Virtual-Doug

The Picnic

Its been a month since she was in class, and boredom was setting in for Ái Nhân.  The local Chamber of Commerce had ordered some perfect weather, so Cindy decided to pack up a basket and head out for a picnic.

Of course, that meant a quick stop at the local grocery store to get chips and other unhealthy food, but what’s a picnic without junk food, eh?

(Be sure to click on each photo to see a larger version.)

Ái Nhân has a student visa - and that does not include multiple entries into the United States.  What that means, of course, is that she can’t make a quick trip into Mexico.  But, we could get close to Mexico by going to the banks of the Rio Grande.  There’s a nice family park - Anzalduas Park - that looks across the river into Mexico.  Perfect place to wander around, be lazy and enjoy the world.

Proving that there is a little child inside all of us, our sober and mature graduate student burst into smiles and laughs when she spied the swing sets and took a ride on one.  She was nice enough to avoid knocking over the photographer.

And I continue to ponder one of the mysteries of my life.  Though I know the answer, I still wonder why I have been so blessed to have Tuan, Thanh, Trang - and now Ái Nhân in my life.  They are a great tonic for me as I approach my dotage.  If it was God’s intention to  give me more work to do on this earth, then He gave me work that I love doing. 

And for those of you who wonder, Tuan is still working on his doctorate, Trang is back in Việt Nam looking for a doctoral program, and Thanh is back home teaching.

I am deeply grateful for all of them in my life.

Christmas - Special as Always

Of course it was fun - it’s always fun.  It’s even more fun when watching an adult experience Christmas for the first time.

Ái Nhân has been in America since August and has grown accustomed to American ways - but Christmas, with all its variables, was new.  After the stress of semester-ending exams and after turning in the requisite research papers, she took a few mornings to sleep in, recover, and refresh.  Then it was off to shop with Cindy, make cookies, listen to Christmas music, and watch the requisite Christmas movies - you know the ones:  “Its a Wonderful Life”, “White Christmas”, and “A Christmas Story.”  She’d already seen “Home Alone.”

She jumped in with both feet, which is her style of meeting life.  With Cindy’s family all together, we went to the Christmas Eve service - packed with visiting grandkids and absent the grandparents who traveled. 

Ái Nhân has never been afraid of a microphone.  She and her freshman classmates threw a Christmas party in 2005. Parties mean karaoke in Việt Nam and the microphone was passed around the room.  Six years later, when the chance came to sing with the music team at church, she was ready - candle light and all.  I marveled that she sang the old Christmas carols with the same flawless gusto as someone who had sung them all her life.

(As always, be sure to click on each photo to see a larger version of it.)

Ái Nhân is not a Christian, yet that makes no difference to the people of St. Peter & St. Paul Episcopal Church.  She is part of the family and they have embraced her as such.  Hers is an inquiring mind that asks questions about the ceremonies of Christianity.  Because a considerable number of people in her home city of Huế are Catholic, she has seen people make the sign of the cross.  She has asked questions about the meaning of some of the actions of the priest during Communion - and recognizes that there is something special about the number three.   And she patiently sits in her seat while Cindy and I go forward to receive the bread and wine.

Christmas is also a time for sharing gifts, and guess who played “Santa’s Helper” by passing out the presents from under the tree?  She was, after all, the youngest. 

Grandma unloaded her Christmas stocking and enjoyed the new “closet” Ái Nhân made for her Barbie doll clothes.  The Vietnamese are great gift-givers and are not as enamored as we with giving expensive gifts.  Gift from the heart are important to them.

We did get a chuckle when one of the blouses Ái Nhân received from Cindy’s brother Don was discovered to have been made in Việt Nam.  What a small world we live in.

Christmas is also food.  Cindy prepared the usual table-groaning feast - with Ái Nhân’s help of course.  Family together - from the matriarch to the newest member.

Of course, some were missed - certainly Trang, Tuan, and Thanh were part of our Merry Christmas, if only in our thoughts.

My life continues to be so blessed.  I love my family, whether by blood, the one I married into, or my newly acquired family of Vietnamese.

I am blessed indeed.

The Four County Ride

Yesterday was Black Friday, and I wanted to be as far away from a shopping mall as I could get.  It seemed like a good day to get on the scoot and go for a ride - a nice long ride.

US Route 83 follows the Rio Grande northwest out of McAllen, Texas.  Yeah - there are a few more towns upriver, but there are no shopping malls and the traffic gets thinner.  Finally, you get to the town of Zapata. It sits at the head of Falcon Lake, a man-made reservoir that also provides an excellent fishing lake.  There is a fairly good economy of providing fishing guides, tackle shops and boat dealerships in Zapata.  A fair number of Winter Texans (retirees from the mid-west who winter here) occupy the numerous RV parks, enjoying the low cost of living and a lot of fishing.

But remember - on the other side of the lake is Mexico - and the drug cartels control that side.  About a year ago, a young couple got on their jet skis and went across the lake to explore an old Mexican village that had been submerged when the lake was created in 1953. The Zetas didn’t like them poking around in their backyard and came out shooting.  The husband was shot and killed while the wife barely escaped.  That has prompted American law enforcement to remind folks to be careful on the lake - and not to cross the international boundary.

After a decent, if not spectacular lunch of enchiladas, I refueled and was ready to continue on my way, but not until I took a look at this old Chevy for sale.  Anybody out there know what year this is?  The seller spoke only Spanish - I tried to ask him.

Notice from the map that I went northeast from Zapata.  There ain’t nothin’ out there but dry brush, buzzards, rattlesnakes and the occasional cow.  See the little town of Guerra?  It consists of five buildings, only one of which is occupied and the rest falling down.  Not much to see in the ranch country north of the Rio Grande.  The rest of the ride was uneventful.

I covered 255 miles - and I didn’t see any shopping malls.

Texas High School Football - End of a Season

Back in August, I couldn't wait for the season to start.  Except for my trip to Việt Nam to bring back Ái Nhân, (say eye nyun) the summer was boring - not much to do photography-wise.

(Be sure to click on each photo to see a larger version.)

Of course, Texas is well known for observing the Sabbath on Friday night when the zealots leave their homes and gather in the Temples of Football to celebrate the Worship of the Pigskin.

High school football may be the last bastion of true amateur sport.  Most of the players will never suit up again after their senior year, but that doesn't keep them from giving their all out on the gridiron.    The kids have been pumping iron all summer long - and now it was time to put the hurt on someone in another uniform.

For me, the season begins with "factory photography" - - visiting the teams on "media day" to take "T&Is" - team and individual shots.  A newspaper gets a lot of revenue from football.  All those "Offensive Player of the Week" or "Lineman of the Week" spots have sponsors.  There isn't much fun to those days of taking T&Is, but hey - they pay me for it, eh?

But soon enough, the season begins in earnest.  Some coaches prefer to play their first few games of the season against patsie teams, other coaches want to play as tough a schedule as possible.  All want those first few games - the ones played before the games against district foes - to help build their team. 

I get my gear together in the afternoon - two Canon 1D Mk IV cameras, a big 300mm f 2.8 lens (held up with a monopod) mounted on one and a 70-200 f 2.8 on the other, plus a utlility belt for carrying a wide angle lens, spare batteries and the like.

This year, I began going to games on my big scooter - the cameras and lenses in the top case and the belt in the trunk under the seat.  Cindy always has to rush around and get me fed before I leave at 6:30, but I need to get to the stadium early enough to go up to the press box and get  a  copy of the rosters so I can identify the players before sending in photos to the newspaper.  Actually - I use a little point & shoot camera and take picture of the rosters.  Riding the scoot makes it much easier to be on time - parking is never a problem.  I just ride that thing up close to the entrance, find a striped place in the parking lot and put the side stand down.  Legal as can be and easy.

Funny thing about shooting a football game - people always ask me how a certain player looked or wanted to know if Coach Schimmelpinnic had switched to the Power I formation or whether the Fighting Carp really have three fast receivers this year.  I have no idea what goes on a game - in fact, I take a picture of the score board after every quarter so I will know enough later on the write decent captions.  My face is buried in the viewfinder - I'm not a spectator.

But as the season wears on, my old body begins to protest running up and down the field carrying the camera with the big lens on the monpod and carrying the other camera on a shoulder strap while my hips protest the weight of the utility belt.  Sooner or later, it means a visit to my favorite chiropractor.  He knows what the problem is - and besides, he has purchased photos of his daughter who is the head of the dance team at her school, so we have lots to talk about while he cracks my back.

Of the six teams I cover, only one made the playoffs - and they went out in the first round.  Football is over for me - time to move on to basketball, but its always a fun time.  I hope I can continue to do this for years to come.

And hope I don't get hit by one of these big kids when he gets knocked out of bounds.

Day Trip to Hebbronville

Sunday broke with sparkling clear skies and low humidity - a blessed relief from the high temperatures and higher humidity of the deep south Texas summer.  Great day to play hooky from church and throw a leg over the Burgman.  A day trip to somewhere seemed like the thing to do.

Why Hebbronville, Texas?

Simple - it would be a two-hour ride there, and another two hours back.  All on back country roads.

Those back country roads took me through some small towns - some of them almost non-existent.  La Gloria is famous for its bull fighting ring. Yep - bloodless bull fights.  There’s not much else in town.


(As always, click on each picture to see a larger version.)

And another thing about those back country roads - they are flat.  The topography of deep south Texas makes your dining room table seem bumpy - there ain’t no hills!  The best that can be said is that there are a few places that are a few feet higher than other places.  It is ranch country, too far from the Rio Grande to irrigate for crops and too dry to farm without pumped water.  There’s not much out there - crows have to pack a lunch before  they fly across south Texas.


When you do see life, it is usually bovine - the only time I saw humans was behind the wheel of a pickup truck going the other way.  By the way - in certain parts of Texas it is illegal (well, okay - maybe just immoral) to drive anything other than a pickup truck or a large SUV.  The Chevrolet Suburban is the National Car of Texas.  Because I wasn’t in a pickup, these critters were a little nervous about the strange dude in the neon-glow jacket peering across the fence at them.  I’m no cowboy, but I noticed the stance of the bull on the left - and decided to get back on the scoot and boogie down the road.


I’d hoped to have a nice late breakfast in Hebbronville - find a local eatery that served huge portions of all the things that are bad for you.  Biscuits and gravy, bacon, eggs fried in grease and toast with real butter.  You know the kind of place I’m talking about - with cracked vinyl seats and a waitress that calls you “Honey.”  But, I had forgotten it was Sunday.  The Country Kitchen was closed and all I found was a Dairy Queen.  Somehow, a Hunger Buster hamburger wasn’t a good substitute for a big cafe-style breakfast.

The good people of Hebbronville (there aren’t many of them) are church-going folks.  Our Lady of Guadalupe Catholic church was packing them in.  Of the other churches in town, I noticed most had smaller crowds, except the Methodists who had a Spanish language service listed for later in the day and the English service had been conducted on Saturday night.  Much of the population of Hebbronville speaks Spanish, accounting for the large number of worshippers at Our Lady.


But like so many other small rural towns of Texas, Hebbronville is dying.  Shuttered businesses and houses are common.  Much like Ballinger in West Texas  and Muleshoe in far west Texas near the New Mexico line , there is nothing to keep the young folks there.  Sad to see what were once thriving businesses now empty and falling down.


Then it was back on the scoot for the ride home.  Though the Burgman gets 60 miles to the gallon, the tank only holds 3.4 gallons.  I had 113 miles on the odometer since the last fill-up, but thought it wise to gas up before heading back.  You see - - the number of gas stations is rather limited in The Big Empty.


Nice day - nice trip - nice bike.  I let the Burgman settle down to a comfortable 70 miles per hour - I wasn’t in any hurry - and got home by early afternoon.

Then I let a nice nap in my easy chair wipe the grin off my face.

The New Toy

You’ve heard of male middle-aged crisis, right?  But, have you heard of male old-aged crisis?

But that’s what this is.  My new toy - a motor scooter.

Its new to me, not new.  Suzuki makes it - a Burgman 400, made in 2008 with just over 6,000 miles on it.


The “400” is not just a model name - its also the size of the engine - a 400cc engine that will let the rider boogie along at 80-90 mph.  Not that I want to go that fast, but it does cruise very comfortably at 70mph.  And, as you can see, its built to pack double.

No day is complete without at least one good rationalization. In this case, the rationalization is that I bought a bike so I could save on gas. (Its about $3.87 around here.)  

But the real reason is that riding on two-wheels is fun.  I’m supposed to be retired, but to me, that means doing what I want to do - not what somebody else wants me to do.  I actually have two jobs - one is doing some simple part-time writing at the university where I once worked and the other is my photography for a local newspaper.  The round trip distance to the university is over 20 miles - about a gallon of gas in my car.  But - the bike gets between 55 and 60 miles per gallon - two and a half times the mileage.  When I go out to shoot an assignment, my gear all fits under the seat - even my big lenses and two camera bodies fit with ease, all nice and protected.

The other real reason I bought a scooter is that I have missed my little Honda Dream since we returned from living in Việt Nam.  While we lived in Huê, that little 110cc moto carried us all over the place - shopping, classes, photo trips - it handled them all with ease, even with both of us up.  But a little 110cc bike would get me killed on America's much faster roads.  I didn’t want a motorcycle either - the lower center of gravity of a scooter makes holding it up at a stop light a little easier on the legs.  A scooter with some umph - that’s what I wanted and that’s what I got.

There is a little spark of risk-taking in the old man yet, eh?

Muleshoe - The Auction

They do it every Saturday - folks from many miles around come to Muleshoe to sell or buy livestock.  We two city boys had never been to a livestock auction before, so after assuring the staff that I wasn’t from PETA and was not trying to cause trouble with my cameras,  we wandered around to see the action.

Of course, one must size up the possibilities before the auction.  The auction started at 9AM with sheep, goats and some hogs, with the cattle auction starting at 1PM.  First thing in the morning, most of the pens held sheep and goats - though I was amazed to see some llamas.  I was told later that many ranchers put llamas and mules out with their cattle to protect them from coyotes.

And I thought mules was just the name of the school mascot.

(As always, be sure to click on each photo - you will see a larger version of the picture if you do.)

Each animal is identified by a tag or sticker and when the time comes, the critters are herded into the ring - in one door, parade around for a few minutes, then out the other door.  While the ring men swat the sheep/goats/cows/horses to keep them moving, the auctioneer prattles on with a running tab of the prices electronically displayed above him.  By the way - the ring men were pretty easy with the plastic paddles, which make more noise than anything else.  Even the most recalcitrant animal didn’t get much more than a swat on the butt.

The bidding is like any other auction - it is a mystery how the auctioneer sees the bids.  A little nod here, a dip of the head there - somehow he sees the bids and keeps things going.  The ring men occasionally point out someone in the crowd to help him see all the bidders, but for the most part, he relies on years of experience - and a knowledge of his customers.  They all seem to know each other, though I did hear him once say “75, from the man I’ve never seen before.”  More often, I’d hear things like “Fred?  You through?” or “Hey - this is a nice steer, Jimmy.”

Few of the animals were sold in large groups - they were auctioned off either one at a time or in small herds of six or seven.  I was surprised to see so many goats - one rancher told me a few were sold for milk, but most were meat goats, intended for the Muslim population around the Dallas area.  Some of the smaller kids were sold to families who would raise them as a project for the children.

And yes - there were some photogenic types around too.  Some fit the image of the West Texas cowboy - and others were a mixture - a little bit typical American teenager with a little bit of cowboy too.

In other words, Americans.

Thanks to Jaime Myers for the hospitality.  The brothers enjoyed their day at the livestock auction.

The Eyes Have It

Of course I blame football for my absence.  Its not coincidental that my last posting was in August - that’s when high school football begins.

(Hey - you didn’t expect me to blame myself, did you?  My being gone from the blog for such a long time must be someone else’s fault.)

Here are some of my favorites from this season - chosen because the players’ eyes are expressive.


Here - you take it.  I don’t want the damned thing!

 

 

(Be sure to click on each photo to see the larger version.)

 

 

  Aw - come on - let me have just one more yard!  Please??

Uh oh - - where’d this big guy come from? 



Yuck!!  This thing is wet!











Oooo - this is gonna hurt when I hit the ground.






Which one is your favorite?

Back to School

Yeah - school is back.  After a long and boring summer,  I have work to do again shooting high school sports for the local newspaper.

This is Texas, and that means football.  If football is much like a religion in Texas, then religion could learn a lot about becoming more of a part of the fabric of life in America.    Football seems to inspire more loyalty on Friday nights than churches do on Sunday.  Lots of people will tell you who their favorite team is, whereas most Christians are a little nervous about saying anything about Jesus.  (I’m just sayin’)

(Click on each photo - you'll see a larger version of the picture if you do.)

I had two games to shoot this week - one on Friday, then another on Saturday night in the same stadium.  (Two high schools in the same school district.)  Its named “Tom Landry Stadium" because Tom Landry not only played his high school ball in Mission, Texas, but led the Eagles to a 13-0 season in 1941, ending with the regional championship.  (There was no state championship in those days.)

I was a lot like the athletes - during the first half of the game, I could tell it was my first game of the season - kinda rusty.

But - the ladies are back in action too.  Volleyball actually starts earlier than football.  The girls have one week of practice before they start playing for keeps.  In my opinion, volleyball is one of the most difficult sports to take photos of.  Not only does the net cause the camera to focus in front of the players (there are work arounds) but the athletes are so very quick.

And - this is the beginning of a new year for my selling photos too.  I don’t make a lot of money from RGVSportsPix.com, but its enough to buy some new toys with and have some fun.

Time for a Haircut (Ballinger, Texas)

Ross needed a haircut, but he had a problem - he would have to break in a new barber.  Eddie had cut Ross’ hair for many many years, but Eddie had passed away a week earlier..

There’s not a lot of barbers to pick from in Ballinger, Texas.  Eddie had run his barber shop since 1964, but Sarah arrived from Odessa last December, making Ballinger a two-shop town - at least for awhile.

(Be sure to click on each photo - you will see a larger version of the picture.)

Not that Ross minded having a woman for his barber - he just wanted a good hair cut.  Sarah had been  cutting hair for almost forty years - and Ross had nothing to worry about.  Hers is a nice comfortable place - and it is undoubtedly a barber shop.

Ross sat in the chair as the place began to fill up with other customers.  Most conversations began with “How much rain did you get at your place?” and Sarah chatted with each of them.  A smile and a “I’ll be right with you” greeted the new comers.  The barber shop may have been new, but all the customers were old friends.

As with all good barbers, Sarah pays attention to beards and mustaches too.  Sarah asked if the  customer wanted his mustache trimmed by merely cocking her head and waving the clippers, and he responded with a nod of the head.  Who says you have to use words to talk?

As the morning wore on, the shop became hotter - the air conditioner was out.  By mid-afternoon, the heat of a west Texas day was too much.  Sarah called it a day, left a sign on the door and went home.  All that has changed in Ballinger is the name of the barber - her shop is the new gathering place to swap news.