Sunday, September 29, 2013

Playing The Wheel at the State Fair of Texas

This ain't your granddad's Ferris wheel.

And I didn't think I was going to get my daughter on it, because she was a bit scared.

WAS!

After a couple times around, she thought it was "quite nice." And now she doesn't get the heebie-jeebies about them any more.

Money well spent, if you ask me -- and even if you didn't.

The Wheel

Saturday, September 28, 2013

Cactus and Boots

I guess I could have taken a photo of Big Tex like everybody else (and of course I did), but I like this angle.

Cactus and Boots

Sunday, September 1, 2013

His Old Pair of Boots

If his old pair of boots could talk,
 they'd tell a story 'bout the time

he drove up over Wolf Creek Pass 
hauling honey, and doing fine.

On old dirt roads of rock and dust, 
not like today, all nicely paved,

with snow still on the mountain tops in June, a summer day.

On the downhill side those brakes gave out, 
all 18 wheels just cut for broke,

and how that man and truck survived, to this day, nobody knows.

He just played it cool. 
He weren't a fool by any means, 

and walked away to drive that truck 
 for many a longer day. 


If his old leather chair could talk, 
it'd tell a story 'bout the time

three children stuffed themselves between the arms, to sit awhile.

The Cowboys playing on TV
 with Roger Dodger in command,

he'd yell, "You kids get out of my chair,
 and stay out. You understand?"

And even though his voice was gruff,
 with Red Man stuffed inside one cheek,

he wasn't really mad at all.
 It didn't mean a thing.

He just played it cool.
 He weren't a fool by any means,

and walked away to drive that truck for many a longer day.


If his old cowboy hat could talk 
it'd tell a story 'bout the time,

the sun beat down with uppercuts,
 no ringside bell in sight.

The shade it gave was small relief,
 and sweat ran off that Stetson brim.

The semi gone beyond repair,
 those 18 wheels and him.

He walked a mile or two, they say,
 across that arid land.

He stumbled out on 35.
 Hot asphalt seared his hands.

He just played it cool.
 He weren't a fool by any means,

but cowboy hearts will one day give,
 and that's all there is to say. 


If his old granite stone could talk, 
it'd tell a story 'bout the time,

he carved himself a family,
 one milestone at a time.

And how he played it cool.
 He weren't a fool by any means,

and would've gladly drove those 18 wheels
 for many a longer day.