I have always been a slow bloomer. Thus I take comfort in my being more than one flower and bold enough to tackle the writing of a book on how to switch immediately to any one of Jung’s sixteen personality types. I long for the day when all sixteen will bloom.
Until then I have be grateful for what Texas has meant to my life.
I left home, Memphis, when I was 13. I was going to Texas to be a cowboy. I know. At 13 I not only did not know how to choose places but, my ability to choose professions had not blossomed either.
But because I struck out for Texas I got a ride with a kind gentleman headed for Texas. We stopped in Little Rock, speaking of loser places, and he took me to a movie. The Caine Mutiny. I became forever a Bogie fan. (OK, I can’t choose actors either, you are probably saying.)
Because of Texas I knew what battle BM’s bloggle was referring to. Because of Texas I read my favorite story of the Alamo (Poplar tree). It was actually about Jim Bowie (bowie knife) who died at the Alamo. I forget the author but, the title was The Iron Mistress.
But most of all, Texas was the cause of my writing one of my favorite songs (by me or anyone else). It is called Long Way Across Texas.
But, the other side of the coin is that I hate Texas most of all because it started the chain of states that Mexico lost to the US in The Mexican American War. What is bad about that? Well, I am now a Californian (the NINTH largest GNP in the world). California is also referred to as Califia, and Nueva Espana (New Spain). I cannot help but conclude that had California remained part of Mexico, it would eventually have, by sheer weight, (or earthquake) have broken away from Mexico with no hard feelings, and as such would have become a great country, probably the greatest on this continent. And probably the only country to have two official languages, and the common sense to appreciate its heritage.
And heritage makes me think of a previous girlfriend, Palma Ortiz, whose family came from Spain to California with the explorers and settled. Palma never heard her parents speak Spanish. They did not want her to know a language that would cause her discrimination. Palma, requerdos! And that’s the funniest part of this bloggerel. I, the non-hispanic know Spanish because I had to learn it to remain in Spain and be able to communicate. But, Palma does not know Spanish.
Arriba Califia! Jodete, Texas!