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No Bar Too Far

Double Cat Bone Zune Moment this morning…….

You Can’t Always Get What You Want  by the Rolling Stones from the Let It Bleed cd ca. 1969
For What Its’  Worth  by Buffalo Springfield from their debut cd somewhere around late ’67 or early 1968

 

Yep, that is Stephen Stills in the hat before he really was Stephen-Stills-as-we-know-him.  Even a shot of Neil Young later in the video before they even would let him sing a note.  If you can’t finish this opening line “There’s something happening here…”  you need to youtube it young ‘uns and see what it is I am talking about.

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The Fabric of Life - Post Paucity

Another Saturday morning in South Texas Brush Country.  Unremarked and quickly lost in the whirl of over 100 sunrises Tuco the Dog and I have watched from the same window looking at the same mesquite tree.   Sanity conservation and silly habits ensue during long and interminable oil field gate guard assignments like this one.  It is the week end, marking a change of wardrobe from Wranglers and long sleeves to shorts and t shirts.  The Company Man will be along directly and address me as Jimmy Buffet instead of Cowboy.  Even though the gate guard job varies little day to

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A Thousand Hungry Clocks*

 

Always a reminder to check the NASCAR Schedule

Ah, lets’ see , where was I?   I think I had promised last week that I would  finish up the Story of Miss K.   Best to get after it.

I trekked  over to New Braunfels as requested to meet face to face with Miss K.   I am a punctual fellow to a fault and I missed my designated arrival time by a good half hour; not my usual nature at all.   She had called to ask my whereabouts and I had mumbled something about getting a late start or traffic or some

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Terlingua Reprise - Hasta la vez próxima

Entrance to the Green Brute's summer home - Much more effective than a simple 'Trespassers will be shot' sign don't you think?

Red Bluff in the evening light

‘Why don’t we just stay?‘   was what Miss K said that morning.  I paused ;  I didn’t want to head east into the South Texas Brush Country any more than she did.   I was wishing it was September instead of almost-April.  I could entertain the thought of staying here north of Terlingua with a dwindling bank account if it was cool enough to survive without AC and the growling of a diesel generator to feed it day after day.  I repressed the irresponsible urge and said ‘One day baby, one day we will.’

It was

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