Heeheehee~! :-) This tickled me Cece. :-) Thanks kath > > > "You know," explained the boy, "I leaned over and went 'Pssst'. > He didn't move!"

Today is Friday, May fourth, the 124th day of 2001. There are 241 days left in the year. TODAY IS ANGELA HALLMAN's BIRTHDAY HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANGELA Today's Highlight in History: On May fourth, 1970, Ohio National Guardsmen opened fire on anti-war protesters at Kent State University, killing four students and wounding nine others. On this date: In 1626, Dutch explorer Peter Minuit landed on present-day Manhattan Island. In 1776, Rhode Island declared its freedom from England, two months before the Declaration of Independence was adopted. In 1886, at Haymarket Square in Chicago, a labor demonstration for an eight-hour work day turned into a riot when a bomb exploded. In 1927, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences was founded. In 1932, mobster Al Capone, convicted of income-tax evasion, entered the federal penitentiary in Atlanta. In 1942, the Battle of the Coral Sea, the first naval clash fought entirely with carrier aircraft, began during World War Two. In 1945, during World War Two, German forces in the Netherlands, Denmark and northwest Germany agreed to surrender. In 1961, a group of "Freedom Riders" left Washington for New Orleans to challenge racial segregation in interstate buses and bus terminals. In 1980, Marshal Josip Broz Tito, president of Yugoslavia, died three days before his 88th birthday. In 1994, Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin and PLO leader Yasser Arafat signed a historic accord on Palestinian autonomy that granted self-rule in the Gaza Strip and Jericho. Ten years ago: President Bush suffered shortness of breath while jogging at Camp David; he was rushed to Bethesda Naval Hospital, where doctors found he was experiencing an irregular heartbeat. "Strike the Gold" won the 117th Kentucky Derby. Five years ago: "Grindstone" won the Kentucky Derby, giving trainer D. Wayne Lukas an incredible sixth straight victory in a Triple Crown race. One year ago: The "ILOVEYOU" e-mail virus infected computer networks and hard drives across the globe, spawning various imitations. Londoners chose political maverick Ken Livingstone to be their first elected mayor. Today's Birthdays: The president of Egypt, Hosni Mubarak, is 73. Jazz musician Maynard Ferguson is 73. Opera singer Roberta Peters is 71. Jazz musician Ron Carter is 64. Rock musician Dick Dale is 64. Singer Tyrone Davis is 63. Singer-songwriter Nick Ashford is 59. Actor Paul Gleason is 57. Pop singer Peggy Santiglia (The Angels) is 57. Country singer Stella Parton is 52. Actor-turned-clergyman Hilly Hicks is 51. Singer Jackie Jackson (The Jacksons) is 50. Country singer Randy Travis is 42. Actress Mary McDonough is 40. Comedian Ana Gasteyer is 34. Rock musician Mike Dirnt (Green Day) is 29. Rock musician Jose Castellanos (Save Ferris) is 24. Singer Lance Bass ('N Sync) is 22. "God, give us grace to accept with serenity the things that cannot be changed, courage to change the things which should be changed, and the wisdom to distinguish the one from the other." -- Reinhold Niebuhr, American clergyman and author (1892-1971). (Copyright 2001 by The Associated Press. All Rights Reserved.)

Enjoy the fluffy kitty!! http://www.killfrog.com/00/fluff.html

I dare you to check out Martha gone Goth!! http://www.toreadors.com/martha/resources/

Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep Growing up, I wanted to be a doctor, but money was scarce so I went to nursing school. In 1966, during my senior year, an Army Nurse Corps recruiter came to talk to us. It all sounded so exciting; I would have a chance to travel, it paid well and most importantly, I was assured that I wouldn't have to go to Vietnam if I didn't want to - which I didn't. I signed up and after basic training, was assigned to Letterman Hospital at the Presidio of San Francisco. During my two years at Letterman, I received orders for Vietnam three times. The first two times I said no. But the third time, I decided that my two years of experience would probably be a huge asset over there. We landed in Tan Son Nhut Air Base and when the airplane door opened, I nearly fell backwards, overwhelmed by the heat and the stench. Suddenly all my experience seemed trivial. Being 23 years old seemed very young. I was scared, but there was no turning back. After our debriefing, I was assigned to the 67th Evac Hospital in Qui Nhon. When the helicopter landed on the hospital tarmac, they set my things onto the ground. I climbed out, straightening my skirt. The soldiers in the helicopter yelled, "Good luck, Captain," as they took off. I was in my class A uniform, which meant I was also wearing nylons and high heels. Nothing could have been less appropriate for the surroundings. Miles of barbed wire topped by concertina wire encompassed the hospital compound and the large adjoining airfield, along with acres of hot concrete. I squared my shoulders and marched inside the grim cinder block building in front of me. I was told to get some sleep, because I started tomorrow. I gratefully fell into a bed and in the morning, donned my hospital uniform - fatigues and army boots just like the soldiers. Because I was a Captain, I was made Head Nurse on the Orthopedic Ward, which primarily held soldiers with traumatic amputations. I took my role very seriously and had a reputation for strictness. Although I had been a nurse in the States for two years, it did not adequately prepare me for Viet Nam. I witnessed a tremendous amount of suffering and watched a lot of men die. One of my rules was that nurses were not allowed to cry. The wounded and dying men in our care need our strength, I told them. We couldn't indulge in the luxury of our own feelings. On the other hand, I was always straight with the soldiers. I would never say, "Oh, you're going to be just fine," if they were on their way out. I didn't lie. But I remember one kid that I didn't want to tell. The badly wounded soldier couldn't have been more than 18 years old. I could see immediately that there was nothing we could do to save him. He never screamed or complained, even though he must have been in a lot of pain. When he asked me, "Am I going to die?" I said, "Do you feel like you are?" He said, "Yeah, I do." "Do you pray?" I asked him. "I know 'Now I lay me down to sleep.'" "Good," I said, "that'll work." When he asked me if I would hold his hand, something in me snapped. This kid deserved more than just having his hand held. "I'll do better than that," I told him. I knew I would catch flak from the other nurses and corpsmen as well as possible jeers from the patients, but I didn't care. Without a single look around me, I got onto the bed with him. I put my arms around him, stroking his face and his hair as he snuggled close to me. I kissed him on the cheek, and together we recited, "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take." Then he looked at me and said just one more sentence, "I love you, Momma, I love you," before he died in my arms - quietly and peacefully - as if he really were just going to sleep. After a minute, I slipped off his bed and looked around. I'm sure my face was set in a fierce scowl, daring anyone to give me a hard time. But I needn't have bothered. All the nurses and corpsmen were breaking my rule and crying silently, tears filling their eyes or rolling down their cheeks. I thought of the dead soldier's mother. She would receive a telegram informing her that her son had died of "war injuries." But that was all it would say. I thought she might always wonder how it had happened. Had he died out in the field? Had he been with anyone? Did he suffer? If I were his mother, I would need to know. So later I sat down and wrote her a letter. I thought she'd want to hear that in her son's final moments he had been thinking of her. But mostly I wanted her to know that her boy hadn't died alone. By Diana Dwan Poole Reprinted by permission of Diana Dwan Poole © 1998, from the new Chicken Soup for the Veteran's Soul.

Great site for tutorials. Cece http://www.therapids.net/designsbyjoy/SiteMap.htm

Oh Janis......... :*( so tender....... kaffie > Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep > > Growing up, I wanted to be a doctor, but money was scarce so I went to > nursing school. In 1966, during my senior year, an Army Nurse Corps > recruiter came to talk to us. It all sounded so exciting; I would have a > chance to travel, it paid well and most importantly, I was assured that > I wouldn't have to go to Vietnam if I didn't want to - which I didn't. > > I signed up and after basic training, was assigned to Letterman Hospital > at the Presidio of San Francisco. During my two years at Letterman, I > received orders for Vietnam three times. The first two times I said no. > But the third time, I decided that my two years of experience would > probably be a huge asset over there. > > We landed in Tan Son Nhut Air Base and when the airplane door opened, I > nearly fell backwards, overwhelmed by the heat and the stench. Suddenly > all my experience seemed trivial. Being 23 years old seemed very young. > I was scared, but there was no turning back. > > After our debriefing, I was assigned to the 67th Evac Hospital in Qui > Nhon. When the helicopter landed on the hospital tarmac, they set my > things onto the ground. I climbed out, straightening my skirt. The > soldiers in the helicopter yelled, "Good luck, Captain," as they took > off. I was in my class A uniform, which meant I was also wearing nylons > and high heels. Nothing could have been less appropriate for the > surroundings. Miles of barbed wire topped by concertina wire encompassed > the hospital compound and the large adjoining airfield, along with acres > of hot concrete. > > I squared my shoulders and marched inside the grim cinder block building > in front of me. I was told to get some sleep, because I started > tomorrow. I gratefully fell into a bed and in the morning, donned my > hospital uniform - fatigues and army boots just like the soldiers. > Because I was a Captain, I was made Head Nurse on the Orthopedic Ward, > which primarily held soldiers with traumatic amputations. > > I took my role very seriously and had a reputation for strictness. > Although I had been a nurse in the States for two years, it did not > adequately prepare me for Viet Nam. I witnessed a tremendous amount of > suffering and watched a lot of men die. One of my rules was that nurses > were not allowed to cry. The wounded and dying men in our care need our > strength, I told them. We couldn't indulge in the luxury of our own > feelings. > > On the other hand, I was always straight with the soldiers. I would > never say, "Oh, you're going to be just fine," if they were on their way > out. I didn't lie. But I remember one kid that I didn't want to tell. > The badly wounded soldier couldn't have been more than 18 years old. I > could see immediately that there was nothing we could do to save him. He > never screamed or complained, even though he must have been in a lot of > pain. > > When he asked me, "Am I going to die?" I said, "Do you feel like you > are?" > > He said, "Yeah, I do." > > "Do you pray?" I asked him. > > "I know 'Now I lay me down to sleep.'" > > "Good," I said, "that'll work." When he asked me if I would hold his > hand, something in me snapped. This kid deserved more than just having > his hand held. "I'll do better than that," I told him. I knew I would > catch flak from the other nurses and corpsmen as well as possible jeers > from the patients, but I didn't care. > > Without a single look around me, I got onto the bed with him. I put my > arms around him, stroking his face and his hair as he snuggled close to > me. I kissed him on the cheek, and together we recited, "Now I lay me > down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, If I should die before I > wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take." Then he looked at me and said > just one more sentence, "I love you, Momma, I love you," before he died > in my arms - quietly and peacefully - as if he really were just going to > sleep. > > After a minute, I slipped off his bed and looked around. I'm sure my > face was set in a fierce scowl, daring anyone to give me a hard time. > But I needn't have bothered. All the nurses and corpsmen were breaking > my rule and crying silently, tears filling their eyes or rolling down > their cheeks. > > I thought of the dead soldier's mother. She would receive a telegram > informing her that her son had died of "war injuries." But that was all > it would say. I thought she might always wonder how it had happened. Had > he died out in the field? Had he been with anyone? Did he suffer? If I > were his mother, I would need to know. So later I sat down and wrote her > a letter. I thought she'd want to hear that in her son's final moments > he had been thinking of her. But mostly I wanted her to know that her > boy hadn't died alone. > > By Diana Dwan Poole > Reprinted by permission of Diana Dwan Poole © 1998, from the new Chicken > Soup for the Veteran's Soul. > > > ==== FOLKLORE Mailing List ==== > Your Listresses: > Missi <Richiele3@aol.com> > Kath <mzmouser@earthlink.net> > »§«:*´`³¤³´´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§« >

There are some very old recipes on this site. Enjoy! Alice http://freepages.books.rootsweb.com/~billie0w/index.html

Welcome home missi, Sorry about your tumble, but hey, that's part of a vacation right? <g> Glad you are home safe tho. Love ya, Elsie At 11:55 AM 5/3/01 -0400, you wrote: >hello guys IM back :) >had a great time fell inlove with sedona Arizona. >but fell off a rock and hurt my left hand trying to protect my face still got >my face too a little and without my hands to protect my body my chest really >got an it owwwwwwwww!! >i fell from a rock onto a rock damn Arizona rocks!! >no skin on either knee either but hey my face looks peachy :) >missed you all >muchly >missi

NASA Science News for May 3, 2001 Last week NASA received a weak signal from Pioneer 10, twice as far from the Sun as Pluto and speeding toward the constellation Taurus. The well-traveled spacecraft is currently exploring the outer heliosphere, but soon it will take on a new job: ambassador to the stars. FULL STORY at http://science.nasa.gov/headlines/y2001/ast03may_1.htm?list489379 ---

thanks Kath

PERMISSIONS GRANTED: If you wish to copy or reprint the Billy Graham prayer you are hereby granted to do so by The National Day of Prayer. Copyright 2001 Billy Graham Evangelistic Association. Prayer for the Nation Written by Billy Graham Our Father and Our God, We praise You for Your goodness to our nation, giving us blessings far beyond what we deserve. Yet we know all is not right with America. We deeply need a moral and spiritual renewal to help us meet the many problems we face. Convict us of sin. Help us to turn to You in repentance and faith. Set our feet on the path of Your righteousness and peace. We pray today for our nation's leaders. Give them the wisdom to know what is right, and the courage to do it. You have said, "Blessed is the nation whose God is the Lord." May this be a new era for America, as we humble ourselves and acknowledge You alone as our Savior and Lord. This we pray in Your holy name, Amen. Psalms 33:12 - "Blessed is the nation whose God is the Lord..."

Kath, I used to live in San Antonio, and I have seen the Rose window and it is so beautiful! I have pictures of it that I took, along with pictures of the other missions that I visited while I was there. They are so awe-inspiring! Thanks, Charlotte

Welcome back Missi! Take care of those boo-boos. Mary ----- Original Message ----- From: <RICHIELE3@aol.com> hello guys IM back :) had a great time fell inlove with sedona Arizona. but fell off a rock and hurt my left hand trying to protect my face still got my face too a little and without my hands to protect my body my chest really got an it owwwwwwwww!! i fell from a rock onto a rock damn Arizona rocks!! no skin on either knee either but hey my face looks peachy :) missed you all muchly missi

If you love horses and the imagination of little girls; the cooperation of the adults, and the pictures to bring it all home, go to this site. Cece http://forums.thathomesite.com/forums/load/photo/msg0513384010882.html?3

Sorry you fell sweetheart, but you do need to careful when hiking in the wilds. I hope you will heal quickly, if I were close I could provide you with something to heal you fast. Talk Later expecting a client soon have to get ready. Fred Please Visit our Amputee Support Web Site at http://ampsupport.com ----- Original Message ----- From: <RICHIELE3@aol.com> To: <FOLKLORE-L@rootsweb.com> Sent: Thursday, May 03, 2001 11:55 AM Subject: [FOLKLORE FAMILY] home home > hello guys IM back :) > had a great time fell inlove with sedona Arizona. > but fell off a rock and hurt my left hand trying to protect my face still got > my face too a little and without my hands to protect my body my chest really > got an it owwwwwwwww!! > i fell from a rock onto a rock damn Arizona rocks!! > no skin on either knee either but hey my face looks peachy :) > missed you all > muchly > missi > > > ==== FOLKLORE Mailing List ==== > We share stories, poems, jokes, home remedies, and much much more... > Most of all, we share our Hearts. > »§«:*´`³¤³´´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§« >

Marfa Lights by Gary Cartwright Scotland has its Loch Ness monster. Bermuda has its triangle. We've got the Marfa lights. Old-timers were comfortable with the supernatural and referred to the luminous apparitions that dance in the nighttime sky of far West Texas as ghost lights. Moderns call them simply the Marfa lights, implying that if they exist at all, the march of science and technology will soon explain and dispatch them. I promise you, something's out there. I was with a group of writers and poets, skeptics all, who saw them in August 1983. We were parked on U.S. 90 about halfway between Marfa and Alpine, looking south across an abandoned air base toward the Chinati Mountains. When the first point of light appeared where there had been only darkness, there were some nervous giggles and a fluttering of rationalizations, and when a second came dancing above and to the right of the first, I swear something ice-cold moved across my skin. The points of light appeared one or two or sometimes three at a time, about the intensity of second-magnitude stars, moving diagonally and sometimes horizontally for ten to fifteen seconds. They would vanish and then reappear in some new location. They could have been a mile away, or twenty or thirty. True, there were some ranch houses out there in the blackness, and some unmarked roads and a Santa Fe railroad track. There was even a major highway, U.S. 67, which runs from Marfa to Shafter to Presidio, but it was miles to the west of where we saw the lights. No one spoke for a long while. Somewhere out there an animal wailed. San Antonio poet Naomi Nye told me later that she thought the experience changed her life. She said she had dreams in which the whole energy of the dream was directed at trying to figure out how to "get to the lights." People have been mystified by the Marfa lights for more than a hundred years and probably much longer. An engineer surveying for the Southern Pacific triangulated the lights in 1883 and declared them to be kerosene lanterns on the ranch of one Jesús Rojas. The less pragmatic knew better. There was considerable consternation when a Sul Ross State University physicist, Donald Witt, announced ninety years later that he had solved the mystery once and for all. Witt concurred with the Southern Pacific engineer that one source of light indeed originated at the ranch, now called the Mellard or M.E. Ranch. A second source, he declared, was U.S. 67, and he invited a number of skeptics to his lab to see a presentation of evidence. Steve Neu of Alpine, then a student, was there when Witt unveiled his coup. "There was a great expectation as he opened this box," Neu says, laughing. "It contained an auto headlight." That explanantion satisfied no one, including Witt, who continued to be obsessed by the mystery. Another encounter with the inexplicable on one cold night in January 1974 convinced Witt that his announcement had been premature. As he and an assistant were returning to Alpine, they were stunned to observe two bright yellow lights oscillating near the horizon. "I can't explain what we saw that night," Witt admits now. "It occurred to me that it could be the lights of a locomotive on the Ojinaga-Topolobampo run. Of course, that would have been eighty miles away. I never checked to see if there was a train at that hour." Uranium, mica, phosphorescence, even luminescent brush on a jackrabbit's fur, have been suggested, as have chemicals left behind by the Army. One of the weirdest theories is that an ultrasecret "nuclear laser fusion device" went awry in 1943 and got lost in space and time. More recently, astronomers from the McDonald Observatory have speculated that the lights are caused by the Novaya Zemlya effect, in which light beams are bent by adjacent layers of air and carried over great distances. The source could be a faraway car or the reading lamp from a flying saucer, for example. Early settlers thought the lights were the spirit of a Chisos Apache warrior left sealed in a cave to guard stolen gold. Later the lights were said to be Pancho Villa moving supplies across the Rio Grande. And still later some thought they were the ghost of Hitler searching for former German soldiers who had been imprisoned at a POW camp south of town and had refused to return to Germany after the war. "Whatever they are, I'd definitely classify them as friendly," says Fritz Kahl, who trained pilots at the air base in the forties. I agree. And if someone has an explanation, I'll listen. Meanwhile, I'm just glad the lights are on our side. Kath <mzmouser@earthlink.net> ~`* `*' `*' `* `*' `*' *' `*' *' `*' `* `*' *' `*' ~~~ "So live that you wouldn't be ashamed to sell the family parrot to the town gossip." --Will Rogers

The Resistol Hat by Peter Applebome Where does American dream meet Texas myth? In this cowboy hat, of course. The people at Resistol Hats recently did some high-powered research and somehow concluded that there are more than 17 million cowboy hats in the U.S. If you are among those behatted hordes and live in Texas, chances are yours is a Resistol: Based in Garland, Resistol sells about a million cowboy hats a year, ranging in price from $15 for a straw workingman's special to $3000 for a beaver-and-ermine number. The cowboy hat may be the single most resonant throwback to the glory days of the open range, the one thing that most says "Texas" to the rest of the world. But Resistol's story shows that you don't have to be a legend as long as you know how to act like one, and that even legends can be stretched only so far. The earliest antecedents of the high-crown, wide-brim cowboy hat were probably worn centuries ago by Mongolian horsemen like Genghis Khan and his plucky posse of hard-riding buckaroos. Similar headgear was brought to the New World by Spanish horsemen. Their hats evolved first into the Mexican sombrero and then into an American version sometimes called a woolsey. It was cheap and homemade, but even at its worst it was a marvel of utility. The wide brim protected the wearer from swirling dust and the killing prairie sun. The tall crown kept the head cool in the scorching summer heat. Beyond that it served as a bellows, cattle prod, drinking cup, pillow, and storage area. The modern cowboy hat began with Resistol's still-flourishing archrival, the John B. Stetson Company. In 1865 young Mr. Stetson decided that he could do better than the sorry, floppy woolsey, and he started making the famous felt hats that bear his name. The cowboy movies of the twenties, peopled with cowpokes wearing seven-inch-tall, ten-gallon Stetsons, helped transform the cowboy hat from a utilitarian bit of clothing into a national icon. Resistol started in 1927 when a Michigan millionaire named E.R. Byer and a hatmaker named Harry Rolnick began manufacturing dress hats in Dallas under the new brand name "Resistol Hats." (The hat's headband held the body of the hat away from the head, thus resisting scalp oil -- hence the name.) They added a Western line in 1935 and moved to Garland in 1938. Resistol prospered partly because of its hat-making innovations, such as the patented headband and a more luxurious felt finish. The company's presence in Texas, at the heart of the Western wear market, didn't hurt either. But its greatest achievement was to take a product born after the Depression and turn it into the embodiment of the Old West. Rolnick was a master of marketing the company's new Western image, and he soon had movie stars like John Wayne and Henry Fonda wearing Resistols. LBJ was a contented customer, J.R. Ewing's Resistol now sits in the Smithsonian, and every DPS trooper in Texas wears one in a special color called Textan. Still, the last few years have shown that even myths can become pretty fragile when subjected to the rigors of the marketplace. Traditionally, Western wear has grown at a steady, moderate pace. That changed in the late seventies. Suddenly everyone in Manhattan needed a lavender cowboy hat decked out with an ostrich feather. Resistol put its factories on 24-hour shifts, and its business doubled in three years. But booms do have a tendency to go bust, and by 1982 the cowboy hat had become last year's Nehru jacket. The industry is finally getting back to a normal 2.8 million cowboy hats a year, and now its growth seems to be in the non-Western end of things. Resistol is churning out dress hats, safari hats, modified baseball caps, Panama straws, Rex Harrison hats, Raiders of the Lost Ark hats. In fact, these days the first hats you see when you walk into the company's headquarters are five Tom Landry dress hats. You get the impression that everybody would be perfectly happy without another cowboy-hat bonanza. The truth is that the cowboy hat, like baseball's spring training, prospers not so much because it's needed as because it's wanted. No one needs to drink from a ten-gallon hat these days, and you can rope a steer in your stockbrokers' gimme cap if you want to. The cowboy hat's appeal is more emotional than practical, but even that has its limits. Pushed beyond its natural borders and stuck on the heads of New Yorkers who frequent Second Avenue singles bars, the cowboy hat took on the forlorn look of parody. But at West Texas cafes, on the heads of burly truckers and rodeo kids and ranchers and oilmen, it will always have the irresistible aura of myth. Kath <mzmouser@earthlink.net> ~`* `*' `*' `* `*' `*' *' `*' *' `*' `* `*' *' `*' ~~~ "So live that you wouldn't be ashamed to sell the family parrot to the town gossip." --Will Rogers

Big Red by Joe Nick Patoski ----Drinking Big Red soda pop is as much a part of growing up in Texas as souvenir chameleons at the State Fair, the first dip in the Gulf of Mexico, or a visit to the Alamo. I was twelve when I had my first sip, almost too old to fully appreciate the candy-flavored, carbonated sensation gurgling in the back of my throat. I had walked barefoot to Brooks' Drugstore, my neighborhood hangout in Fort Worth, gingerly avoiding tar spots simmering in the street on a hot August afternoon. Once I was inside, my eyes were drawn to the refrigerated cooler that contained some bottles of the reddest liquid I had ever seen, a red like the color of a fire engine speeding through hell, but more intense. I sampled one, and it even tasted red -- not like the cherry, raspberry, or strawberry flavor I expected but something like liquid bubble gum. I had stumbled on the secret of Big Red: it's a flavor you can't quite put your finger on, shrouded in mystery, sweet to the point of overkill, and addictive enough to make you crave another. Many years later I cut through the romanticism of that first gulp to discover that the flavor is actually a combination of lemon and orange oils, topped off by a dollop of pure vanilla for a creamy aftertaste. The red is nothing more than FD&C red 40 food color. But the drink's chemistry pales in importance when you realize that if Coca-Cola succeeds in taking over Dr Pepper, Big Red will be the last native soda pop -- created, owned, and operated by Texans -- left on the planet. Big Red was invented in a Waco laboratory in 1937 by Grover C. Thomsen and R.H. Roark, 52 years after Dr Pepper's birth in the same city. It was originally called Sun Tang Red Cream Soda and was marketed exclusively in Central and South Texas and around Louisville, Kentucky. According to Big Red Ink, the company's newsletter, "consumption of the beverage was most common away from home, during outside activities in the warm summer months." In the late fifties Harold Jansing, then president of the San Antonio bottling plant, was playing golf when he overheard some black caddies refer to a Sun Tang as a "big red." After a few years of hearing that, and eager to speak the lingo, he asked a caddy to bring him four big reds. The caddy returned with another brand. "That's when I decided to change the name," Jansing says. In the late seventies the company embarked on an aggressive expansion program into most Texas cities and beyond (105 franchises in 28 states, Panama, and British Columbia). Thus Big Red was saved from the same fate as extinct soda brands like Uncle Jo's, the Texas-size Hippo drinks, Fredericksburg's Iron Brew, and Big Chief ("Bottled with pure Davis Mountains water"). Big Red's survival can be attributed to a passionately loyal following, and the drink attained celebrity status years ago in entertainment circles. The late soul singer Joe Tex referred to "red soda water" in song. Rock superstar John Cougar Mellencamp's only two vices are said to be cigarettes and Big Red, and Sammy Davis, Jr. once had his manager order several cases from the Waco bottler. When Sir Douglas Sahm made his seminal 1971 album The Return of Doug Saldaña, he posed on the cover with his hand wrapped around a Big Red. Especially popular with blue-collar and ethnic drinkers, Big Red is a must at any Juneteenth celebration, along with ribs, beer, and watermelon. It's also an essential ingredient for an authentic South Texas barbecue, the perfect palate-cooling antidote to the spicy heat of the meat. The only beverage that consistently outsells Big Red in San Antonio is Coca-Cola. Emery Bodnar, executive vice president of Big Red Bottling Company of San Antonio, tells this story: "One day I was checking stores, and I saw a baby crying in a shopping basket. The mother took a two-liter bottle of Big Red off the shelf, opened it, and filled the baby's bottle with it, and gave it to the baby. The baby quit crying. Mothers wean babies on it." Sooner or later though, babies grow up, casting aside childish attachments like red soda pop. Big Red is not much of an adult drink, in spite of the appealing idea of a Texas Sunrise (Big Red and tequila). A good part of the reason is that every bottle is loaded with its fair share of sugar and caffeine. But so what if it's not good for you. Just ask any Texas kid. It sure tastes good. Kath <mzmouser@earthlink.net> ~`* `*' `*' `* `*' `*' *' `*' *' `*' `* `*' *' `*' ~~~ "So live that you wouldn't be ashamed to sell the family parrot to the town gossip." --Will Rogers

The Pecan by Patricia Sharpe The nut that nourished the Indians, rescued Cabeza de Vaca, and gives its all to make Texas' best pies. ---Along about May the nuts begin to form, in close-growing clusters at the tips of stubby twigs. Inside each green husk is a droplet of nutrient-filled liquid--the substance that will eventually become a pecan. As the kernel takes on shape and size, a papery skin develops around the jellylike matter. It is clear and tasteless now, but if you cut into the nut, the tannin in the juices will stain your fingers brown. By September or October, when the sere husk has split, squirrels and blue jays are attacking in waves. On Saturday mornings children and elderly gents search out the nuts amid drifts of crackling leaves and lug the treasures home, there to be put to their highest and best use in the golden-amber transubstantiation of sugar, syrup, eggs, butter, and vanilla that is Texas pecan pie. Pecans have grown in Texas since prehistoric times. Indians gratefully ate them and also gave them their name, an Algonquian word meaning a nut that it takes a stone to crack. A member of the family that includes walnuts and hickories, the pecan grows natively only in the south central and southeastern United Staes and in northern Mexico, in rich river-bottom soil where its ample roots spread out to cover twice the area of its branches and go down as far as 40 feet. It reaches its greatest diameter (6 feet) and height (130 feet) in Texas, which makes Texas the best place in the world to raise pecans. Cabeza de Vaca, the first European to walk across Texas, was also the first to enjoy Texas pecans. Had it not been for the protein-rich nuts, in fact, he would never have made it through the murderous winter of 1532. A few hundred years later, fur traders running their beaver traps along Southern streams gathered up pecans and carted them over the mountains to civilization, where they became known as Mississippi nuts and Illinois nuts. Gentlemen farmers Thomas Jefferson and George Washington were among the many who planted these curiosities in their yards. Ironically, the abundance of the tree almost led to its extinction in the early part of this century. Texas settlers looked around them and saw, on the banks of almost every river and stream, pecan groves that seemed to stretch into infinity. Without compunction they chopped the trees down to grow cotton and turned the fine, hard timber into ax handles, wagon parts, and firewood. Some lordly specimens were felled, golden-egg fashion, just to make it easy for boys to swarm through the branches and plunder the nuts. By 1900 the pecan was in serious trouble. Yet even while this depredation was occurring, pioneer growers like F. A. Swinden and J. H. Burkett were planting groves and experimenting with new varieties. Some of the credit for the turnaround in the status of the pecan must also go to Texas governor James S. Hogg, a sentimentalist who said that when he died he wanted no monument of stone, but instead, "Let my children plant at the head of my grave a pecan tree and at my feet an old-fashioned wlanut tree. And when these trees shall bear, let the pecans and walnuts be given out among the plain people of Texas so they may plant them and make Texas a land of trees." In 1919, thanks to Hogg, the pecan was named the state tree. Today the pecan is thriving. In 1981 the Texas harvest was 62 million pounds (almost a fifth of the national total) and had a value of $42 million. And though the industry is clearly going in the direction of scientifically managed groves that produce big, voluptuous pecans, for now the bulk of the state’s output still comes from great trees like the ones that were here when our forefathers rattled up in mule-drawn wagons 150 years ago. And this is as it should be. The abiding affection people have for the pecan did not develop from contemplating tidy rows of grafted trees. It came, rather, from walking in the deep shade of a grove of centenarians, staring up at their leaves, idly picking up their autumn bounty. These old giants have lived through a lot, and the feisty native pecans they produce embody the wisdom of their struggle. Kath <mzmouser@earthlink.net> ~`* `*' `*' `* `*' `*' *' `*' *' `*' `* `*' *' `*' ~~~ "So live that you wouldn't be ashamed to sell the family parrot to the town gossip." --Will Rogers