious humor.

I knew I was gonna be in as much trouble as they would soon be.

That’s when it dawned on me. The device in question was one of the most ingenuous device ever invented by man to keep man outta trouble.  Its entire purpose seems to be to alert man—prior to ever venturing out the back door—to the mud level in the immediate area of his intended roaming. I’m thinkin’ bout getting one for the front yard as soon as Home Depot opens up.