What Texas Is

I had a good, week-long visit down south and am now prepared to give a report on what Texas is. Texas is like the American Sahara. It's dry and generally flat and brown. Which is not, I guess, bad. Every place on earth has it's own kind of beauty.

Log Cabin Village in Fort Worth: A really neat place.

Texas does have some color: the state is randomly peppered with hot pink flower bushes. I really think that hot pink should be the Texas State Color. I can totally picture a hot pink state flag with bedazzled plastic rhinestones in the shape of an ostentatious cowboy boot.

Me in the doorway. Five whole feet of home-grown Nebraska.

The state of Texas has donut stores, and that is the way that they spell it, every mile; and by some great mystery, they are all run by Asians ladies. There must be something about the Texan mind that supports the necessity of buying an Asian-made donut at every mile marker.

Him in the doorway. 16 inches and 645 miles apart. How did we ever make it this far?

 

Texas also has traffic. Roads in the state of Texas are not constructed for the actual conveyance of persons, or at least not at any high speed. Construction, like sprinkles on a glazed donut, is all over but not at all done.

To end on a positive note, Texas has armadillos for roadkill. And that's kind of cool.