Photogenic . . .

. . . don't you think?

No, this is not a Baltimore city sewer system resident.  This is the world renowned Punxsutawney Phil and maybe it's just a little early to talk about the groundhog or what he implies/represents, I just can't seem to help myself.


As I've grown older, I seem to cope progressively more poorly with winter weather.  I don't remember exactly when it began but I would guess something like almost thirty years ago.  It probably reached a plateau about five years ago, at which time I vowed to myself to minimize the whole thing in my mind and just cope with it as best I can or . . . no . . . better.

I believe I made some honest progress on that front and even this year in particular I try NOT to complain about cold, snow, heavy winter clothing, snow, shoveling snow, pulling muscles while shoveling snow . . . NONE OF THAT!

But as I sit here at 6AM wondering what to write and hearing that the temperature today will actually reach well into the 50s (F), my icy hands and dog-cold nose (even with the heat ON) are making me pine for warmer weather.

But I honestly and sincerely promise that I will just buck-up and not complain.

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Creepier than Halloween. . .

. . . and actually quite tragic.

from This Week In Texas
2009-02-04 / Local History
by Bartee Haile

". . . Wisconsin, Minnesota and Iowa in the dead of winter were a sub-zero ice box that took an awful toll on man and machine. On any given night, half of the stage talent and support staff were sick - "Goose" Bunch's feet actually froze! - and the tour bus gave up the ghost in the middle of nowhere.

By the time the road show reached Clear Lake, Iowa, on Feb. 3, Holly had had it with all-night rides on the latest mass transit - a converted school bus with a broken heater. He chartered a private airplane to fly him and two passengers to Fargo, N.D.

Ritchie Valens won one seat on a coin flip with Tommy Allsup, and Buddy assigned the other to his Panhandle pal. But soft-hearted Waylon gave his spot on the warm plane to Richardson, who had come down with the flu.

"You're not going with me tonight, huh?" Holly joked at Jennings' expense. "Did you chicken out?" Waylon explained fear had nothing to do with it, that he was just doing the Big Bopper a favor.

"Well," Buddy said in obvious jest, "I hope your damned bus freezes up again." Waylon answered in kind, "I hope your old plane crashes."

And that was what it did less than 10 minutes after take-off, killing all on-board.

"I just wanted to go home," Jennings recalled 37 years later, "but they wouldn't stop the tour." The grief-stricken guitarist had to wait until he collected his pay after the final performance to return to Lubbock.

Waylon Jennings made the most of the 43 years that an act of kindness on a cold Iowa night bought him. At his death in 2002, he was a full-fledged legend in his own right with more than 60 albums and 16 No. 1 country-music hits.

Buddy would have been proud. . . "




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