So there I was sitting at the bar in Marfa, Texas at the Hotel Paisano. ￼
This hotel exudes tradition.
Naturally I asked for a Guinness but there was none to be had.
However there was a nice Texas stout – the name of which escapes me.
Marfa, Texas is known as being the shooting location of more than one film.
And the kindness of strangers
I just got back (literally 10 minutes since the Uber driver dropped me off), and she was laughing hysterically at my account of the last 24 hours of my trip to Lake Louise, Banff National Park.
It has been a strange time – well, starting last night.
I’ve gotta laugh.
I think there is a lotta material there.
And this isn’t the first time this has happened.
From time to time, I have mentioned some adventures with my old 1996 Mercedes-Benz SL500, a.k.a. “Gabriella”.
About 6 months ago, I lost her electronic key. Scoured the house. Assumed it fell out of my pocket….somewhere. I became resigned to ordering another from the dealer.
Lately, I have been making daily rounds for someone to an “assisted living center”. At the elevator, I met an old man, hunched over with his walker, on his way to the dining room for dinner.
He was wearing a hat – 101st Airborne – Purple Heart – combat wounded.
I’m thinking – wow.
Band of Brothers.
The following short conversation ensued, with deference to Lex:
YHC = Your Humble Correspondent
YHC: – “Thank you for your service”.
101st: (seeing my Army Air Defense Artillery Hat) – “Thank you for your service”.
YHC: – (Thinking some have given more than others in their service) – “I’ll bet the Germany you saw was a bit different from the Germany I saw in the early 70s”
101st: “Yeah, in 1944 they really didn’t want us around”.
I just took an Uber ride to downtown and as with most of their drivers they are a good conversationalists.
My driver had moved from the Bay Area about a year and a half ago.
I said “I don’t see how you guys can afford to live there”.
He said that he couldn’t. He was making $130,000 a year and eligible for food stamps and section 8 housing.
I guess Manhattan is similar.
About all I have in common with the World War II ace Bud Anderson is that we live in the same vicinity.
The foothills around Sacramento are rife with recent history.
Take a 45 minute drive out to my favorite shooting range and you will see hills left by hydraulic mining, used during the gold rush.
There are dozens of former gold rush towns along California’s Highway 49.
Some of them are near dormant while others are bedroom communities to Sacramento.
A bedroom community of Placerville, just 30 miles or so up the hill from Sacramento, used to be known as Hangtown.
Anyway, Bud Anderson grew up in Newcastle California.
This morning, I am engaged in my regular routine and head over to Chicago Boyz. David Foster has a thought-provoking post on humor and sanity.
Comes now Claire Lehmann, tweeting: “In clinical psychology you learn that the loss of a sense of humour can indicate deterioration in mental health.” I’d assert that this is probably also true of entire organizations and entire societies.