Texans and heat

[ed note: This was originally written on Sunday, but through technical error, did not appear until today]

On the train ride back from teaching out in West Newton, I had these two guys sit behind me in full Red Sox gear. This in and of itself is in no way interesting or unusual. What made it unusual was the fact that they seemed to know nothing at all about Boston. They asked each other if “This here subway runs 24/7″. I thought this was really weird–they then also talked to the conductor to figure out how to get to the airport. There just was something about their accent that compelled me to turn around and tell them my best way to Logan(SIlver Line). I asked them where they were from–if you’re clever enough to read the title, you’ll know their answer–and they replied “Texas”.

I asked where specifically, and they said, “A small town North of San Antonio. Persisting, they said New Braunfels. All the way in Boston, and I find someone from New Braunfels. I felt a certain Texan solidarity as I pointed them to the North End for good Italian food. Maybe it’s just my joy in being a guide in a foreign land for Texans.

Oh, and they brought the heat with them. Heat index of 107 on Tuesday. Guess which day I’m moving into my new place?

As if I needed more reason to long for Hill Country rains

Check out where the number one place to visit this summer is, according to the New York Times.

The comparisons to Tuscany, however, might be a bit much. I don’t recall it being 115 in Tuscany, now do I remember loud cicadas.

The only thing left

I don’t have a record of my father’s voice save one. It’s not even a message for me. It’s a piece of triviality, an accident. A month before his death the phone rang in the empty house with him in it. Or maybe it didn’t. Maybe he only thought it did. He reached for the phone to try to answer it and inadvertently dialed my number. It rang enough to leave a message–he started asking for a mysterious “Ms Howtch”. The only record of my father’s voice doesn’t even address me.

He means to hang up after trying to raise his caller, giving up with a plaintive, “well…”. But he doesn’t. The recording continues, marking for eternity what Brit Hume had to say about Obama and Hillary. It records his shifts in movement, his behavior when no one was around. The last noise I have of him is a yawn. “Oh my”. I get a glimpse into what his life was like. It only makes me wonder what he was thinking.

Does this count as #3?

Maybe this is supposed to be good thing number three–I don’t know that it’s on the same level as the first two, but it is good nonetheless.