Each week Gary offers a variety of observations and personal experience in a highly engaging commentary from East Texas. Join us for Borderline with Gary Borders in his new time slot, Fridays at 7:45 a.m.
I was filling my gas tank the other day, which considerably less painful than a few months ago. As long as a gallon of gasoline costs less than a tall latte at Starbucks, we probably don’t have much to complain about.
Somebody could have made a fistful of money wagering that gas would be considerably south of two bucks a gallon in 2015.
A gray-haired man stands inside the entrance to the U.S. Freedom Pavilion of the National World War II Museum, located on the corner of Magazine Street and Andrews Higgins Boulevard, in the Warehouse District of New Orleans.
The man at the museum is clearly a veteran, judging from the ballcap he wears identifying his military outfit. He is a volunteer here, and I thank him for his service, as I wait for my wife and daughter to join me.
My mother would have turned 85 Monday. My dad would be 83 this summer. Both are gone now, dying three years apart in a nursing home I pass by several times a week. Unlike their siblings, they did not live independently into their 80s or 90s. It just wasn’t meant to be. Instead both declined over years until death became a blessing.
It is two days before New Year’s Eve, the weather in New Orleans finally cooling down to what passes for winter in the Big Easy, after a couple sultry days. We have taken a quick vacation here, thanks to a generous friend who loaned us her condo in the Warehouse District. On our last night before making the 400-mile trek back to East Texas, we settled down in chairs of a parlor in the historic The Columns Hotel on St. Charles Avenue in the upper Garden District. We await the arrival of two of the city’s best known Cajun musicians, who play for a modest crowd every Monday night.
With help from coaches of both teams, the Trinity School of Texas Titans come to grips with their loss against the Fredericksburg Heritage Christian Eagles.
Credit Gary Borders
As sunset approached, the sky streaked with pastels of orange and blue, and a full moon beginning to rise, the six-man football state championship got underway at Bulldog Field in Zephyr. That’s in Brown County, on the edge of West Texas, in goat country. Seemingly out of nowhere, the stadium lights appeared after our 306-mile drive. We pulled into a gravel parking lot, dust filling the air. Zephyr means “gentle, mild breeze.” Wind was ruffling the American flag near the concession stand.