Buffalo Gal

I lived in Texas for 12 years and never owned a cowboy hat, can't two-step and still think chicken soup is a better hangover cure than Menudo.
But there are some things about the place that get under your skin (besides the chiggers).
Unfortunately, I spent twice as much of my time in Houston as I did San Antonio, but the Alamo City can make anyone a believer in the Texas myth. Austin and any old Hill country town have the same effect. Houston and Dallas are the anti-venom.
San Antonio gave me a thrift shop pair of butter soft Tony Lama boots that were easier to wear than sneakers. Breakfast tacos were under a dollar. Everything about the city said possibility.
I'll never forget the newsroom smirks when I started as a New York-trained business reporter and asked the room in general if anyone had the home number for the CEO of a local Fortune 500 company so I could get a comment on an announcement made after the market closed.
"Why don't you try the white pages?" a colleague drawled. And there the listing was, along with the mayor and the first five other major business figures I could think of off the top of my head.
In New Braunfels they made apple streudel not like any bakery or grocery store, but exactly like my Grandma Mohn. There is no better way to spend a Saturday afternoon than tubing on the icy spring waters in of the Guadalupe with the redundancy of a floating cooler.
Alamo Cafe, New Braunfels Smokehouse, LaFogata... just typing the names makes me drool like an old porch dog. Sure they get a lot of postcard mileage out of it, but there truly is nothing like the spring magic of the bluebonnet blanket.
In the advantage of years away, you let go of the Ken Lays, GW, Houston traffic, road rage and nasty rednecks in favor of the times and tastes that warm your heart.
Next week we're driving five hours to Atlanta to see Bandera, Texas' own Robert Earl Keen open for some guys called the Dave Matthews Band. Two nights later, we have great seats in Jacksonville for Klein, Texas' favorite son, Lyle Lovett.
Lyle and Robert Earl were roommates at Texas A&M about the time when I trying to scrape up the time and money to join the ski club at St. Bonaventure University. Their personal and musical styles are quite different, but they both paint word pictures of the Texas I loved.
I'm looking forward to these boys comin' to town. Georgia and Florida could use a little of their Texas. We all could.

Copyright 2004 Judi Griggs

Buffalo Gal Judi Griggs I'm a communications professional, writer, cynic, mother, wife and royal pain. The order depends on the day. I returned to my hometown in November 2004 after a couple of decades of heat and hurricanes. I can polish pristine copy, but not here. This is my morning exercise -- 20-minute takes without a net or spellcheck. It's easier than sit ups for me. No guarantee what it will be for you. Clicking on the subscribe link will send you an email notice when each new entry is posted.
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Previous Entry :: Next Entry Read/Post Comments (0) Share on Facebook		2004-07-23 7:36 AM Tastin' Texas I lived in Texas for 12 years and never owned a cowboy hat, can't two-step and still think chicken soup is a better hangover cure than Menudo. But there are some things about the place that get under your skin (besides the chiggers). Unfortunately, I spent twice as much of my time in Houston as I did San Antonio, but the Alamo City can make anyone a believer in the Texas myth. Austin and any old Hill country town have the same effect. Houston and Dallas are the anti-venom. San Antonio gave me a thrift shop pair of butter soft Tony Lama boots that were easier to wear than sneakers. Breakfast tacos were under a dollar. Everything about the city said possibility. I'll never forget the newsroom smirks when I started as a New York-trained business reporter and asked the room in general if anyone had the home number for the CEO of a local Fortune 500 company so I could get a comment on an announcement made after the market closed. "Why don't you try the white pages?" a colleague drawled. And there the listing was, along with the mayor and the first five other major business figures I could think of off the top of my head. In New Braunfels they made apple streudel not like any bakery or grocery store, but exactly like my Grandma Mohn. There is no better way to spend a Saturday afternoon than tubing on the icy spring waters in of the Guadalupe with the redundancy of a floating cooler. Alamo Cafe, New Braunfels Smokehouse, LaFogata... just typing the names makes me drool like an old porch dog. Sure they get a lot of postcard mileage out of it, but there truly is nothing like the spring magic of the bluebonnet blanket. In the advantage of years away, you let go of the Ken Lays, GW, Houston traffic, road rage and nasty rednecks in favor of the times and tastes that warm your heart. Next week we're driving five hours to Atlanta to see Bandera, Texas' own Robert Earl Keen open for some guys called the Dave Matthews Band. Two nights later, we have great seats in Jacksonville for Klein, Texas' favorite son, Lyle Lovett. Lyle and Robert Earl were roommates at Texas A&M about the time when I trying to scrape up the time and money to join the ski club at St. Bonaventure University. Their personal and musical styles are quite different, but they both paint word pictures of the Texas I loved. I'm looking forward to these boys comin' to town. Georgia and Florida could use a little of their Texas. We all could. Copyright 2004 Judi Griggs Read/Post Comments (0) Previous Entry :: Next Entry Back to Top