Summertime in Texas

Here it is, the official first day of summer. Yet here in Texas, we've been experiencing summer for some two months already.

Spring here is short. Not in the official sense; in the official sense, it's still three months long, but in the practical sense, spring lasts but a month or so and then the heat sweeps in and kills everything that was verdant and lush. That's Texas. That's the price we pay for not having excruciatingly hard winters, lots of snow and ice and for not needing tire chains. Our cars don't rust away from the salted roads in winter, but they must have a working AC.

I recall meeting a fellow at a church we were once members of. He and his wife were from Wyoming--the mountainous part--and had moved to the area for seminary. We worked together on a building project at church for a few weeks, using his truck at one point to haul sheetrock. It had no AC. He bemoaned the fact, stating that in Wyoming, AC was pretty much optional. He had bought this truck new, opting to forgo the cost of climate control. Being in Texas for a summer made him regret that frugal decision.

I've lived in two different climate zones in Texas. I grew up in East Texas, which is a close to a tropical zone as this state gets. The humidity is high, there is usually abundant rainfall, and anything will grow there. Drop a penny on the ground, and in a week's time, pick up a nickle. I've also lived, for the past 24 years, in North Texas. While not arid, the climate here is considerably less humid. Here it is more of a dry heat. Somewhere between June and July, my yard turns into a nice shade of brown, maybe a rich tan. Other than the dustiness, I don't mind not mowing. The heat makes outside projects that endure over several hours unbearable. I've found that when I spend three or four hours outside in the heat of the day, it probably takes me twice as long to recuperate once I've retired. I've never been a big sweater, but Texas heat will draw perspiration out of anyone or anything.

I especially loathe my job in this heat. Imagine standing at a graveside, the temperature hovering at or around 100°F. You are wearing a wool blend suit, a long-sleeved dress shirt, an undershirt and a tie. Did I mention the suit is black? Ten seconds in that environment, and you feel the hot liquid your body is expelling running down your back. Here's some inside information: the coolest place to be in that situation is under a tree, not under the tent. I used to tell my biology students this. I would ask them what they thought happened to all that moisture that a tree sucks out of the ground. It evaporates through the leaves of the tree, and this evaporation cools the temperature around, but especially under that tree where the shade is. Being under that tree, you experience creation's air conditioning.

Fall will be here soon, yet not soon enough. It's usually November before we start seeing traditional fall-like weather. I love the bleakness and gray of fall. The clouds cover the sky, hanging there as if their role is to block all the joy out of people's lives. There's usually not a lot of fall color here, unless you consider brown one of those colors. Fall and spring are my favorite seasons. They are my most productive times. I can accomplish more outside when the heat is not sucking life out of me and when the cold isn't rendering my extremities into numb, lifeless stumps.

We once visited some friends that lived in Burlington, Ontario, which is part of the Greater Toronto area. They had a lovely, huge home in a nice suburban neighborhood. What I remember the most about their house, other than the huge basement, was that they had two--that is, two--double-pane sliding doors on the back of their house, one mounted inside the house, one outside. I don't want to live anywhere where it gets so cold that this kind of construction is necessary.

Living with humidity or heat is something you get used to. Living in East Texas humidity for twenty years, I didn't know there was anything different. Then I move to North Texas and become acclimated here. Now, when I return home for a visit in the summer, the humidity makes the air so thick you feel you are breathing in pudding instead of air.

So I live in Texas without regrets. I love this state and want to be nowhere else. Listening to others bemoan the heat, I just shake my head. Sure, there may be other places where the climate is perfect, never too hot, never too cold. But when the climate is perfect, the imperfections will lie elsewhere.

 

Practice Makes Perfect

I possess but a few hobbies, most of which I've alluded to in this weblog. Two of these--photography and the guitar--are basically talent driven. Pretty much everyone wants some type of talent: something we are especially good at, something that makes us shine. I'm no different. I want to be a talented photographer and musician.

Talent, in order to blossom, needs to be properly nourished. Most of us wish it was naturally instilled and all we had to do was turn on the faucet and out came all sorts of nice, creative things. Well, the truth of the matter is it almost never works that way. Such giftedness is as rare as hen's teeth. Virtually everyone who is good at something became good by one simple method: practice.

Laziness is my primary obstacle. I want the skill, but not enough to travel the road between mediocrity and excellence. It seems I enjoy sitting right where I am, watching the traffic speed by. There are always other obstacles, too. Life is never so empty that we have large pockets of time free so that we can fill them with practice. To practice, we take away from something else. Work and the responsibilities of family life take up pretty much everything that sleep doesn't claim, so it would typically be family responsibilities that would suffer. This is also a very convenient excuse that I don't mind using to explain my mediocrity. Family first.

So it's never a very big surprise when I apply myself to one of these hobbies and notice that my skill level remains somewhere between fair and middling. There has always been a market for my skill set in certain areas, the "jack of all trades". The complete verse from which this is lifted says: "Jack of all trades, master of none, though ofttimes better than master of one." There is therefore supposed benefit in being skilled in several things instead of being exceptional in any one of them. Most times, I would agree. My passable skills at car and home repair have saved me a boatload of money, which for a poor fellow such as myself is no small benefit. Yet I still would like to excel at either photography or music (or both, if I had my way). Excelling at music would be more fun, but excelling at photography would be more practical. Such is my dilemma, and I spend many long, long hours not worrying about it.

There will be a day in the future when all the kids have moved away, the nest is empty, and I finally have that large pocket of time. I wonder whether I will even care about photography or music then.

On Knowing Talent When You Hear (and See) It

It has never been a secret that my musical tastes are narrow in scope. My choices tend toward guitar-driven, classic style rock, the next closest choice being probably guitar-driven alternative style rock. However, there are times when I hear a song from across the tracks that catches my ear. There is usually something about it--a undefinable quality--that stands out. I'm a sucker for a good hook, so oftentimes it's more definably a hook that carries the song to the fore. If I had to guess at what constitutes that "undefinable quality", I'd say it is a creative melody. Creativity as I see it is a gift. There have been a lot of people who have written symphonies, but there have been only a handful of Beethovens, Mozarts or Handels. Also, in spite of whatever opinion some may have, Lennon and McCartney had the gift, both as a team and as individuals. I believe Bono and his homies have the gift, though it has been sporadically applied over the years. And in the realm of country music, I'm a fan of Clint Black, who I also see as a gifted writer/performer. The gift becomes evident over time when a person or group of persons reveal a body of work showing a consistent level of talent and skill. This gift, in whatever genre, can't be bought or learned. It is bestowed by a benevolent Creator.

In my college years, namely around my junior year, I had a copy of "Here at Last: The Bee Gees Live". This was an album they released on the cusp of their late '70s rise to dominance. It was a collection of some really good music, well-crafted and showing signs that the Bee Gees were absolutely gifted songwriters and performers. My roommate at the time was John. John and I had been friends for some time already. We graduated together from high school. We, eventually, were in each others weddings. John is one of a few acquaintances from high school and college whose friendship I still covet. Though we now live some 250 miles apart, I would do anything for John at the drop of a hat. John is also the kind of guy that would do the same for me, but I digress. During our days as roommates at Stephen F. Austin (Garner Apartments, Room #607), John and I would listen to this Bee Gees album often, while washing dishes, eating dinner or whatever. We both agree: those were good times. That was good music.

It's a shame that the Bee Gees are only remembered for their contribution to the disco music craze, linked inexorably to that horrible movie, "Saturday Night Fever". Their contribution to popular music scene in a career of fifty decades is beyond questioning. Going through their catalog reveals song after song after song, all great, all masterfully crafted. Many cringe at Barry Gibb's ever-present falsetto. Well, he has a great normal singing voice, too, but that falsetto fit into the Bee Gee's mix just right. When success follows a group such as the Brothers Gibb for so long, it is never a fickle thing, resting solely on trends or shallow opinions. It rests squarely on the shoulders of remarkable talent and the gift.

Put the DVD, "The Bee Gees: One Night Only" in your Netflix lineup. It is an absolutely great concert. It was recorded in Las Vegas in 1997, a little over 5 years before Maurice Gibb's untimely death on January 12, 2003. The death in 1988 of Andy Gibb, their younger brother who was a successful solo artist in his own right, was quite a blow to the Brothers Gibb, yet Maurice's death marked the end for the group. I'm OK with this. All good things must end, and ending this way is the most fitting tribute that Barry and Robin could offer to their brother's memory. This concert also ends up being more than a collection of hits, performed by three brothers whose musical chops rarely weakened over their lengthy careers. It is a window into a family that loved music, loved performing, and loved performing with each other. Here it is, 13 years after this great Vegas concert, and I still enjoy this music. I hope that I always will. It will show that I still know quality when I hear it.

In Defense of British Petroleum

I find it peculiarly interesting how chic it is to bash British Petroleum over this Gulf oil leak. The venom frenzy has led me to wonder if anyone out there is interested in taking the side of BP. When I say "anyone", I mean "anyone who doesn't stand to gain from a successful British Petroleum." I have decided to try and see some things from their point of view and to offer a few thoughts from my point of view.

1. Gulf oil exploration, at any depth, serves the interests of all Americans. - Unless, of course, you don't mind being held hostage by a group of very rich men that wear towels on their heads, or a lunatic or two from South America. The more oil that is harvested from our home turf, the less we need from under the sands of the Middle east or from the jungles of South America. Even if you drive a Prius or a scooter, you use gasoline and create the demand for crude oil.


2. Oil exploration, especially offshore, is frought with dangers and difficulties. - Imagine being out in the ocean on a relatively small platform, working around equipment that would be dangerous even on dry ground. Imagine the difficulties in sending a drilling stem down into the depths while the waves churn around this platform. Given all of these things, I think it quite remarkable that things like this spill in the Gulf haven't happened more often.


3. It's not easy to fix things a mile under the ocean. - The simplest tasks on land are made very difficult or near impossible one mile under the ocean. Men can't go there. The weight of all that seawater creates operating pressures that humans cannot endure. Also, the temperature at that depth is around 30°F. Troubleshooting and repairing equipment is not the piece of cake we might assume it to be. I, for one, am amazed at what they've been able to do thus far with the ROVs.


4. Handling this incorrectly could create a problem far worse than the present one.  - This blowout preventer, even in its non-functioning state, is still throttling down the flow of oil. Do something stupid (i.e., explosives), and you will both increase the flow and most likely create a situation that is unfixable.


5. Environmentalists are, in part, responsible for this problem, too. - Their demands that offshore drilling sites move further and further away into the depths and onto the ragged edge of drilling technology make them partially responsible for this accident. Partially, I said.


6. The government, in large part, is responsible for the problem. - A lot of people are saying that the government's failure in overseeing the oil exploration industry in general is to blame. I say the government, which includes every president, senator and congressman--Democrat and Republican--that has served for the past several decades, is responsible for not encouraging, by any means, America to move toward alternative, renewable fuel sources. Competition with Big Oil has been stifled, buried under piles of special-interest cash. Who knows what great ideas have disappeared under this pile of money.


7. The death of BP will not be a good thing for Americans. - It is very possible that the repairs, cleanup and settlements will do BP in. I don't know exactly how many Americans are employed by BP, but the number is substantial enough that the failure will shock the American economy. It would be a cruel thing to take delight in seeing so many suffer just to see BP get its comeuppance.


8. This is--plain and simple--an accident. - Nothing that humans have ever organized or participated in has been free of error, mistakes or accidents. And in the thousands of offshore rigs that have been employed over the last few decades, this is the first incident of this type. That seems to be a pretty good record.


9. Sometimes, technology has a hard time keeping up with progress. - Learning to drill in deep water does not come with a prerequisite knowledge of how to deal with every contingency, every possibility. Even anticipating what might happen doesn't mean you'll get the whole picture and be prepared to deal with it. BP is developing, at a phenomenal rate, new hardware and new technologies to deal with this spill. The best minds across the industry have been at work on this from the beginning.

My defense of BP is solely motivated by my desire that they be treated fairly in all this. I will not join the dogpile. What I'm hoping to see is that the threats, name-calling and blame-casting will cease and that everyone will pitch in to get this fixed and cleaned up. A few people will continue to posture and position themselves against BP, hoping the public will not see through the veneer that covers their disinterested, self-serving heart. Threats to "keep a boot on the neck of BP" come from such people. I prefer to look at it this way: if you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem.