Sam shots

These are from a brunch we attended before my Grandad's funeral. The pictures were sent to me by my Aunt Melinda.

Sam with his Grandma.

Sam with my Grandma and my niece, Kacy.

You can't really tell from these pictures, but our hosts had a house that was a complete work of art. Glass walls staring out over Lake Joe Pool. Stacked rock walls. Vaulted ceilings. And a four-story tower with a lounge on top.

I guess that it's a sign that I now own a home and have seen what my Dad has gone through with the big house in Hico, but I couldn't stop walking through the place, cringing at the idea of maintenance costs.

Back to the treadmill

So, I started dressing for the funeral on Thursday and discovered that all of my good clothes had mysteriously shrunk since the last time I wore them.

By this time, it was just another in a mounting signs that my fatness has REALLY become a problem and it's time to get serious.

Learning to cook is great. The problem is that I wanted to learn how to cook my Mom's meatloaf, chicken fried steak, cookies, etc. And I've therefore cooked myself out of my clothes and into a situation where tying my shoe causes me to breathe heavily.

Really, it just gets annoying -- having to deal with the extra weight and the sudden loss of the ability to reach areas of yourself that you've always been able to reach.

And so, I've started on the treadmill. I had some chicken fried steaks in the freezer that I had to make, and the dieting and the keeping track of every little thing that I eat starts after I finish those.

My wife doesn't believe me either.

The service

All of my Grandad’s grandchildren got a chance to talk (shortly) about the man at his funeral on Thursday.

This is kind of summation of what I said, along with some addendums of things I wanted to say but forgot.

"You think of the typical Grandfather and you think of a man who wears suspenders, makes fun of uptight people, and otherwise uses a lot of phrases like, ‘By cracky.’

This is not my Grandad.

I always felt like I needed to stand up a little straighter anytime I was around him. I knew I didn’t want to be on his bad side, I just had a hard time figuring out exactly where his good side was.

It wasn’t until I was older and I began to see his humor and his intellect. And what an intellect. A degree in chemistry. A rank of major. He read War and Peace in a week. [My brother’s comment but I liked it.]

Looking back, I never really noticed his generosity – his gruffness tended to cover some things. But he always managed to pay for Grandma’s shopping trips for me, he somehow sent checks for $25 or $50 for all of my birthdays, even when he was decades beyond his working years.

And I can’t remember the number of times he sprung for a steak dinner for the entire family – all four of his daughters, all of their husbands and children and the children’s children.

He was the kind of man whose approval you sought because you knew it meant something.

My wife had a difficult time at the hospital when my son was born 18 months ago. She was worn out. Otherwise I would have driven by to see Grandma and Grandad on the way home. I was so proud of my kid, I couldn’t wait to show him off to my Grandad."

I had never witnessed a military honor guard at a funeral before. It was impressive and touching. Taps was played, the flag was folded and given to my grandmother, the soldier gave the "thank you" speech and it was the one moment I had to blink away tears.

It was a cold and rainy day. You notice these things at a funeral, I think, because of the old superstitious notions surrounding ceremonies -- What is God saying?

A cold day that brought much needed rain to a developing spring. My Grandad wasn’t exactly a warm man. But he was a good, tough man. The world needed and needs people like him to keep it in line. It’ll be worse off without him.

In mourning

Obviously, the usual humor wouldn't be appropriate at this point, but I'd like to report to those who have asked that the family is doing OK.

Really, whenever someone is 94, whenever he's had a peaceful stay at the hospice, whenever his family has had a chance to say goodbye, and whenever the final decision was his to make -- passing on doesn't hit like a collision with a brick wall.

What I'm left with, at this point, is just a blank spot in my conscious, that itches and can't be scratched anymore. I didn't visit or talk to my Grandad enough, like everyone else and their grandparents, but I'm realizing how much comfort and strength I drew from the simple knowledge that he, and the part of my heritage he represents, was there, in real life. Memories will be a poor substitute.

William Harold Garvin, RIP

I'll post a tribute eventually. Here's the obit I put together on my grandfather.

William Harold Garvin of Arlington died early Monday, March 9, 2009, at Arlington Memorial Hospital.

Harold Garvin was born Dec. 28, 1914, in Dustin, Okla., the son of William David Garvin and Margaret Harris Garvin.

He graduated valedictorian of Weleetka High School and attended Georgia Tech University, where he earned a Bachelor’s degree in chemical engineering in 1939.

Garvin was a member of the ROTC at Georgia Tech, and entered the Army with the rank of second lieutenant upon his graduation in 1938. The next year he married Theda-V Sanders. They would stay together for 70 years, until his death Monday.

He began his military service in the Signal Corps and was stationed at Camp Bowie in Brownwood on Pearl Harbor Day.

In the 2nd Army Division, 53rd Battalion, he served in North Africa, Italy and France before leaving the military with the rank of major at the end of World War II, having earned the EAME Theatre Ribbon with seven bronze service stars.

He began his civilian career by moving to Dallas and working as a petroleum engineer at Mobil Oil. Later, he opened Garvin’s Hardware and Paint Company at the old A. Harris Shopping Center in Oak Cliff. After selling the business, he sold Gold Bond Trading Stamps and was named as the company’s top U.S. salesman in 1963.

He finished his career as a purchasing agent with Dairy Queen Stores Inc., and later owned and operated three Dairy Queen franchises. He retired in 1987.

He was a longtime member of Glen Oaks United Methodist Church, later joining Duncanville UMC so he could attend services with his family. He was an avid fisherman and Boy Scout volunteer. He spent his retirement traveling with his wife and doting on his grandchildren and great grandchildren.

He spent much of his spare time solving crosswords, assembling puzzles and growing vegetables in his garden. His family will remember his strong work ethic and his sense of humor.

Watchmen's drawer

I have no plans to see "Watchmen" at the multiplex. It's definitely a Netflix kind of experience for me, albeit one where I'm not scanning the catalog in hopes that it pops up.

To me, the most interesting thing going on here is the guy who drew the comic in the first place.

This guy. Alan Moore.

Yeah. You look at him and you think deranged hermit. And yet.

He can't stop himself from noting that he's put a curse on the movie and that he hates Hollywood and the media. And yet he keeps on showing up for interviews and finding ways to get his quotes in the paper.

He kind of reminds me of Kurt Cobain, always muttering against the corporate media, yet constantly calling MTV to play his videos more often.

I find it kind of fascinating, when people choose an image of disfunction in order to make their business function better. And if you don't believe me, check the hair. Do you have any idea how much time he has to spend every day getting that hair into some kind of functional state? He must have a drawerful of combs and high-pressure water sprayers just for his beard. I bet his bathroom has five different work stations.

The truly disturbed would just chop the thing off and be done with it.

Anyway, I have never been gaga for comic books. The promotional blitz and fanboy reaction for "Watchmen" had me puzzling over the possible reasons why. Comic book fans tend to be aggressive about their love for the graphic novel. Lord knows I've heard a lot about art, theme, style and impact. I've also heard the word "awesome" too many times to count.

I tend to be able to at least appreciate and enjoy some aspects of other people's passions, but comic books? Eh.

Why I'm not into comics. No, it's fine if you are. It's just not my bag. Don't hate.
When I was 10 and first gave the serious comic books a look, I remembered being off put by the violence. And most of the stories just followed a color-by-numbers plot:

1. Show Peter Parker at home relaxing with scantily clad wife.
2. Show villain killing somebody while giving a speech that smells like B.S. even to an eight year old.
3. Alert Peter Parker, who shows his concern with an "OH NO!" expression.
4. Change into suit.
5. Zip around. Somehow cause civilians to question your worth/good intentions.
6. Find villain.
7. Hear another speech from villain that even politicians would find meaningless.
8. Kill/chase off villain.
9. Parker appears back at home, looking somewhat fatigued. The end.

Today, what bugs me about the comics is just the non-sequitor to reality they require us to make. They introduce you to a tough, grity, urban setting with drug dealers, prostitutes, mobsters, etc. OK, I can believe that there are some pretty mean places out there.

But then, you're expected to believe that some buff dude in a skintight, flamboyantly colored outfit would show up and beat the crap out of everybody. That just doesn't follow for me.

My wife, who is somehow more into comics than I am, tells me "Watchmen" is a great story and deserves the recognition, and that "a great story is a great story, no matter the format." This made me think, for some reason, of Huckleberry Finn told through '50s beat poetry.

Curse the thought, but maybe my wife isn't right on this one.

Back in the saddle

Yep, I'm home, after driving my ole Saturn 99 wagon for two whole hours with no breakdowns and no new strange noises.

It's like I have my wings back. I felt like I was one of those characters with a broken wing in a cartoon about birds. The bird looks longingly at the sky as the others fly high above him. Sometimes he has to hitch a ride with his lady bird. Sometimes he and the lady bird get into an argument over just whose damn time it is to fill up the gas. And finally, the healing is over.

I'm lucky in two regards here. One, my father-in-law is a retired military mechanic, and, two, he's incredibly charitable with his time.

The whole screwed up story: After my car broke down, I took it to a shop, where they diagnosed a cracked engine block, and had pretty much written the car off as salvage. My father-in-law, hearing my wife discuss the symptons over the phone, calls that a bunch of hooey. Two weeks later, my car is back, working better than before the problems started. (His diagnosis: Something wrong with the head gasket, and replace the radiator.)

There is only one payment for such a man. And that would be cookies. And about $300 and change for the materials and such.

And another cut! And another cut! And ...

I'm beginning to compare my wife to a soldier -- albeit a soldier who becomes physically ill at the sight of a roach and who really likes to talk about emotions.

But mainly because I can see the mental wear and tear she's had to go through, as the Star-Telegram made its fourth(?) round of cuts in the last two years on Thursday.

Mainly, I see the comparison with the combat veteran who sees his friends get shot, but keeps going on, feeling guilty because he survived.

OK, the metaphor's a stretch, but I can't really imagine working in an environment where the staff keeps getting pared down and the survivors just have to keep on taking on more work. And half the people leaving are in "worst possible time for this to happen" phase in their life. It's not fun to work for a newspaper right now.

I admire her a great deal for being able to hold it together, put me through teacher certification, and spend baby time with the boy. I know I'd have said to hell with all that a long time ago and retreated to the farm, middle finger angrily in the air.

Announcing: 30 posts in 30 days.

Because I couldn't think of a more inclusive unit of time.

I've been slacking off big time here lately, and while I could throw plenty of excuses at you, I realized yesterday that I'm supposed to come here because of my excuses -- as therapy. Life's been busy throwing a lot at the Segrist (Fort Worth Branch) lately, and part of the reason for this blog to exist is for my own naval-gazing purposes.

Therefore, starting today, I'll be posting something for the next 30 days straight. There will be pictures of Sam. Videos of Sam. References to Hico. Ruminations on Texas Tech athletics, derision for Aggie football, western literature, and various idle thoughts on fantasy sagas, the middle ages and all that rot.

Also -- dogs.

Starting today. (This post don't count.) Please join me.

A few more notes

Teaching test
I put this up on Facebook, and then remembered that some of you have managed to avoid becoming ensnarled in that black hole of sentimentality and unnecessary updates.*

Anyway, I got the results last week from TExEs test, and managed to pass. The TExES test is a competency exam for wannabe teachers. It isn't the end of the road for becoming a certified teacher, but it is an important step, showing that you have a clue about the things you'll be teaching.

It's not easy, by the way. The questions are very extensive and the answers to choose from are often barely discernible. It was a long, focused, all-day exam and felt like having a baby. And I feel like I have the authority to make that statement.

*"I'm going shoe shopping. I think I'll share that with 68 people I haven't seen in years. Perhaps they'll wish me luck."

On the TV
Just a couple of recommendations. One, I went through the first season of "Flight of the Conchords," last week. It's often comedy gold. It's a different kind of funny than what I've gotten used to seeing. Mainly, it's not really all that hostile. I think the success of Seinfeld turned just about every comedy offering over the past decade into a contest of insult throwing. This Conchords just seems gentler.

I posted a video of their's a while back, here's another one, "Tape of Love." Ignore the first seconds of black.



I'll just note that the songs aren't as strong at the end of the season as they were at the beginning. Joke songs must be hard. I imagine that's why Wierd Al generally waits a decade between albums.

Also: Friday Night Lights. Best Season Ever.

Hope for the Aggies
This man has hope in spades. And by "hope," I mean "apparent head trauma."



The main funny is in the first couple of minutes. But he does a good job of keeping it real all the way through.

Notes and Sam shots

Just a few things:
I surprised myself by watching a good portion of the Oscars on Sunday. This is mainly because I was reading a blog that was making fun of it, and had to see what they were talking about. I'd also like to point out here that I watched none of the movies nominated, and have no plans to watch any of the movies nominated for best picture. This is because I don't really care about any of them. Just wanted you to know.

Hico trippin
I've gotten a few questions (OK, one from Tom) as to whether or not I've made it to Hico and done my little Indiana Jones expedition for the lost marker of the original Segrist home site. Short answer: Nope. As we have only one car right now, I can't take it for an overnight trip and leave the wife and boy without transportation. It's also the nice car, which means I can't take the dogs. And not being able to take the dogs to Hico seems kind of pointless. Hopefully, (very hopefully, I must admit) we'll get my car back this week and I'll be able to make it Hico before the end of March.

If the car refuses to work, I dunno.

Midieval trivia
The popular concept of the "village tavern" is wrong, at least up to around the 1500s. Dark Age folks living in rural villages typically got their drink on at one anothers' homes. Families, mostly the women, would brew their own batches. Once the brewing process was over, they'd open their homes to their neighbors.

Though the atmosphere was not, "Dude! Party at Aelfric's." Rather, the family sold their brew and would often count on it as a major source of income. It was also a highly regulated affair. "Brew tasters" were supposed to sample the ale before it could be sold, and the court records are full of fines for those accused of selling "weak ale." (Ale making was by far the most penalized activity in midieval courts.)

Sam climbs, scares parents
So the boy has become kind of an expert on getting into a chair at the table. He acts like he's part of the conversation and enjoys being out of the baby chair. Meredith's set up some activity things for him to do once he's climbed up there. Still, kind of nerve wracking not seeing your boy strapped in.






This is also a note to all parents: Your parents will probably want to buy your kid various $80 toys that they saw in some fancy schmancy catalog. While nice, you should tell your parents that your child's favorite toy will most likely be a stick. Or, in Sam's case, a stick and beat up rain guage that he found somewhere.

For a while Sam couldn't see a bird without flapping his arms. Now he waits until he hears a plane.

Wahoo!

LUBBOCK, Texas -- Texas Tech and coach Mike Leach agreed Thursday on a new contract after months of contentious negotiations.

Leach signed the contract shortly after he and Kent Hance, the university's chancellor, met for about two hours Thursday afternoon to hammer out an agreement. Hance said the negotiating part lasted only about 15 minutes.

I don't care that it was hard. I'm just happy it's over.

Because "Texoma" sounds better than "Oklexas"

I followed a link yesterday to a speech by man named Dmitri Orlov, who's written a book called "Reinventing Collapse." Orlov believes the United States is on the verge of implosion, much like the Soviet Union in the 1990s, and he writes about how America can implode "smarter, not harder."

My reactions:

1. It's not going to happen.
2. If it does happen, I say Texas and Oklahoma combine to make their own country. We already have a lake named after the new nation.

Yes, I realize a great deal of antipathy flows both ways over the Red River. But let's look at the other options:

• Louisiana is like the crazy uncle you invite over for parties, but you don't let him sleep on the couch.
• Arkansas is like the crazy uncle you have four restraining orders against.
• Kansas
• And Texans who get annoyed by Oklahomans simply haven't met enough New Mexicans.

Besides, I've never hated Oklahoma. I think most of the disdain for the Sooners is Austin-based, and most Oklahomans focus their hatred on Austin.

The fact of the matter is that Texans and Oklahomans have a lot more things in common than not, and our economies and culture would mesh pretty well. Texas has the Gulf Ports, Oklahoma has Tulsa. We've both got excellent universities, good natural resources, music, and barbecue.

When I pitched the idea to my wife, we had the following conversation:

Mer: I don't want Oklahoma. I want Colorado.

Me: Pah! Bunch of lazy, Elway-lovin', mountain boys. Besides, it's geographically impossible.

Mer: No it isn't. We just mount an expedition and ...

Me: That's fine, but you still end up with at least part of Oklahoma.

Mer: Fine! I'll take Oklahoma if it means we can have Colorado.

I think the British created Iraq in the same way.

Nitpicking "No Country for Old Men"

So why do this review now? Because the film has been out a couple of years and everyone who is going to see it has done so.

I'll just break it down into several West Texas nits and a few points:

• First off, it was a great movie. Finding problems with it is just a form of entertainment.
• The opening speech by Tommie Lee Jones refers to how his Daddy was proud that he was sheriff of Terrell County at the same time his Daddy was sheriff in Plano. Problem: Terrell County and Plano are eight or nine northeastern states away from each other. I don't really see the political connections working out there. And Plano isn't even a county. Now, I realized while I was writing the last sentence that Jones could have referred to LLano County. In which case, no problem.
• Jones goes on to talk about the sheriff "up in" Comanche County. That should have been "over in." Small thing, but if you're just pulling these names off a map, how hard is it to actually look at the map?
• The Coen bros. show a great deal of love for the West Texas landscape, and let the wind provide the primary soundtrack. I like that.
• I don't buy Josh Brolin's hair cut. Or really, for that matter, his character. His actions make for a good story, only they don't make any sense. There's no evidence of any internal struggle happening when he makes the decision to take the money and endanger his family and every motel clerk within a 500-mile radius.
• The women working the clerk jobs look like the women working the clerk jobs in those far West Texas towns -- polyster flower shirts, obesity.
• I have honestly seen maybe two men in my life dressed in a gray suit with a cowboy hat and boots. How did this get to be our uniform?
• My favorite line comes from Tommie Lee Jones: "My Daddy said, 'Once you stop hearing "sir" and "ma'am", the rest is soon to foller.'" I think the line was meant to show the sheriff's naivete and his inability to deal with a world that seems bent on cruelty. I personally think he's got something there.
• I hope that Barry Corbin gets his own movie someday.
• I heard a lot of complaints about the ending, so I wasn't disappointed by it. If you see the movie as a story about the Sheriff and the killer and their missions, it makes sense.
• I'm definitely old. I watched the movie wondering if the graphic violence was really necessary. I just recently saw "The Third Man," an Orson Welles black and white movie. They were able to effectively convey the horror of an injured infant simply by showing a man looking into a crib, without showing you what was inside.

Speaking of the perfect actress

Fiddler on the Roof's been on my mind since reading about it a couple of days ago.



The sound isn't great and he's out of costume, but Zero Mostel's performance blasts through those limitations. At least if you like "Fiddler." And how the hell could you not like "Fiddler?"

I need to Netflix that ASAP.

Interesting weekend

At least as the word "interesting" relates to the old curse, "May you live in interesting times."

Eh, things weren't that bad. I was just miserable because of the contrast with the fun I was going to have.

Here's my weekend, in a nutshell:

On Friday, I had the car loaded up with the dogs and various outdoor gear and headed out to Hico. There were a couple of causes for concern -- the car's radiator had been acting a bit strange and I had a minor head cold. But none of these things seemed that serious.

About five miles south on I-35W, my car's temperature guage had hit the red zone. I pulled over, cooled things down for about 10 minutes, started again. No dice. The temperature guage immediately jumped to the red zone. I drove into a truck stop and forlornly watched the tractor trailers coming and going, knowing my weekend had just become much more complicated.

I nursed my car back home, found a shop that installed radiators, and dropped the car off.

You ever have that feeling where you're expecting the Phone Call of Bad Car News? About an hour after taking the car to shop, my cell rang. I cursed, picked it up. The mechanic said the engine block had cracked.

I know nothing about cars*. Growing up, my Dad taught me the techniques of throwing a baseball, shooting a gun, grazing cattle, and the importance of matching the right actress with the right 1950s musical. We didn't cover cars. I'd kinda like to get into car repair and restoration as a hobby, but I have about 200 other things I'd like to get into as a hobby. How do you pick one or the other? Maybe my interest in making goat cheese will pan out sooner.

Anyway. I know nothing about cars. I do know, however, that "cracked engine block" is to a car as "pancreatic cancer" is to a person and "Let's see other people" is to a relationship.

In the meantime, the head cold launched and landed somewhere just short of a flu. I picked up the car from the shop, drove slowly home and spent the night, and most of the next day, in bed.

I was drugged up and missing a rare chance to be in Hico, tromping around and building a fire outside.

One silver lining: Meredith's Dad is an old Navy mechanic, and after telling me the engine block might not be cracked, agreed to tow the old girl to his place and attempt to repair it himself. (His theory is that the head gasket is blown. I nodded like I understood, then asked for a definition of "head gasket." And "blown.") So we have hope. I like my old Saturn wagon. It's the perfect car for me -- room for the dogs and backpacks, and it's old enough to where I don't really have to take care of it.

Meanwhile, for the time being, me and the wife will be living 1950s-style. As far as only having one car. Not so much the lack of feminism.

*One comedian had this line: Now, I don't know nothing about cars. At all. Once this lady told me her car wouldn't start, and I said, "Maybe someone is trying to kill you."

Wal-Mart observations

You can never find bok choi when you're looking for it.

Is anyone else bugged by seeing kids riding around in shopping carts? I'm not talking wee ones, I'm talking kids who look like they could be doing algebra homework. In my memory, as soon as we were too big for the cart seat, we walked. I realize that maybe it's a safety issue and you want your kids where you can see them, but that means keeping your eyes open, not infantilizing your pre-teen.

My mom expected us to walk and to stay with her, to the point where she once got tired of waiting up for me and drove off, making me walk home. True story.

Ever notice how big a difference the cashier makes? You either get the generally happy with life cashier, or the I'm-so-miserable-that-the-path-of-life-has-led-me-to-a-job-at-Wal-Mart cashier. I had one of the latter today, and I really could have done without the self-pitying sigh while handling my chicken, thankyouverymuch.

Notes

Woe is us Raiders
The contract negotiations between football coach Mike Leach and Texas Tech turn ugly. I won't give any analysis here, because you probably don't care and can find much better coverage elsewhere. (Note the Double-T Nation link on the blog roll.)

But I'll say it's ugly, and things like this tend to bring out the bad things on each side.

Bad thing for Leach:

• He's a lawyer and really lets his agents act like lawyers. One of his agents (meaning he has more than one guy, I guess) goes over everyone's head and sends a whiny e-mail to the board of regents. And every season ends with the movie, "Coach Leach goes shopping for a new job."

Bad thing for Tech:

• You have to shut down all negotiations and publicly proclaim that you're doing so? After deciding to hold off on negotiations when you had the chance to wrap things up before the season started? This SportingNews story says a lot:

"A close friend of Leach told me a story last fall that sums up the situation. When Bob Knight arrived at Tech in 2001 to coach basketball, (Athletic Director Gerald) Myers gave Knight Leach's university parking spot. Even though Leach was given another spot in the same lot, the move didn't sit well. For the rest of the semester, Leach parked in a commuter lot and walked to work."

Even if this ends well, it points to major problems down the road.

My boy can emote
Sam has had another of those mental leaps where things just all of a sudden seem to line up in his head. He's got about six vocabulary words and can basically do what we tell him to do, unless it has to do with his developing motor skills. Or the fact that he's still very short.

What's fun is watching his personality develop through his reaction to things.


He opened his first Valentine card today -- from his baby-mama's mama -- and went through a set of intensifying reactions:

• First he has this paper thing, and that's cool.
• There's a picture of a bell on the paper -- all right!
• We can tear it up! Yaay!
• BUT WAIT, THERE'S A PICTURE OF A DOG ON ANOTHER PIECE OF PAPER ON THE INSIDE! UN-FREAKING-BELIEVABLE!

Hico Jonesin'
Headed to the farm this weekend to check and see if we recieved any damage in Tuesday's storm. Should be fun, unless we have a gaping hole in the roof.

I've planned an expedition of sorts. Years and years ago, my father and his father planted a marker of the spot where, supposedly, the first Segrist homestead was built in 1868. It's on a part of the land that I've never explored. This weekend, I aim to find it. Should have pictures next week.

Have a stimulating, non-pork-laden, day.

Scotlyn takes her place

Congratulations to my brother, Scott, on the birth of his third girl, thus completing a set of "Angels."

Her name is Scotlyn, and I hope that's the right spelling. The family in Lubbock attempted to e-mail me pictures, but the only one that got through was this one on my phone:

Looks just like her Daddy.

Like toast on a campfire

It was Meredith who pegged it. "You're just really burnt out, aren't you?"

And I asked myself, "How does an unemployed man get burnt out?" Well, here's the situation in a nutshell, without too much whining:

Over the Christmas break, I had to sprint through about half of my on-line teacher
certification coursework to make the required deadline. A week after that, I had to take a certification test. I studied and then spent four hours taking that sucker, and have no idea if I passed as much of the content covers stuff we just kinda barely covered in the on-line course.

And then my head hurt. Like brain death. I didn't want to think much about much. I dropped my calculus course at UTA (in time for a full refund) and will probably take a simpler course in the summer. Right now, I need to focus on finding a job.

Otherwise, things are getting back to normal. The fun of Facebook peters out after the friend requests dry up, so I'm spending less time with that. I've decided to really make an effort and learn about landscaping and gardening this spring, something I've been meaning to do for a while.

I'd post a picture of the current state of our yard, but I'm afraid the image might result in action taken by the municipality of Fort Worth. So here's one of Sam in the leaves.