In other news, the world is ending.

Hello Bloggies!!! I have returned from the dark side. Also known as Texas, except texas isn’t dark at all. It is sunny and warm. So, I have really returned from the land of sunshine and heat.

I am quite sure you would love to here wonderful tales of adventure from out in texas hill country. Tales of horse back riding into the sunset, eating amazing tex-mex cuisine. However, I was in a terribly long, boring conference about statistics at UT. Quite ironic given the questionable state of UT published statistics lately.

But I digress from the real issues.

The end of times are here.

I have witnessed it. In Texas the crickets have taken over the cities in the tens of thousands. My hotel lobby was covered in them. The McDonald’s parking lot was covered in dead crickets. The local radio station was hosting a contest for the best infestation pics. “Please no submissions with less than five hundred crickets, y’all.”

“Hundreds of thousands of the bugs pile up around buildings,” “Customers cannot get inside or outside businesses because crickets are jumping all over them,” – The Bloomberg Press

There is only one explanation.

The end of times are here.

Ok, so not texas, but you get the idea.

Of course there are always bugs running wild in the South. So, I suppose it could just be a normal summer. In which case, false alarm. Go back to frolicking in the rain, and such.

Late Afternoon Thunderstorms

The long lazy southern summer is upon us. Every where you turn there is another sign. Late afternoon thunderstorms. Cicadas mating sounds echoing off the trees.  The thickening of the air with every breath you take.

I firmly believe it is the summers that truly turn someone southern. Something about the thick air, the front porch swinging with a paper fan and glass of sweet tea, that just changes your soul. The long conversations with friends as you suck the head of the spicy crawfish. Your bare feet on the cold summer grass as the kids run outside to play kick the can before the street lights turn on.

Just thinking of my summer evenings makes me weak at the knees. The warm caress of the summer evening wraps itself around me as I walk down my quiet neighborhood road breathing in the quiet whispers of the night.

I have a torrid love affair with the south as you all know. It is one of those passionate relationships that is either ecstasy or turmoil. Almost an addiction. No matter how bad the south treats me, I just cannot seem to walk away. I yearn for her even more. I want those wide open spaces, and beds of wild bluebonnets the dixie chicks always sing of. Just not the cowboy that comes with it.


My Louisiana

There is something different about the air in Louisiana. One day if you ever visit this great unique state you will understand.

Enter my theory as to why:

The air is alive. Literally. As people have passed away they get trapped in the thick swamp air making it thicker and thicker. Until the air is so filled with spirits that just a step outdoors in July and you feel like you are parting the air with each painstaking step.   The sweat drips off your face yet never makes it to the ground. They soak it up.

But this must only be a problem in the summer. Wrong. Because every know and then the temperature drops below thirty. (That is not cold you say) But it is not the cold of which you are used to. It is as though in one small swipe every soul hanging in the live oaks took one deep breath in all at the same time. And the air is at once lifeless. Cutting right to the bone.

Be careful what you say they are listening…