It's Not Your Mother's Football...

 Me, along with Cathy and Matt made the drive to see our nephew Chase play with the Shreveport Rugby Club against Cy-Fair. We had a good time, a great visit with Chase and the team won.

Rugby is not totally unfamiliar with me. Back in the late 70s when I was a student at Stephen F. Austin State University many of my friends from the dorm including U.S. Tico and another jr. high friend from the old neighborhood, Joe Jones played on the SFASU team. They once won a a state title in 1978 and still have occasional team reunions. 

I always tried to go to the Saturday SFASU games if I was not marching with the Lumberjack Band at a football game and was interested in playing but if you don't make it on the field in during the 1st or 2nd half you can always come play the third half which involves lots of beer, the singing of bawdy limericks, various stages of undress and girls that follow the team around calling themselves rugger huggers. 

While I was sitting at the game it occurred to me that all those rugger huggers I knew back then are now pushing 70 (as I am also) and since we all are beginning to rack up some serious years of sobriety we skipped playing the third half for a quiet dinner on an outside patio and some good conversation. 

Here's the best photo I got with my cell phone of Chase in action during the scrum. That's him about the middle of the pile, the red and black of Shreveport and the shortest shorts. Shorts have to be short because if the are not short they are long. I think when me and Chase met we both had on short shorts It's a thing with us and hopefully one day you will meet someone you can have a thing with too.

We arrived about 10 minutes or so into the game and missed Chase getting a yellow card for punching a guy. Chase, if you see us running late hold those punches till later. 

Shreveport won and I think they had 50 points. I forget how many the other had but a high scoring game is always exciting. I caught Cathy at home later at the computer looking up rugby shirts with slogans. I can tell by the way she's acting that I will probably have to play a third half to hear the bawdy songs.  

Just remember that when you solo a verse to the song, if you mess it up they pour a beer in a shoe and you have to chug it from the shoe. As a bartender once told me, "you'll be surprised what they will drink out of." 

  

    

 

Slow Fishing But We Managed a Few...

The American White Pelican nests as far north as Alaska and the Northwest Territories of Canada. Some go south in winter to Costa Rico like my friend U.S. Tico but a big bunch of them can usually be found on the lakes of East Texas through the winter. They eat about four pounds of fish a day and I usually see them moving and feeding on deep open waters for shad and minnows. Yesterday we spotted this group of birds and laid up in the warm sun on a little nub of an exposed sandbar instead of fishing and it proved what we found out. The fish were not biting, at least not at that moment in time.     

Our old friend Jongy was with us on this trip. He's going to catch one sooner or later if we keep taking him out because he did get a bite but his luck is not much worse than Cathy's total of one fish. The last trip Cathy invited people to the fish fry before we left for the lake and like most people who work well under pressure was able to back all that up with some fat blue cats landed in the boat. No pressure on this trip she claimed.  

Matt took the most fish this time out. We caught zero fishing deep which was where they had been last trip and found the catfish about 4' deep under slip corks. The lake was up after the rain but there are reports that it will go down again. There's work being done on the dam rip rap. When flows on the Neches River slow going into B.A. Steinhagen Lake the water from Sam Rayburn Lake which goes down the Angelina River to join the Neches out of Rayburn will be released for the work to continue.   

Note in these photos that after all the rain water color is about like how I like my coffee. 

I took big fish honors. Two big fillets off this fish worth $8 a pound. The smallest 8 fish probably worth $40 at the grocery headed, skint and sold bone in. 

Despite the slow action the total was 11 fish and they were decent size. That's 56 fish for the month of January. Things will probably slow in February because of non fishing plans but March is a solid slip cork meat in the boat month. 

 

U.S. Tico and The Man at Rockport Fulton Market Days...

 I've written about my old friend, Donald Setterbo, or as we called him in college Donnie "Mo-Honny" or as friends and family know him, "Papa Turtle" or as he is now known through the branding of his retirement business venture, U.S. Tico. I helped him this weekend in his booth at his hometown Rockport Fulton Market Days. 

I case you don't know "Tico" is a term for a native Costa Rician. Setterbo has been living in Quepos, Costa Rica for six years. He is U.S. Tico, a Tico at heart from the USA. Quepos is a tropical harbor town, surrounded by rain forest and famous for big game fishing. It's an easy place to fall in love with and identify yourself with the relaxed pace of living and the ecotourism that replaced the banana plantation economy. Do I need to mention that resident Americans and Europeans enjoy the cheap rents and cool breezes off the ocean?    

U.S. Tico got the idea for his brand one day while walking the harbor along Marina Pez Vela. He encountered a young Nicaraguan woman out to enjoy a stroll down the picturesque waterfront. The woman pushed a baby carriage and the chubby cheerful baby wore a hat that said, "No Soy Tico" or translated to English "I'm not Costa Rician." This set the wheels of creativity turning. Costa Rica is a beautiful, easy place to be. It also spends 6.9% of it's budget on education compared to a global average of 4.4%, is rated at a higher level of human development that other countries of similar income and scores as the worlds 23rd happiest place according to the World Happiness Report. Let's get together and talk sometime about why you don't want to be Tico.    

U.S. Tico goods are high quality. The prints and logos are created and drawn by humans, not AI machines. Hats and other items are embroidered.  At the Market Days U.S. Tico introduced his new line for Ticas, or for non Spanish speakers, the girls. 

Looking around the Market Days Fair grounds there were several hat booths. These are different. They  fit my big head. That's quality. 

Creativity runs in the Setterbo family. Click the link to check out his daughter Naedas's children's book, "Sloth Bunny Goes to School." U.S. Tico reviewed the book for me, "there's a lot of different levels..."

You can pick up Sloth Bunny on a hoodie. 

Of course in the short time span of one weekend's work U.S. Tico did not covert the whole USA to the Tico life. That's their loss, but he told his story, sold a few hats and talked to other local business owners interested in carrying the line in their shop. No one else is doing this. Why not make the sales pitch? Pura Vida is a Spanish term used in Costa Rica to describe the culture there. It means the pure life. Why not be Tico? Why not be Tica?    

Shop now, someone with that many nicknames is bound to have something going on.

U.S. Tico

 

Oh How I Wish You Were Here...

It was a busy weekend. There was a couple of parties but there was work also. A crew gathered up to paint the old Zamora Corporation house in preparation for selling. It jogged some memories of my  friend G.W. and in connection with that the English psychedelic rock band Pink Floyd. 

Here's a photo of the painters.   

Back in the early 1980s I was getting to know G.W. and he showed me a business card. This was way before websites, facebook, influencers and such and it was generally thought that a business card gave you the look of a professional and just about guaranteed success. I have some cards from my cigar box making days. U.S. Tico left a box of business cards here and I guess there has been modest to good success that it is kind of hard to decide what part of that to attach to the business card. 

G.W.'s business card said "P.F. Paint Company." He was in the business of painting. Always having been a work for the hour/take the weekend off kind of guy it was not something I would do but I kind of admired but did not feel jealous of a fellow that had his own business. I asked G.W. what "P.F." stood for. He looked at me like I had two heads. He stared like I had put my under ware on the outside of my pants, which kind of like business cards it's not something people stare at anymore. 

With this look G.W. replied, "It stands for Pink Floyd." 

I note that due to English copyright laws that allow material that sits unused for a period of years to become public domain the band Pink Floyd recently released live recordings from the late 60s/early 70s period. I read drummer Nick Mason's book "Inside Out"  where Nick allowed as when sound mastering technology progressed the band was able to clean up murky old recordings or make use of musical ideas developed in earlier periods. It was essentially a way for the band to keep making money developing material from previous work. I don't know the worth of the Pink Floyd catalogue but I would say if the business plan they are using keeps being successful that none of their great great grandchildren are going to have to paint houses.            

Here's Miguel with an official P.F. Paint Company t shirt. I don't suppose G.W. owes the band anything for the development of paint company idea. 

If you like this blog and want more like it Venmo me what it's worth to ya. It's just so I don't have to paint houses.

@Carl-Wallace-23 

 

My Friends Have Super Powers or So It Seems...

My youngest daughter, Mary, told me once that she thought all my friends were super heroes. It's because they had what she, as a small child thought were super hero names. In this photo you see me and two of them Gary Strong and Darwin Mann. Mary thought those names had to be describing some kind of powers they possessed.

Gary is long gone now but I think his super power was bending time which we know as a sequence of events at measured intervals into his own application which he called "Yoder Time in Hootersville." I think maybe this photo of me, Gary and Darwin was taken right before Yoder Time in Hootersville kicked in. I don't participate in Yoder Time in Hootersville anymore. Too, powerful, unpredictable and you never know where you will end up. 

I still hear from my old friend Darwin. We send each other big fish pictures by email or text. I think his super power is remembering what I said. For example Darwin will say "remember that time we were on the cliff fixing to jump down into the river and you said..."

He will then go on to relate some deep space existential, quasi-religious, philosophical manifesto that I declared on the spot of this river cliff that he has been remembering and pondering and possibly using as his spiritual guide for years now. I tell him, "Heck Darwin, I don't even remember jumping in the river."  

Recently I introduced Mary to my old buddy U.S. Tico aka Donnie Mohonnie. Mary said, "See, there's another one."   

  

 

U.S. Tico, the Man, Q, Catfish and Music How Else can you Live it Love it Wear it?...

It's numerology bouncing around my brain when U.S. Tico visits the Man. Thirty pops up on my calculator which is about the number of years since we last saw each other. When Q, not the anonymous Q but just regular old Q, shows up input 43 and that's how long since those two saw each other back on the old red brick streets of Nacogdoches. When we were all in college together the number on the dorm where we met, old Mays Hall was Dorm 11. Add seventeen because that's how many months, stuck down in Costa Rica because of Covid restrictions it took for U.S. Tico to grow his ideas. When we spent two days (do you multiply?) on Lake Sam Rayburn catfishing the number produced is 45 because that's how many catfish we caught and ate. To tie all this together is a variable number and this is the number of guitars owned by U.S Tico and the Man. No one knows that value but add one, the loneliest number and that's represents the keyboard that Q jammed on.     

The U.S Tico Fishing Team 2021, left to right Q, Tico, the Man. 

Just for the fishing record the lake, after the high water of spring and early summer is dropping fast but our honey hole Los Brazos is still producing. Two days, 45 cats and we left them biting. Fish ran a bit bigger than average for this spot and we could have caught many more. The fishing log shows four trips this summer and 150 fish caught at this place. Fish are hanging suspended 10-20 feet, easy to catch pitching to them on JPiggs stink punch bait, 

The Man and Q. That's the real Q to you. 

The U.S. Tico Fish Team. We still did not get a photo of anyone modeling a swimsuit but I think I feel a product idea coming on. 

Back in the old Nacogdoches days at Stephen F. Austin State University we spent afternoons lounging and listening in old Mays Hall to Bob Dylan songs. Now we jam on Dylan songs.  

Cathy joins in on our jams. Yes, girls can be on the U.S. Tico Fishing Team and in their guitar army.  

It was a great weekend. Tico is wandering Texas for a couple of more months. Q headed back to his home in Tyler. We will gather again, I just don't know when. I have numbers to add up and there may be answer produced by my ciphering. 

 

U.S. Tico and the Stephen F. Austin State University Rugby Reunion...

 U.S. Tico is in the USA. With numerous goals to accomplish and orders of business to take care of after 17 months of  pandemic assisted venturing the adventure in Costa Rica the first thing to see to besides family was a reunion of Stephen F. Austin State University Rugby Team Alumni at the Houston SaberCats game. It's sad to note that the SaberCats lost but I am sure they played the third half well.

There's U.S. Tico standing third from the right. Maybe we can put some names to these guys and The Man might actually know some of them but it's been a long time sice he played a third half with them.  

Rugby at SFASU is a Sport Club. Like other sport clubs such as bass fishing, judo, rock climbing and more it's a student run activity with most funding from donors. These clubs provide leadership opportunities and competition with other schools at the state and national level. Alumni donors offer one rugby scholarship each year. 

The Man never joined these guys to play rugby but as you can see from this group it's a friendly sport. After the game anyone not on the team has the chance to play the third half. It's a tradition to play the third half  around a keg of beer with everyone joining in the singing of bawdy songs, usually to the tune of well known nursery rhymes that must be finished flawlessly or you chug a beer. I note that now a days rugby songbooks can be downloaded and printed. That kind of takes some of the challenge away from your third half playbook.       

Of course there are other traditions such as the elephant walk as well as some that may not be named yet. There is also group of girls that follow the team called rugger huggers. See the girl in the top left of the above photo? That's a rugger hugger.

That's U.S. Tico on the far right standing. This photo from the Oct 3, 1978 issue of the Pine Log student newspaper celebrates the SFASU Rugby Team State Championship. 

Ok time to compare. Look at the SaberCat photos. Look at this one. Now chug your beer and name names. 

Here's another Pine Log clipping on a defeat of the Sam Houston Bearkats. It's always a good day when you beat Sam. Note the story below the game report, if you like SFASU Rugby donate here. 

I also note that there is now SFASU Women's Rugby. Research is underway to determine what they call team followers and if they need any. 

I Like Warm Weather...

 I don't like the weather to be cold and it snowed here last week and then stuck to the ground for several days. That does not happen very often in these parts and actually the ice sheets on the roof, which brought to mind the fact that wooly mammoths froze with green salad still in their mouths, slid to the ground in my flower beds and stayed frozen in the shade for almost a week. In those flower beds I had a wandering Jew house plant (a name invented by someone else) that took root in the fertile soil. In our usually warm clime and the 40 days and nights that pass for winter here it sleeps undisturbed in piles of thick homemade mulch until warm weather comes and it's time to wander to other beds and pots. I look forward to such wandering action myself. 

 I had put some thought into cold weather this year. Not the thought that true northerners put into winter like how they are going to push snow piles out of the way to get the door open or the car out of the drive way or who they are going to call if the roof collapses from the weight of snow and ice. I just bought a thrift store set of insulated bib overalls. I had brief dreams of catfishing over deep holes stacked with large blue cat so warm on the bottom of the lake that they are as comfortable as U.S. Tico on BenJammin's porch down south in Costa Rica. I might have worn those coveralls once. I certainly did not need them on the short trek back and forth from the firewood pile last week. 

My preferred dress, given the coming of spring and summer is no shirt and no shoes. A headband, do rag or a hat is handy to mop sweat and give assist to thinning hair that does not give enough sun protection to a delicate scalp. Service won't be necessary. In fact in the early days of writing this blog and posting photos of my self online people often asked if I ever wore a shirt. These days I am kind of like that once handsome friend who often got away with murder until he aged and was not so handsome and started getting punched in the nose quite regularly. I might punch myself in the nose if I saw a picture of me online without a shirt but then there is that threshold you cross where you just don't care and when it's warm summertime I don't care. 

One time when I did care I put some thought into what I was going to wear one summer. There were some pastel checked cotton shorts in a light color that all the other guys were wearing and they looked like they might be comfortable and stylish for summer. When one of my kids saw me wearing those shorts she said "That light color is not going to work for you because you get so sweaty and dirty." 

Now this had not really occurred to me because sweaty and dirty is my optimal operating mode. I really don't think I ever got those shorts dirty because one day as I performed the bending, scooting twisting, crab walk side step that is necessary for a large man to seat himself in a small car the backside of those pastel checked cotton shorts were torn asunder like the temple veil signifying that my body would never inhabit such the sanctuary of such a garment again. 

Now I give my thoughts to the coming warm summer, short shorts and swimming. I know there will still be cold days before then but I have firewood and I will use it. I might even try those blue cats. 

 

Brooms, Neck Tattoos, the Economy...

 I was pondering whether to get my $600 tattoo on my back or my neck and I thought about something I heard someone say. 

"It's a good economy for a man that does not mind pushing a broom." 

I think what he really meant was that it's a good economy for a man or a woman for that matter, who does not mind getting their hands dirty and I thought about broom pushing in my own life.  

I got my first real job, an adult job, in an economy where huge warehouses were often needed to hold all the product pouring from the great furnace of American endlessness. These were warehouses roughly the size of a downtown block in the city of Lufkin, Tx. The Keltys warehouse that had once been part of the old Angelina County Lumber Company and occasionally used for offsite storage was the size of several city blocks. These warehouses required sweeping. 

To sweep the warehouse a couple of guys were issued brooms about 18" in width and a one gallon tin bucket full of an oily, pink sawdust mixture called floor sweep. The floor sweep was scattered at random by the handful and caused dust and dirt to stick together for easy sweeping. This took awhile but it was an economy that paid by the hour and time and a half when you went over eight hours. 

As time went on and it was discovered that making money often means workforce reductions the company found that the number of employees and time required to sweep a warehouse could be reduced by having a mechanical sweeper. The last warehouse sweeping I did was sitting on one of these. A comfortable seat, propane powered to contribute to a clean low emission indoor atmosphere with whirling brushes and vacuum suction it was a dirt Zamboni and I probably received 30 minutes of instruction to qualify for a certificate to proclaim my operational prowess.  

So my view here is that the economy, at this point in time is not going to let a man get his hands on a broom. Those big warehouses I mentioned stand on empty ground that few recall the original purpose of. I retired from a second career that came after the sweeping and I checked in on the 401k associated with this work. It had made as much money as one could expect from something like this, on what I do not know and all without me hitting a lick at a snake for the last eight months. Unless you call blog writing, banjo strumming and tuba playing, things which I sometimes do get paid for hitting a lick at a snake. 

Now understand this idle wealth, made with clean hands, is not like legacy money. It could be burned through pretty quick with the purchase of top of the line bass boats, neck tattoos, Gibson guitars and trips to see U.S. Tico in Costa Rica. It will be enough money for the economy I create here on out for myself. 

A neck tattoo of a man with dirty hands pushing a broom, maybe a skeleton pushing a broom, a dolphin pushing a broom, a unicorn pushing a broom, help me, I'm brainstorming here.   

 

Remember Me...

Last Sunday morning I was listening to the gospel show on New Orleans public radio station WWOZ, I'll come back to New Orleans but the song I heard that morning which stuck in my head was Mississippi John Hurt's performance of the old spiritual "Do Lord Remember Me." In a year like 2020 there has been there is time to think deeply about this old tune. 

"Do Lord Remember Me" seems to have it's roots in the 1860s as a spiritual sung by slaves of African American descent who picked cotton in the American south. They probably sang it in the fields as a rhythmic accompaniment to repetitive labor. They probably sang it in church on Sunday morning as a prayer to ease their burdens. Mississippi John Hurt was born in 1893. That was 30 years after the Emancipation Proclamation freed the slaves and "Do Lord Remember Me" had been in circulation about the same amount of time. Cotton was still an industry and hard working people usually have a custom of church attendance on Sundays. Hurt surely heard this song as a child in one place or another.  

"Do Lord Remember Me" has been recorded many times. I don't think the Beatles ever recorded it but Johnny Cash  sure did. With parents born and raised along the Mississippi River only a few miles from where Cash was born and in rural East Texas I am only one generation removed from knowing what cotton picking is all about. I was lucky enough to have my family lifted by FDR'S New Deal programs and the industrial boom of World War II and the years that followed. My parents probably heard this song. As I say hard working people go to church and there were changes, trials and new things to become accustomed to and prayerful songs helped.    

As I toyed around with this song on my resonator guitar I thought about it's history. It's not the oldest song I have ever played. I've been in brass ensembles and concert bands covering Baroque and Renaissance pieces but those have a set way to be interpreted. "Do Lord" can be made your own. I like songs like that. 

Working on slide guitar licks for the song and still thinking I wondered what song was making the rounds thirty years before I was born? It was easy to find this information. The 10th most popular song of 1927, thirty years before I was born was "Charmain" by Guy Lombardo and his Royal Canadians . When I was a teen and my interest in music was growing my mom took me to see Lombardo and his group when they played the local community concert series. I don't recall what they played but I bet I heard "Charmain." It may not have carried the spiritual weight of "Do Lord" but certainly a good tune that has surfaced in movies and remained evergreen in popular interest. 

Now to bring things back to New Orleans. Once during a trip there I was going one place to another on foot and took a short cut through one of the old cemeteries. All burials are above ground due to the water table in a below sea level city so I was passing bleached white crypts, leaning monuments and mausoleums with some falling into haunted disrepair. With the music of the Crescent City on my mind a name on a crypt leapt out at me. I spotted a tomb with the name "Doctor of Jazzology." No other information, no dates, nothing. I've searched the internet. Nothing there either. "Doctor of Jazzology." Do remember him.  

            

Venture the Adventure While Holding a Baby...

U.S. Tico always says, "Venture the Adventure."  I say, "Yeah, but I'm holding a baby." Just do it. that's the whole idea. Pura Vida, with the meaning that you should be thankful for what you have and live a simple life is the way for Ticos but I lived it on one particular vacation to Mexico. 

The summer of 1991 had been very eventful. In July my youngest daughter was born. There had been house remodeling, family adjustments for the three older children and school was soon to start. As a consolation prize for the new baby taking away some of their summer fun thunder we promised the kids that there would be a vacation to Disney World as soon as mom and baby were ready to travel and before school started. Reservations were booked. Only problem with all these goings on, you must remember this was pre-internet when you could just google up this information, the trip was booked after the start date of school. Hasty adjustments were made, Disney World was canceled and it seemed that even though the baby was three weeks old, Puerto Vallarta, Mexico was a good idea.    

Puerto Vallarta is located on the Pacific coast of Mexico. Long a place where Hollywood celebrities could cavort while escaping prying paparazzi at the time it was not on the general American tourist's radar and was a preferred vacation destination for Mexico's domestic tourist. It was a great place, sunny skies, clear, calm water with a deceptive wave break right at the beach that would strip a bikini from the unguarded swimmer in an instant while beach vendors selling cheap silver and fat lazy green iguanas watched.      

"Night of the Iguana", starting Richard Burton and Ava Garner was filmed in 1964 at Mismaloya, a beach south of Puerto Vallarta. Our trip, with a three week old baby had none of the drama associated with the John Huston directed film about the human wrecks descending on an isolated resort. Instead there were jungle trips, donkey rides, good food, plenty of beach time and souvenirs to purchase from wandering sellers willing to negotiate what was perceived as the lowest possible price for their wares.        

Since much is made of the movie filmed there and the Hollywood connection to isolated relaxation it seemed like a good idea to book a boat cruise to Mismaloya Beach and Los Arcos Marine Park. The tour promised coastal sight seeing in the vicinity of the movie set, beach time, a jungle trail, waterfalls, snorkeling, and a roasted chicken lunch. Seems like an easy trip for a baby.   

It's not hard to imagine Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor living in a hillside home with the beach right below. 

Waterfalls and jungle trails capture the iguana movie mood. 

I must admit that it has only been in recent years on a trip to the Cayman Islands that I became comfortable breathing through a snorkel. I have a bit of claustrophobia and things such as reclining in the upper berth of an Amtrak sleeping compartment or trying to breath through a pipe activate it. I was perfectly happy to let my wife, Cathy, snorkel while I held the baby.     

Los Arcos became a protected area in 1984 to preserve the habit, fish and birdlife that is abundant in the waters around these granite islands carved down to arches by time and the elements.  

I should mention at this point that the roasted chicken lunch, with side dishes of beans, rice and tortillas had been washed down with cheap tequila, and Modelo beer. The boat crew was a gregarious bunch and seemed to lead the charge when it came to the cheap tequila. Maybe that's why it looked like a good idea to drive the boat through the arch. I have heard U.S. Tico was here in 1982. I am not sure if the boat Captain had heard about Venture the Adventure yet or not.      

These are all photos that I made that day. I don't have photos of the boat ramming the arch, running aground and shattering the rail. It was the pre-digital age so no cell phones to capture all action and post to Instagram. In the chaos I was too busy holding on to the baby. I could imagine the headlines. "Man drowns but saves baby." To Venture the Adventure you must survive it. I think that's a U.S. Tico rule. 

As you can see the boat did not sink, I did not drown, calm returned and I still had the baby. She's 29 years old. We made it back to port with the tour boat engine dying as we bumped up against a docked ocean liner. With the boat damaged and the cheap tequila gone the crew was not as entertaining on the return trip as they were earlier. As I think back on this experience and have learned more about the delicate ecosystem of Los Arcos I would think that compounded with the boat damage there might have been some consequences for the crew to the boat grounding on the protected reef.    

Pura Vida. Venture the Adventure. Even if you choose Costa Rica over Mexico and have to hold a baby. 

 

Slip Inside This House...

 The Man pulled his dark blue 1971 Dodge Demon off the dusty red dirt of old Martinsville Rd. into the driveway of the long brick ranch style duplex. A knock at the door was answered by U.S. Tico who said, "Slip inside this house." The Man entered. The universe shifted and changed by the actions taken and U.S. Tico drew down the old paper roller shade that hung over the front window and a pen an ink of Don Quixote tilting at windmills that had been sketched there by a previous tenant with plenty of time and better than average talent was reveled. 

Slipping inside this house is a mind set, an idea, a way to live that happens in so many ways and in so many places. The Man slipped inside U.S. Tico's house that long ago day to venture a friendship that would last decades with lances tilted to the "fierce and unequal combat" of life. Don Quixote slipped inside the house of adventure when he prepared to attack the windmills he believed to be giants. If you visit Costa Rica and step inside BenJammin's porch out of the tropical rain the afternoon will pass with song and fun before you know it. 

Slipping inside the house of travel never goes out of fashion. It was the writer Henry Miller who said, "One's destination is never a place but a new way of seeing things." 

Maybe that's the best way to think about this idea. Slip inside this house. Make friendships that grow. Look for art that has personal meanings. Listen to the joy of music made by friends. Travel and experience the world outside familiar settings. Find a way to slip inside this house, even if it is a long brick ranch style duplex. Venture the adventure and life will take it from there.   

Keep an Eye Out for U.S. Tico...

 I mentioned a few blogs back I was beginning to write for an old college friend's Shopify web site called U.S. Tico. Things are moving right along and I don't know exactly when the web site goes live but it's exciting to have a place where my blogging will reach a wider audience. 

I can divide my life in parts. There's that part where I spent a lot of time playing electric guitar and howling at the moon, there is a part I spent raising kids and having a family, there is that part I spent playing a tuba, there is the fishing part, there is the part where I was a musician at church, there is the part where I traveled around, there is the part where I was a better electric guitar player but still howled at the moon and of course there have been a couple of different careers during all this. Some of those parts overlapped. The characters in these parts are mostly the same. There may be parts I have not unpacked or found a label for or even begun yet. I'm thankful that people have expressed interest in these things, or maybe it was the things I thought about all these parts that made them say, "hey, I want to read about this." 

It's pretty wild that this blog, begun in August 2005 has had 161,458 visits. I have written 2682 individual posts. I don't know how many words this has taken but it's a bunch. When I meet a blog reader on the street they usually comment on the photos. That's good too and if Cathy is with me they say, "The girl from the blog!" 

So keep an eye out. I'll let you know about U.S. Tico. There will be shopping, music, adventure and other blogs. May be you will have a part. If you do, I'll be sure to write about it.