Ode to Old High

The Tired Hand

Postcard 1911

Aye, tear her brick and mortar down!

Long has she stood, Old High!

Many a voice has shouted proud

For black and red banners in the sky.

Her halls have sung with Coyote Pride,

Tears shed for fallen sons;

She’s nurtured her charges for 90 years.

Now, they say, her time is done?

Her walls have sheltered Faith City’s hope.

Her banners they held high.

Like loving arms, she welcomed all

And taught them how to fly.

But well worn tiles shall bear no more

The throng of student masses;

No longer shall her signal bells

Rush stragglers to their classes.

Oh, better that her brick so red

Should fall to the wrecker’s ball!

Let sons and daughters claim them then

To mark her final fall.

So cheer, you Coyotes, cheer!

Cheer with all your might!

Buildings in time must tumble down,

Yet Old High spirit goes not gentle into that good night.

So tear her brick and mortar down!

Long has she held us nigh.

We will not forget, no, never forget

Our beloved Wichita Falls High.

Don Cowan to 'Stay With Us'

"I talk to God but the sky is empty." ~ Sylvia Plath

Take a kid raised Hardshell Baptist from birth. Give him a mind equipped for critical thinking, and plant within him a passion for reading. You either get one deeply conflicted and confused sociopath, or the kid finds folks who help him find his way along that lonesome valley.

One of those folks was a music man from Minnesota who rode the U.S. Air Force into River City, fell for a pretty dancer at the old YWCA, decided to stay and began teaching choral music to the first generation of Rock 'n' Rollers.

I am proud to say that Don Cowan remians a friend of mine going on 51 years.

We learned some months back that Mr. Cowan, 81, had been diagnosed with cancer. Multiple cancers, as it turned out, no doubt linked to that iconic pipe he had been sucking on ever since those early days at S.H. Rider High School.

Well, I tell you it wasn't so much that Don got cancer. Once word spread by social media and by word of mouth among The Legacy, it was more like we ALL came down with cancer. His challenge became our challenge. Like so many times before, we would rise as a family to this latest challenge, and together we would overcome it.

Prayers went up immediately and continue to this day. We were kept informed all along the way. First would come a series of chemotherapy treatments. This would be followed by radiation treatments, if necessary. Should that fail to clear out all the malignancies, the rest would be cut out. Not exactly a trip to the Magic Kingdom, but the prognosis for survival was good.

"Talk about being hit with a ton of bricks when my Dr. told me I had cancer," Don told me. 
Then he said 'Do you know how to eat an elephant? One bite at a time.'

"That is exactly what I did. One test, one x-ray, one CT scan, one MRI, one chemo treatment at a time. I had family and friends who came by the fusion lab where I had my chemo, and they sat with me. The support, emails, cards, phone calls and letters have been so welcome and supportive. How could I not defeat this?"

Now, I've never been big on prayer, personally. Not that I'm above asking for help; it's just that I have my doubts anyone "Up There" is actually there, much less listening to our puny wants. To my mind, the Lord helps those who help themselves. That said....

Word came from Don last week that his cancer is gone. He had a session with his radiologist which included a CT scan. Nothing cancerous showed up anywhere in his body. A few chemo treatments; no radiation, no surgery, nothing more than several hundred former choral singers still considered his "kids" praying for their mentor and friend.

"Whatever you believe, I believe that those prayers and my knowing that I had the Lord's support, helped me beat this insidious disease," Don affirmed.

Good Lord willing and Holliday Creek don't rise, those of us who can will gather together one more time here in River City to celebrate Don's 82nd birthday June 21.

Thank you, Lord!

Water we do when the water is through?

My younger (17 days) brother by another mother, A.D., stopped by yesterday afternoon. Like tried and true cavalry he arrived in the nick of time to help this tired hand move out an old swayback bed and replace it with a much firmer trundle we picked up from Janel over at Bluebonnet Hill. I Pray this morning, Lord, that my back is properly thankful to all who had a hand in switching out the beds.

It's all good when A.D. drops by. We sat awhile in the shade of the Stinky White Tree, watching birds dodge the dogs as they (birds) flitted about the feeders. Sippin' on sweet tea and Dr Pepper, talk turned to our increasingly critical lack of water. Water and the lack thereof is about all anyone talks about these days, what with the drought holding fast.

A.D., bless his heart, is one of those hapless individuals who is either unaware of the caliber of disaster presented by this continuing drought or blissfully chooses to ignore the situation, trusting that it will get better all on its own. He perked up and paid attention, though, when I said River City has less than a year's worth of water remaining in the reservoirs from which we draw.

We are fast approaching a time, a real here-and-now point in history unthinkable back when we all spent summers running through lawn sprinklers. We are within 300-odd days of turning on a tap and nothing coming out.

Three hundred days. Possibly less. If that's not sobering, I don't know what is.

Like I've said before, this drought is bad all over more than anywhere else. Saw in The Paper this morning where the folks down in Corpus Christi are considering sinking $5 million into a test desalination plant in order to tap into Gulf water. San Angelo is the latest Texas town to seriously look at treating waste water and returning it from potty to potable.

Lake Wichita 2013

Here in River City public works people revealed they have tapped into our own treated waste water return pipeline to water greens on the municipal golf course. That certainly has ticked off more than a few folks. Of course, if that water wasn't being used at the golf course, it would be released into the Wichita River for the next few weeks until all the i-dotting and t-crossing is done on the state reuse permits.

All over town "Pray for Rain" yard signs are more numerous than politicians at a pancake feed. More and more folks are shelling out cash by the bucketload to have a well sunk in their yards, while the City of Wichita Falls is paying $50,000 a month to a cloud-seeding outfit.

We've all manner of bans in place, from a ban on using "city" water to water yards to how many days per week car washes may be open for business.

Personally, I think we need one more "ban" and a show of solidarity in recognizing that we are the answer to our crises. We need a ban on shaving -- ALL shaving, ladies -- untill Stage Four restrictions are lifted. Then we can tell by your fuzzy face -- and legs -- that we're all in this together!

A time for shaggy

Front yard at the Homestead, and the natives have violated code.

Saw the first Scissor-tailed Flycatcher Saturday afternoon. We were driving a new-to-us dog from the shelter over to the antique store for a meet-and-greet with Mrs. Miller. AnniePie has bested me at spotting Spring's first Scissortail more years than I care to count, so we were tickled, Buddy and I, to get one up on her.

May just be me, but Spring seems early this year. Not that everyone isn't ready for it, judging by remarks heard these past weeks down at the dealership. In my dreams, I record diligently the miriad "firsts" that mark seasonal changes like returning Scissortails and Mississippi Kites. Would that my real world naturalist were so methodical and a little less lazy!

Green may be bursting forth all over, but the venerable old mesquite trees I run with aren't having it. Their leaf buds remain as closed as a Teabagger's mind. Easter is, after all, yet two weeks out.

Received a slow, soaking, half-inch rain delivered all day long Sunday. Yards all across town are going from winter brown to spring green as if a switch had been thrown. Of course, the better part of that green is a mixed salald of what urbanites like to call weeds.

The Prairie Look may be the next big thing in lawns. 

Just exactly what is a weed, anyway? Have you ever wondered about that? Well, turns out a weed can be any plant growing where one or more humans do not want it to grow. By that common law definition, a healthy marijuana plant thriving in the middle of a Roundup Ready, Republican soybean patch is a weed, an undesirable plant growing in a human-controlled location.

Yes, that's my front patch (above and left), so I can talk about it. The first couple of things to know about it are that very little turfgrass grows here and that as it stands now, this patch is in violation of city code.

The other thing you should know is that this is a drought-made yard. No chemicals -- no pesticides, herbicides nor chemical fertilizers -- have been applied here for at least the past five years. No "city" water has been spread over it for the last two years. Code violation is that a majority of the plants here are more than 9" in height.

And it is precisely that social no-no that gives this patch texture and diversity. I also happen to believe this yard to be more drought tolerant than any turfgrass lawn on artificial life support.

My prairie-style yard contains Henbit, Wild Garlic, Dandelions and other LYFs (Little Yellow Flowers) as well as drought-spawned Khaki Weed. This patch also is visited regularly by a host of flying insects, including native bees, butterflies and Gypsy moths.

This unprecedented drought is tough all over more than anywhere else. Barring a rain of biblical proportions, folks here in River City will be up against tougher restrictions on the uses of city water in a matter of days. 

This Prairie Shaggy look that has evolved on my patch may just be the next big thing in yard management.  

Just a lookin' for a home

Stinky White Tree

The Stinky White Tree is particularly pungent this evening. High cirrus clouds and sunset smear pastel swaths across the western sky, and, Good Lord, what is that smell?

Decomp?

Tell me, again, it’s Friday. Dinner is done (if not entirely cleared away), all the domestic stock (two dogs, four cats) are fed and watered, all outside feeding and watering stations topped off. The trio of dogs across Cement Creek are squabbling noisily amongst themselves, while our two, Lazlo and the Bean, chase one another hell bent for election ‘round and ‘round Ol’ Stinky...the tree...not to be confused with Stinky Cat, our feral house cat.

Move my chair and sweet tea a bit farther from both tree and dogs and nearer the Pot Garden construction site. Scarcely do I get settled in before one of the male cardinals alights on a fence wire near the Pot Garden Snack Bar. Moments later a female joins him, landing on the feeder. The pair are no more than seven, eight feet from me.

While I can’t identify them as distinct individuals yet, they are two among some dozen cardinals who have been scouting out and dining on our patch for the past few weeks. Last evening as Annie and I sat out, I noticed one or more of the males showing dominant territorial behavior, chasing away any other male venturing into the yard or its air space.

Courting season is open.

Staking out his claim

These two tonight were showing signs of having bonded. He would come into the feeder, while she held a higher vantage point some distance away. Then she would come in for a quick bite, and he would dart to a lookout post over her.

This dance continued for several rounds until a damned old dove came swooping through a bit close, startling the cardinal couple. She was off like a shot to the nearest cover, while her guy immediately dropped to a clearing on the ground. He stood resolutely in the open, his brilliant red coat lighting him up like a target while his partner escaped.

He stood his ground for quite some time. Much longer than I would have, at any rate. Then he did something that struck me as odd. While his mate softly cheeped at him from above and across the ditch, Big Red commenced a casual stroll of the grounds. He seemed to show a particular interest in the underneath side of the shrub thicket beside the house.

His inspection lasted a couple or three minutes, I suppose, before she came back. She dropped down a few feet from him; he immediately returned to the pecan tree overhanging the Pot Garden. She came up beside him, and the two flew off together into the dusk.

What was he up to, I wondered, hopping under the greenery and looking this way, then that? He looked for all the world like he was shopping. Was this his version of the Home Depot now that nesting -- and that stinking tree -- fills the air?

On stinking white trees

Taking the Earth-Kind Challenge isn’t your standard Aggie exam. No 12th man is gonna come screaming out of the stands if you fail to score. But if you want to get a handle on how compatible your patch is with evolving practices for a sustainable environment, take the test and see if you can beat my score, 56 (out of a possible 100).

I gotta tell you up front that “Earth-Kind” and related logos are registered trademarks of Texas A&M AgriLife Extension. So if you should steal them for whatever god-alone-knows reason, please give a nod to the Aggies, okay?

I see the Hardshell Hippies out there already shaking their shaggy heads.

Hardshell Hippies ~ old-school back-to-Nature

types holding extremist distrust for “Big” entities

belonging to the Man; a.k.a. Tree Hugger

Chill, dudes, and hear me out. I share your skepticism. Aggies aren’t only about corporate farming and selling toxins anymore; so sit back, take a toke and read up.

I googled into this whole aggie-horticulture.tamu.edu space, looking to identify what we call the “stinky white tree” in our backyard, and NO, it is NOT a Bradford Pear nor any of Brad’s pungent cousins. I’m thinking rusty blackhaw at the moment, but I could be wrong. Whatever its name, it certainly does not smell sweet, and its kind are scattered throughout Brook.

The search led to Aggie Land straight away and the Earth-Kind Landscaping package.

“Earth-Kind Landscaping uses research-proven techniques to provide maximum garden and landscape enjoyment while preserving and protecting the environment.” according to the website. “The objective of Earth-Kind Landscaping is to combine the best of organic and traditional gardening and landscaping principles to create a horticultural system based on real world effectiveness and environmental responsibility.”

My score of 56 is a soft D showing much room for improvement. We'll work on that. Meanwhile, name a tree with large clusters of stinky white blossoms, red berries, dark glossy green leaves and can be found throughout our neck of the Rolling Plains?

March Madness & the April Fool

Blackbirds gather for sunset.

Grackles group and gripe high in Sra Cruz’s border cedars.

These venerable trees stand tall against the drought,

but for how much longer is anyone’s guess.

Starlings assemble in the top of that old sweet gum down at the end of the drive,

naked limbs all askew and stark against a scudded, waning sky.

Just for giggles, I suppose, grackles glide en masse from there to there,

quietly intimidating their crossyard rivals.

Red-wings -- a sentimental favorite now that their lake is all but gone --

blend in around the edges of deepening dusk, spread out on perches of opportunity.

You hear them more than you see them.

Too windy for a fire, and that’s less than heartbreaking.

Perhaps the gusts have grounded the cardinals and finches,

conspicuous in their absence.

Or perhaps I’ve been overstocking the bird buffet?

Wind, Working Families Party and Woody Guthrie

When it comes to putting words to pictures, AnniePie nailed it. She took the shot on Pawnee Point, Lake Arrowhead, some months back. No, that's not a witching stick in my hand, but divining for water soon may come roaring back. It's a leash, at the other end of which Beano, our bulbous boglen terrier, is on point below a ridge step.

Did someone say, "POSTER!"?

Wherever I go around the Falls, folks are showing signs that spring is calling. Winter here was little more than a couple or three really, really, record-ruining cold spells and a single decent snow. Winter doesn't wear well here. This is Texas. If we wanted four to six months of hard frozen winter we'd be in Minnesota.

Did you know that Oklahoma is home to 26 wind farms?  The Wind Coalition just released “The Statewide Economic Impact of Wind Energy Development in Oklahoma”, report on "analysis of investment data, revenues paid to local landowners, ad valorem tax base increases, employment data and developer expenditure data for the 26 active wind farms in Oklahoma."

"Oklahoma's wind ranks ninth in the nation," wrote an anonymous web content writer for The American Wind Energy Association.

Rolling Plains people know that Oklahoma has an abundance of wind and natural gas, and therein lies a rub. We need a third party--say the Working Families Party, say a Sons & Daughters of Guthrie coalition--to rise up this election cycle and help clear the air. Wouldn't that do Woody proud?

Western Patch Going to Pot

Phase One of a recycled patch along the West fence.

What started out as a "rain garden" (above) is proceeding as a "pot" plot. Cinder blocks at the base have been loaded with Morning Glory seeds. This will be the final resting place for Cordie's Cauldron, the cast iron pot that has been with us since the Wilson administration.

"I wondered why the baseball was getting bigger. Then it hit me."

Annie Miller            

The red wings are angry and storming the old bird feeder out by that stinky white tree. I swan, that tree wants to be a magnolia, but it's not. Turned off bright and chilly this early a.m.--about 33F, according to Bryan Rupp down at the TV3--so I held off on stocking the feeders. Just let 'em glean what they may from yesterday's leftovers. The blackbirds and doves are working it, but they're not all happy about it, and riots will beak out.

Bryan also mentioned a swarm of earthquakes these past three months running from Oklahoma City to the Kansas state line. The largest, so far, was about an R4 last Friday and centered near OKC. Bryan said these miniquakes have been building in frequency and intensity. Any guess as to what the FRACK is going down under Oklahoma?

It's gonna be a bitchin' seminar!

Just now, as I type, heard from Stacy and Jan down in Austin this weekend. Here's Stacy.

"I'm in Austin learning tons of new stuff to come back and put to good use! They would like us to do a seminar on Love on Wheels next year at this conference and someone from a large national organization told me our program should be a model for all transport programs--so everyone, pat yourselves on the back because YOU have made it possible. Sometime in the next couple of weeks, Sharon, Jan, Amanda, or Shelly will pull our 500th dog, whose foster just may get a little surprise gift so if you're thinking of fostering, April is a good time to do so! 

Stacy Smith with HSFM Love on Wheels posting from the Texas Unites for Animals conference

Our own Jan Herzog missed the Road to Forever Transport Day for the first time yesterday since she helped get the local foster transport program on the road. We missed you, too, Jan, and I am yet convinced that you and Stacy, aside from all that you accomplished, still managed to have too much fun.

Damn dogs!

Big Birthday shout out to my Maura Jay!

Her Grand Duchess Maura Jane, a.k.a. "Squidget", a.k.a. "Squirt", Great Granddaughter the First turns two laps around the sun.

That's Princess, #1 Granddaughter (left), currently kicking the professional mommy track in VEGAS, of all unholy places!

So far we only know of one another through pictures and stories, but M.J. and I will write a book together one of these days.

The three most common side effects of aging are neuritis, neuralgia and nostalgia

Used to hear the old folks swap complaints all the do-dah day. Now I am the old folks. Oh, 
where are the ailments of yesteryear?

Oh, didn't ya hear? Fred passed with the CONSUMPTION.
Aunt Bertie's RHEUMATISM  getting to her again?
Don't mind him, he's just got a bad dose of the GRIPES

Seems to me that people's ailments were spoken of in tongues, back in the day.

When did humans (or some creature resembling) get off the ground?

Silent White, 2012 Closeout

Christmas Day 2012 on the Rolling Plains

The Good Lord blessed us here in North Texas with a quieting blanket of snow for which, I pray, I am truly thankful.

Beginning as freezing rain and sleet Christmas morning, just as first light began to penetrate the pale, bluish gray overcast, it quickly turned to fat, moisture-laden flakes of snow drifting silently as confectioner's sugar.

Lord knows we needed the moisture, and this Christmas snow was about the best present She could have sent down to us. The drought, 'though not as noticeable in winter, does linger on. Our local lakes are down to 40 percent, less than half full.

This Christmas especially this snow was important, I dare say even vital, for more than just a prettied-up rain. In the wake of Newtown, CT, and Webster, NY, Lord, we needed the all-mighty silence of this blanket spreading over us brought, if even for a mere, brief moment.

Thank you, Lord!

This is likely to be the last go round for this Rolling Plains Journal. AnniePie, The Daughter and I soon (hopefully) will be packing up our kits and heading back to the Pacific Northwest where scenes like these are more frequent and where triple-digit summer days still are few and far between.

We have no idea where we will hang our lantern, but Washington state's Wenatchee Valley is looking mighty inviting.

So let us put RPJ finally to bed after a somewhat irregular run. We had a hoot and learned a thing or two about blogging while doing it. Meanwhile, life goes on over at The Happy Homesteader which will relocate geographically with us.

Plus I have opened a new patch to spread our words over at HubPages. Here I will be trying my hand at old-school journalism once again, just I as started out some 35 years ago. This time, however, I'm running the rag--writing, photoing, editing and publishing--totally online rather than in print.

From all the cats here on Speedway Avenue, River City, the Rolling Plains, USA, we pray your Christmas was peaceful, joyous and wrapped with love.

May the Good Lord continue to pour out Her blessings upon us as we continue against long odds to love and nurture one another. We must stick together, children, for Lord knows we are all we've got to work and play with.

Y'all come see us when you can, hear!

It's not that easy, eating greens

It’s not that easy, eating greens.
Seems they taste of nasty, bitter things...
When it seems we’d rather have sugary dreams...
Like Twinkies...or salted crunchies...
Or something much more tastier than that.


It’s not that easy, eating greens
Seems they lay there like limp ‘n’ ordinary things...
When we’d sooner something warm and bloody...
That yesterday...
Was eating greens itself on its own comfy-cozy patch.

I'm not a fan of greens. Never have been. Mustard, poke, turnip, spinach, doesn't matter the origin. The way into my heart does not pass through a plate of boiled-lifeless weeds drowning in pot liquor.

Hard times come to Texas, however. As in days gone by...the Great Depression of my parents and grandparents generations...the day is coming and now is when the true survivors will think again about what is food and how to make it delicious and nutritious. Consider, Children, the not-so-lowly wild lettuce.

Wild lettuce (Lactuca serriola), taller plant center,
surrounded by henbit. Lactuca easily mistaken
for dandelion.

Think you have dandelions running riot across your yard? Seems to me a trifle early, but then I'm the world's worst at keeping records from year to year. Besides, that pesky plant you think is a dandelion just might be wild or prickly lettuce.

Yes, I got fooled! Collected a tubful from the backyard, cleaned off the plants (leaves and roots) and let 'em soak in plain water over night. Did a simple (raw) taste test and later sauteed a mess of the greens with chopped onions in a couple tablespoons of bacon fat. Even AnniePie pronounced them "GOOD!"

In the course of continuing study, I discovered that what I had collected and believed to be dandelions were, in fact, prickly lettuce! And don't let that "prickly" part there put you off; we're not talking prickly pear class of prickly by any stretch.

Lactuca has a rap for tasting bitter, but I did not find it overly so in young, fresh leaves. Raw leaves taste something akin to lettuce. Mind, I did soak mine overnight in a bath of plain water. Same for the root, which is quite fibrous and chewy. The root tastes mildly astringent but not a lot of any flavor to my taste. I'll report further after I have enough of the roasted and ground root to play with.

Y'all come back now, hear?

OVERTURE! CURTAIN! LIGHTS!

I owe Mrs. Miller one pair of shorts. She let me talk her out of them, and all I can add is, Thank the Lord for small favors!

They are..were...a yellow, girlie, summery pair of shorts she made some years back, and neither one of us can recall the last time she wore them. So she gave them up for the sake of the arts here in River City. The show is The Fantasticks, opening tonight, 8pm, for the paying people on the Dinner Stage down at Backdoor.

And a HUGE THANK YOU to all who came out last night for our Press Release, Friends & Family opening. That first time in front of a breathing audience really points out the sweet and sour spots! Like in the second act when Socrates and Lodevigo manhandle Matt off stage while lustily singing a quick homage to West Side Story. Helluva place for a laugh break!

This is my fourth show at Backdoor? The first, I believe, that Mrs. Miller hasn't been up in the tech booth to run lights and sound. She's always been so good at lighting me up! Last night she got to see the show for the first time like any regular person, and I think she got a kick out of it. I know I did, but I surely miss not having her on my crew!

Fantasticks will run for a couple more weekends, at least, so get your reservations in now to see what became of AnniePie's britches!!

Save your work!

Save your work, Children. Save your work!

We just dumped nearly a page of monologue and stage directions for our entrance into The Fantasticks... right after the Fathers’ It Depends On What You Pay number.

Six days out from final Press Rehearsal, and I’m still stumbling over lines.

So, I thought, write out the entire scene, complete with lines, stage movements and timing in as much detail, and in as few words as possible. The exercise helps me set my scenes internally, like dropping into extreme slow motion ...

Anyway, I was a good half page or better into it when my steam-powered laptop burped and swallowed it all! What untold labors are farted off by old men because old machines ate their homework?

We will have the lines AND the blocking AND the timing down pat come 8 pm Friday, Jan. 27 when we open the show at Backdoor Theatre’s Dinner Stage. Come see us!

Save your work, Children! Early and often!

The Age of Dinosaurs Has Expired!

President of these United States, Barack Obama yesterday thumbed his nose at Big Oil on the Keystone XL deal.

You may recall the other day one of Big Oil’s biggest talking suits told President Obama that if he rejected the pipeline permit, there would be hell to pay politically; that the full shock and awe of Big Oil Bucks would be targeted against the President’s re-election.

Good Lord knows I’m no fan of Corporate Greed in general nor Big Oil in particular, but I am a huge fan of a President who stands up to the neighborhood bullies.

Paula Deen! Paula Deen! Paula DEEN!!!

ROAD-READY, TAGGED & STICKERED! 1995 Chevrolet Corsica, Asking $600. If interested, leave your contact info in the "Comments" box.

[Vehicle pictured is NOT the car offered]

Journey well, Miss James!

1-202-456-1111

That's the telephone number to leave a comment at the White House on 1600 Pennsylvania Ave in Washington, D.C. Somehow, it never dawned on me before today that I could call the President of the United States to tell him what's on my mind. Now, I carry his phone number in my cell phone's contacts list.

If you follow my Facebook page, you may have noticed yesterday that I publicly thanked President Obama for rejecting the permit to build the Keystone XL pipeline across the heartland of America. I did not merely agree with his decision, I stood up and cheered (1) for him doing the right thing for Americans and (2) for telling Big Oil to shove their political threats up their pipelines!

In the clear light of a new day...today...that somehow did not seem like enough, especially when you consider how much flak he is going to catch. So it seemed appropriate to look up the White House number and personally call to thank the President for his decision.

All things considered, I was surprised to be on hold for a mere 20 minutes or so...time enough to write up this posting and go to the White House website to fire off an email. The volunteer who took my call was very friendly, graciously taking down my 'Thank You' for action to stop Keystone XL.

"Let me be sure I've got this correctly," she said, soft laughter in her grandmotherly voice. "You want to thank him FOR rejecting the pipeline permit, right?"

I confirmed, laughing with her.

"Just wanted to be sure I got that in the appropriate column!" she added.

No doubt that other column is somewhat longer. So do me a favor, would you? If you, too, applaud the President for rejecting Keystone XL, call him up and say so!!