Virtual-Doug

The Return

My Vietnamese friends have never seen me with one.

Most of my pre-retirement colleagues were surprised when I got rid of it.

And I suppose boredom has brought about its return.

I’m talking about my ponytail.  I wore the last vestige of rebellious youth until a few years ago.  A posting on this blog detailed how I had it cut off just before we went to live in Việt Nam.  Since our return from Huê three years ago,  I was beginning to tire of the conservative-keep-your-hair-short-because-you-are-an-old-man look, but yet I knew the expanding thin spot on the back of my head was accentuated by the old pony tail, so I decided to do something different.

Hence, the little wisp of a pony tail – and if need arises, I can tuck it into my collar.  I’ll let it grow as long as it wants to grow.

See how exciting my life is?

Remembering Karen

Last week was wonderful.  A family thing.  A good thing.

Angel Fire, New Mexico, has been close to my heart for years.  Along with Karen, the Mystery Guest Blogger and I bought a small two-bedroom condo there back in 1991 – eighteen years ago.  Back then, the MGB and I lived in Albuquerque and we spent a lot of time in Angel Fire – winter and summer.  Karen brought her kids and grandkids there to ski.  Last June, the MGB and I took two of our grandkids there.  I blogged about their adventures with horses, pueblos, baseball, and their being “unwired.”

Just before Karen died, she asked my brother to organize another family reunion.  She wanted the family to gather in Angel Fire, to laugh together, and maybe drink a few homebrews.  She also wanted us to ski down her favorite run and sprinkle her ashes on the snow.

And we did.  Karen was called Mom, Sis, mother-in-law, aunt, Grandma, sister-in-law and a bunch of other affectionate names.  On Tuesday, we gathered at the base of the mountain near the main lift to say a few thoughts and prayers.  Her two children hugged – and laughed – and were thankful for the gift of having Karen as their mother.  One of the Karen’s favorite poems was read – and she had written it on this same blog way back in April 2006, while the MGB and I were still living in Việt Nam. 

Did I mention that we partied too?  Karen was anything but a stick-in-the-mud.  One of her favorite toasts was “This is why we go to those sucky jobs!”  There was a lot of laughter – just as she wanted.  We enjoyed ourselves.

We also had a chance to celebrate the cycle of life.  Yes, Karen left us but we had a new addition to the family.  Having a baby around was a real treat – Paul and Kymberlee shared Evy with all of us.  A clearly emotional Grandpa Dick charged all of us with the responsibility of ensuring she be dedicated to God.

The condo is for sale now – another of life’s changes.  It has been a wonderful escape place over the years.  We drove home, through the snowy valley.  As I drove, I thought of having Karen and Evy there to teach me what gifts I have been given.

Thanx, God.

Shootin’ the Game

Shootin’ the Game

My wife says it keeps me off the streets and out of the bars.  True enough, but I do love shooting high school sports.  I sell the photos to the Progress Times , a local weekly newspaper,  and I sell the photos on my own web site, RGVSportsPix.com.  The money I make hardly justifies the amount of work, but its fun.

Sharyland High School is close by the house.  Last night, the boy’s had a big game against a district foe.  Two undefeated teams (undefeated in district play, that is) duked it out.  It was a nice cool evening – perfect for a basketball game.  Admission is $2.00 for adults and $1.00 for students, but I just flash my press credentials and get in free.  (No, I don’t get to eat for free.  If I go to the snack bar, I pay like every one else.)

(Don’t forget – click on each photo to see a full sized version.)

I like to get there a little before the game starts so I can shoot some of the JV game to get “warmed up.”  Yeah – I know that sounds silly, but shooting fast moving sports requires I get myself into a groove.  The gym is still quiet – only parents show up for JV games.  That’s too bad because this game itself is exciting, even if the home team Rattlers lost by a bucket that was scored by the other team with 1.5 seconds left on the clock.. 

As the JV game wound down, the fans begin to fill up the bleachers.  This was a big game and the excitement was high.  High school students, wearing t-shirts and face paint, help put some electricity in the air.  These girls made a lot of noise – I mean a lot of noise.  Later in the game, when an opposing player made a shot that touched nothing,  the cries of “air ball, air ball” were heard every time that player touched the ball again – and the taunting came from these sweet gentle young girls.

Before the game starts, I head over to the scorer’s table to get photos of each team’s roster.  Besides taking the pictures, I have to write a “cutline” for the newspaper – the little caption that goes under photos you see in the paper.  The purpose of a cutline is to identify the athletes in the photo as well as give basic information about the game.  I have taken photos of the rosters so many times that most of the scorers see me coming and just slide the scorebook toward me with a cheerful “Hi Doug.”

After the warm ups, introduction of the players, and the singing of the National Anthem, the game starts.

The lenses I use on my camera are called “fast primes.”  That means they do not zoom in and out and it means they let in more light than most lenses.  I use two of them:  an 85mm f 1.8 and a 135mm f 2.  I need as much light as possible because most high school gyms are very dark and I must shoot with a fast enough shutter speed to freeze the action.  When I use the 85mm, I sit right on the floor at the baseline – far enough away from the line so I don’t get clobbered by players diving after a loose ball.  I sit rather than stand so that I am look upward – that minimizes distracting backgrounds and adds an unusual angle to the photo so it will attract the eye better.  Looking up, I get shots like this.

I use the 135mm lens up in the stands.  This lens creates a different look.  I can either get photos of an isolated player dribbling or catch the action under the boards.  Yes – this is the same guy you see in the above photo.  I had to feel a little sorry for the opposing player who was a split second too late in getting his feet planted, so he not only had two points scored over him, but took a knee to the chest.  He was a bit woozy getting up off the floor.

Of course, the coaches are fun to watch too.  Sharyland’s coach is not a Bobby Knight type, but in this nail-biter game, he actually got a little excited.

After an overtime period, the home team lost – their first district loss of the season.  They lost by one point after one of their best players missed an easy lay-up with 1 second on the clock.

The agony of defeat as the winning team jumps in celebration.

America the Rich – and Poor

(The Mystery Guest Blogger and I are on a trip as I write this.  With Trang out of grad school for the holiday break, we drove to Houston from our home in deep South Texas, then spent the night in there so she could see a little bit of the Vietnamese scene.  We are now in Orlando for Christmas with our son and his family.)

Christmas giving – every year preachers talk about it and parents tell their kids that it’s better to give than to receive.  My son and daughter-in-law decided to have their children learn it experientially.  What began as a family project three years ago has blossomed into a neighborhood project.   What began by handing out food to the homeless of Orlando by one family now involves giving out food and clothing by many families.

As Christmas drew nigh, one of the families whose house is on a cul de sac hosted a party – neighbors were invited to bring their donations as well as bring some food to the neighborhood party.   Stacks of used clothing were sorted by gender and size, packed into boxes, then put in a trailer for safekeeping until the day they would be taken to the homeless.

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

The kids could watch a movie projected on a giant screen or they could play in a bouncy house.  Even better, they could play in the street without being yelled at.  The adults had a chance to chat with neighborhood friends while grazing at the table.

Of course Santa made an appearance – and not just for the kids.  There may have been a chorus or two of “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Clause” sung in some homes. 

And Trang was introduced to S’mores, the marvelous concoction of toasted marshmallows, chocolate and graham crackers.  Joy!

The party was what is was supposed to be – a good time shared by neighbors and friends – a good time for children – a time of laughter – a time of having a White Christmas, even if the temperature in Orlando was close to 80 degrees.  A time to gather gifts.  A time to show your kids something about giving.

It was a good evening.

A few days later, it was time for the upper middle class to meet the homeless.   A side street near a downtown shelter was selected, the trailer unloaded and wares hung on a fence.  The kids helped with the work, but this was new territory for most them – and they were on alert.

It didn’t take long for the word to get out.

 

 And for kids to connect.

Or to hear the explanations for being homeless.   Nathaniel knew full well why he was on the streets – he knew he’d made poor decisions.   Quiet and very well spoken, he told me of working the day before and of his elderly mother who lived nearby.  After cashing his paycheck, he returned to his street buddies and they got drunk.  His money gone, he had come by for some food.  Trang listened as he showed her passages in the New Testament he carried – words that guided him in the right direction, but couldn’t lead him past alcohol’s tight grip.  His is a quiet desperation.

Others have a mental illness.  Though functional in the strictest definition, Willie’s “business sense” can’t progress beyond picking up aluminum cans for recycling.  His worldly belongings in a cart, he complains that bad economic times have caused the bottom to drop out of the price of cans to a mere 25 cents per pound.   There’s also more competition as hard times have resulted in more people living on the streets picking up old cans.  Some food and some clothes will help a little when the can-collecting business gets worse.

Alcohol, drugs and mental illness are major factors in most homeless situations, but not in all cases.   This young man had been on the streets for ten days, along with his wife and young son.  The death of both his mother and his mother-in-law within weeks of each other, the necessity of traveling to Massachusetts, and of being away from  his work too long was more than the finances of the young family could withstand.  A trained cook, he hoped to be reemployed soon.  In the meantime, some warm clothes and food were greatly appreciated.  He really was not a whiner, but nonetheless appreciated Trang’s listening to his story.

There was no expectation of problems, yet it was good to have the presence of an Orlando police  officer.  He watched as sandwiches were given to the hungry while clothes were distributed across the street.

 And so the morning went – until the clothes were gone. 

I liked talking to Sam.  I liked his perspective.  His laugh came easily and he was comfortable with his circumstances.  Few middle class Americans could learn to live as he does – the skill set is very different.   Our world is planning for the future – managing time and budgets.  His is a world of survival – of knowing where to go for a safe night’s sleep or a day job.  Sam says he once lived in the middle class world.  I don’t know if he did – it doesn’t matter.  I just know he says he likes his current world better.

And maybe – just maybe – there is a suburban kid who will think of Willie, Sam and the other people they met a few days before Christmas.

Christmas Lights

The city of Mission, Texas, is a bit like a teen-ager.  Its growing rapidly but it still has some small town notions, one of which is the annual Christmas tree lighting and  visit from Santa.

A few days ago, city workers spent the day in the downtown park putting up lights, the big Christmas tree, and other seasonal decorations.  Even the big metal globe was strung with bulbs as the tree awaited the same treatment. 

(Be sure to click on each photo – you will see a larger version if you do.)

The evening of the tree lighting was cold.  For you northerners, 50 degrees isn’t cold, but we’re not used to such temperatures here in deep south Texas.   Even the Winter Texans (retirees from the upper mid-west who spend their winters in the Rio Grande Valley) thought it cold enough for a blanket.  These folks from northern Iowa cuddled under their Mexican blanket and warm jackets.

After the requisite speeches, the tree was lit.  It won’t rival the one in the Rockefeller Center, and it’s an artificial tree (there are no pine trees suitable as Christmas trees in south Texas), but its our tree – and it is pretty.  Children and adults alike oooohd and aaaahd when the lights came on – then the kids went off in search of Santa.

Santa was there – and he even spoke Spanish.  (I suppose Santa speaks all languages.)  Kids got a bag of goodies from Santa – with some assistance from Santa’s Helpers. I noticed a lot of cell phones were being used to take pictures of the kids on Santa’s lap, but Santa was a little suspicious of the guy with the big camera to his left.

Christmas has its own flavor in South Texas.  The population is 85% Hispanic.  Its interesting to see two cultures blend; northern European customs such as the Christmas fir tree and snow decorations combine with a culture that never sees snow.  Our Lady of Guadalupe Catholic church has a wonderful mariachi band the often plays at mass – and made a wonderful appearance at the festivities.  Retirees from Minnesota know all about snow, and they brought their European ideas of Santa Claus to the party.

Parties like this are really for families – for the kids.  The kids at this party were like kids around the world. They were full of energy and imagination – heedless of the half-hearted admonishments of adults to slow down and be careful.  They chased each other around as older folks sat nearby remembering Christmas’ past.

Merry Christmas, Mission, Texas.

Football American Style

Trang went to her very first American football game last Friday night.  I say “American football” because in the rest of the world – including Việt Nam – football means soccer.

Interscholastic sports are unique to America.  Yes, I know there are a few colleges in Canada and northern Mexico that play sports, but it is not the norm.  Americans not only love sports but they believe there is much value in sports for their children.  Sports are a part of a young person’s education because many parents believe athletics teaches kids to work hard to achieve success, to play as a team, and to use failure as a learning tool.

Trang went on the perfect night for her first game – it was a game close to the end of the season with a lot of importance.  I was also Homecoming – that distinctly America ritual where past graduates come back to school for a football game.  Each Homecoming is celebrated by the election of the Homecoming Queen (some schools have Kings too). The crowd was large and noisy.

And she saw the game at field level.  Yeah – I got her in the gate as my “assistant”.  See that camera around her neck?  It’s a lot older than she is – I bought it in 1969 (strangely) in Việt Nam.  We arrived early enough for her to watch the pre-game warm-ups, the singing of the National Anthem, and the coin toss.  It took awhile to explain the large snake was a representation of the team’s name – the Rattlers – and when the team came on the field, the players would run out of the snake’s mouth with much cheering and yelling from the crowd.

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

The game was a total blur for her.  She had no idea what the rules were – or even the object of the game, despite my much-too-short lesson about each team having four tries to move the ball ten yards and eventually move the ball over the goal line.  I discovered American football is difficult to explain to someone who has never seen it.  I grew up with it – its easy for me - but not for Trang.  You try it - explain why a PAT gets only one point, but a field goal gets three points – and do it before the next play begins.  Why do they call it “football;” when the ball is usually carried in the hands?  Why is the ball shaped funny?

Half time was the Homecoming ceremony.  Trang saw marching bands and dance groups and cheerleaders.  I didn’t have time to explain the significance of the crowning of the Homecoming Queen, but she understood the winner was not known beforehand and that the announcement of the winner was very important to the girl who won.  She was also quite amazed that the girls she saw on the field were high school girls.  “They look much older.”

I actually put her to use as my “assistant.” I asked her to hold my long lens for awhile as I put a wide angle lens on my camera for some halftime photos.  Marching bands were something new to her.  As I came back from the middle of the field, I saw her sitting on a bench among a group of cheerleaders.

During the second half I could tell she was getting bored – probably not much different than if I were watching a soccer match.  I was loving the game – it was exciting and well played by both teams.  The game was decided with four seconds to go when the home team failed to make a field goal.  I think Trang was glad to hear the game wouldn’t go into overtime.

But she has now seen Texas Friday Night Lights.

The Parade We Never Had

We’re grey headed now.  In our youth, we fought an unpopular war in a faraway place called Vietnam.  We who served – whether drafted or volunteered – came home to a country that didn’t want to hear about our experiences.  We understand we would not be given a parade, both because the feelings most people had about the war and because we came back home by ourselves rather than as units.

And that has bothered many of us – nobody ever had a parade for the Vietnam vets.

The small city of Marked Tree, Arkansas, remedied  that.

Two weekends ago, the Mystery Guest Blogger and I went to Memphis for a reunion of men I served with during the war in Vietnam – the men of Company C, 2nd Battalion 5th Cavalry Regiment of the famous 1st Cavalry Division.   At the same time, the Wall That Heals,  a small version of The Wall designed to travel across the country, was set up in Marked Tree.  School buses were dispatched to Memphis, the men and ladies clambered aboard, and off we went to Marked Tree.

Escorted by motorcycles and law enforcement with their lights on, we came to an overpass lined with school kids waving flags and cheering. 

Cheering for us!

Cheering for old soldiers whom they considered heroes.

As we entered the town itself, we picked up another escort – an armored personnel carrier manned by members of the Arkansas National Guard – soldiers who had themselves served recently in Iraq.  And the town had closed homes and businesses to stand along the side of the street – to cheer for us.  Kids who have no idea where the country is Việt Nam is on a map – adults who were themselves kids during the war – older folks who remember the war in terms of lost loved ones – they were all out there on the street cheering.

Its been a very long time since I’ve returned a salute, but after I took this photo, I pulled in my belly as best I could, came to attention and rendered the best damned salute I could do.

Awhile later, one of these police officers approached me and thanked me for my service.  The young man wasn’t even a twinkle in his daddy’s eyes when I was being shot at, but he thanked me.

We’re getting brittle in our old age, and some of us are today paying the price for our service.  I doubt the man named Ronnie in the wheelchair will be with us the next reunion.  I have no doubt his cancer is due to the Agent Orange that was used during the war to defoliate the jungle.  Of course, its always nice to talk meet, talk, and swap memories with fellow veterans.  But this was special – a town took time from their lives to thank us.  We old-timers appreciated it.

And they even had a parade for us.

Let Me Tell You About My Sister

Older sisters can be a problem for a boy growing up.  The younger of my two sisters (three years older than me) was a tomboy.  When I was in junior high school, she delighted in being given the task of waking me up.  Her method was to grab the arm hanging over the side of the bed and then punch me in the shoulder as hard as she could – and as many times as she could until I pulled my arm out of harm’s way.  She was an athlete – and good enough to be asked by the neighborhood Catholic church girl’s basketball team to play for them, despite the fact our family was Protestant.

While doing the kind of stupid things young men do, I once went to her house after a night of heavy drinking.  Though she had a husband and young daughter, she smiled, let me sleep on the sofa and brought me a bucket to barf in.  A few years later, she took me into her home while I recovered from the twin wounds of a recent divorce and having been in combat in Vietnam.  Always supportive, she did more than welcome my new bride into the family – she became a sister to the Mystery Guest Blogger.

My younger sister was a nurse.  After her husband left her to raise two kids by herself, she went to work in long term care (the polite medical way of saying she cared for old people.)  I’ve lost count of the places where she was the Director of Nursing, a consultant, the corporate nurse and other positions of responsibility.  Legion are the nurses who learned to truly care for their patients under my sister’s gentle whip.

Few siblings dare to own major investments together.  We did.  We’ve co-owned a small condominium in the ski resort town of Angel Fire, New Mexico since 1991.  That was one of the best investments I ever made.  Many a family reunion and ski trip were held there and more photos taken than could be pasted into any album.  My sister skied the mountain with her grandsons.

I’ve always felt blessed that I was part of a very loving family – Mom and Dad loved each other, and they made a secure and loving home for their children.  As years have passed, I’ve come to realize how unusual a truly functional family is in today’s world.

Twenty eight years ago, she had a melanoma cancer in one of her eyes.  I don’t know if having the eye removed was a victory over cancer or simply the loss of an eye because this past June the melanoma returned – this time to her liver.  This time it would not be denied.

I’m writing this in an airport.  I've just told Karen I will see her later.  The cancer is shutting down her body and the clan has gathered around her.  At her daughter’s home, she is surrounded by love.   Hospice brought in a hospital bed and she receives only palliative care.  In the last days of her life, she is at last realizing how strong her impact has been on so many people.

Yes, Karen – I will see you later.  I left your bedside before you died in the sure knowledge that you are merely preceding me to heaven.  We share a strong mutual faith that dying is a part of life and that those who believe in Jesus’ love will indeed spend eternity with God.

I’m glad you aren’t punching me in the shoulder anymore but very glad you are still teaching your kid brother something about life.  I love you, Karen.

Update: Trang is Here, and So Am I

Yeah – I know.  Trang and I arrived home on Saturday, August 16th, and I haven’t written a word.  Shame on me!

My life has been filled with bureaucracies lately.  Trang will be in grad school at the University of Texas-Pan American .  For me, it was interesting to navigate through the maze of procedures necessary to enter school.  Though I used to work there, I hadn’t experienced the bureaucracy from the standpoint of a student or parent.  It was (is?) daunting.

Example.  I went to the Payments and Collections Office to pay the tuition.  After waiting in line for an hour, the nice lady behind the glass asked me the account’s balance.  I hadn’t the slightest idea.  It turns out that in order for me to pay, I had to have Trang with me – unless she was a minor.  I should have lied and said she was,  but at least the nice lady told me I could pay online.  I went home, had Trang log on to her account, and I paid.

Some bureaucratic nightmares never go away.  You may remember my rant about my mother’s application for Medicaid.  I thought all was finished when she was accepted last month.

Silly me.

It seems it was retroactive only until March, meaning she still has a bill of over $6,000 at the nursing home. 

It never ends.

I’ve returned from Việt Nam just in time for high school sports to begin – the major source of my photography work.  I’ve been busy shooting sports and writing cutlines.  That is fun work, though.

Finally, some difficult news.  I have two older sisters, the younger of the two recently diagnosed with a very aggressive cancer.  In the back of our minds, we all expect the call in the middle of the night telling us a parent has died – but not a sibling.  I’m trying to digest the fact that my 92 year old mother with advanced Alzheimer’s hangs on to life, while my vigorous sister will be gone in six months or less. 

That’s hard.

Hello Dolly – Goodbye Dolly

She was not welcome, but she came anyway.  Hurricane Dolly passed through deep south Texas during the past few days, and she did not act like a lady.  We knew she was coming – the Weather Channel has been on in my house for a week.  To their credit, local agencies had things very well organized.  In the days just before she hit, the City of Mission passed out six filled sandbags to anybody who came by the fire station.

I live far enough inland to have escaped the full force of her winds, but she dumped a lot of rain here.  The folks on South Padre Island, and in the cities of Brownsville and Harlingen caught hell.  While Dolly came ashore as a minimal Category 2 hurricane, the damage was done by the fact that she moved so slowly progress seemed imperceptible.   Depending in the exact location, we had approximately 10 to 12 inches of rain over a 24  hour period.   That’s a lot of water.

Dolly didn’t even leave like a lady.  The morning after the eye passed, clouds and rain sprinkles were still over head.  Most residents were without electricity and many traffic lights were down.  I’m sure the evening newscasts will show the people near Brownsville suffered from flooding much worse than we did, yet many locals also had flooded streets.  South Texas is as flat as a table top, so even with a good drainage system, there will always be a lot of flood-prone area.  We are all thankful the levies holding back the Rio Grande are solid.  (Note:  Dolly continues to dump a lot of water upstream – there might yet be flooding from the river.)

I’m not going to say we dodged a bullet – rather I think we just got a flesh wound.  In some areas, trees fell on houses.  In this case, the owner had some minor damage to the fence and the eaves of the house.  It could have been worse.

Good riddance, Dolly – and tell your friends to stay away too!