I am so happy that living in this little town has allowed me to do those things I have loved the most — play music with friends and ride horses with friends. This was our music group more than ten years ago, with our great pastor Chuck Crane, who started the group. We have played in some of the most wonderful places — church, fall fair, at funerals and the birthday bash of a 97 year old fellow who had been a bomber pilot in WW2. such a joy to join with others in making music. If I had stayed in the city this would not have been possible. Back row left to right — Kim Donoho, Tom Bomer the reknown fiddler, Mark Hall, Kathy Lewis, Bottom, Church Crane, me Diane Causey. I am grateful they let me play with them.

Me, June and April in the middle. I have so few good pictures of the marvelous and amazing Evelyn O’Hara because she’s always in that big helmet!

That’s us on the Rio Grande, Arrmando our guide on the right. We’ve gone so many places— New Mexico, Big Bend, Palo Duro Canyon, the lovely country around Huntsville, and of course locally — Hooter Clayton’s place especially and I remember when June and I discovered Robin Springs there in a box canyon — hundreds and hundreds of robins flying past us, and we followed them, and there in a terrible drought was a tiny spring trickling from pool to pool — they knew where it was. They were flocking to it, thirsty on their journey north.

Above, we rode across the Rio Grande very briefly and then turned and galloped back. Thank you my dear friends for a rich, wonderful twenty years here in this tiny town. Or, we all live outside the town itself but let’s count the outliers.

There has been nobody to talk books with, I’ve of course been outside the Texas literary establishment, which is urban, so very urban. But I wouldn’t trade all this for the awards and cocktail parties and the seminars and the other various gatherings. These above were my girlhood dreams — adventures on horseback, playing all the old music that moves me so much — listening to Tom play or sing ‘Wayfaring Stranger’, Diane and Tom’s duets on piano and fiddle, singing in harmony with Kathy and Kim and Mark — what a joy! Diane and Tom had a deep sense of the old music and its structures and inner architecture, we all came from that culture.

But I must say Diane and her husband Tommy were great fans of my books and read some of them in manuscript. Also Rick Miller is a great fan of all my books and often asks questions about them, and his brother- in-law Deputy Sheriff Bruce Page is also an ardent reader of my books.

Like Wanda Waters — read News of the World in manuscript — stood up for me during the Woke Attack, a true and loyal friend.

I just feel a lot of gratitude.

This is my far-future fantasy, started about two years ago, almost finished. I know it is unusual and does not fit in the usual categories of far-future stories. Far-Future Glitz, with Amazing But Sinister Technology. Characters; slick powerbrokers, upper-class, educated, wrestle with ethic demons. Dash about among the planets and/ or galaxies to meet threats. Power Girl Top Scientist; brilliant investigator of experimental improbabilities, saves humankind. Dashes about among galaxies, foreign terrains. Upper-class, educated. The mass of humanity; suffering peons rarely seen. Down there somewhere.

My premise is that post-post-apocalypse humanity reverts to village-type organization. Avoided clichés of grunting ruminants in religious cults brandishing spears. Tried to be practical; I know how village-type organizations happen, and the basics of pre-electrical-power light, heat and toolmaking. Have become weary of the premise that in the collapse of what we know as ‘civilization’ (cool technology) people instantly turn into savages. At the same time, tried open the door to fantasy. I enjoyed writing this.

The Tavern at the End of the World

“The inn does not point to the road; the road points to the inn. And all roads point to an ultimate inn, where we shall meet Dickens and all his characters; and when we drink again it shall be from the great flagons in the tavern at the end of the world.” G.K. Chesterton

CHAPTER ONE

His parents left him to die at the edge of the forest. It was late October, when winter was beginning and the warblers had taken all their voices and had flown south to some mysterious kingdom beyond the horizon. His mother and father lifted him from the cart in a hard, firm grip even though he held on desperately to the sides. They pulled his hands loose finger by finger. The house dog barked at everything from under his mother’s skirts, barking at the entire world because something was wrong and the dog felt it in the air and was sounding the alarm but the people around him did nothing but make high-pitched unhappy noises.     

He felt himself dropped onto the ground like a sack of unconnected bones. His mother’s face was wet and her hands were in fists. She would not look at him. She was enormously fat. His father bent over and held him by both forearms and sat him down in the leaf litter beneath an oak tree and said that if he could walk through to the other side of the forest, there would be light, and a river and a pleasant land where he might despite everything find himself alive and well.

To read the rest of the first 5 chapters, click here.

All photos by Elvia Contreras Diaz

As a follow-up to Elvia &Co.’s latest adventures in Portugal, during the blackout in Spain they — Elvia and her nieces Pia and Gala — were stuck in the Lisboa airport for 8 hours without electricity — see letter below. Elvia is a dedicated student of literature, a great reader, and in all her travels she seeks out the homes and favorite places of the great Latin authors — or Turkish. Or Kazakastani! In this case Fernando Pessoa, Early 20th century writing genius of Portugal.

And since my many wonderful talents do not include skills with this semi-new WordPress confusion, I simply printed out Elvia’s Portugal letter, took a shot of it with my phone and downloaded the picture. I have tried repeatedly to shift documents from downloads to a post and am tired of trying. And I couldn’t even manage to get it straight. However I don’t think reading it slightly askew will cause any great suffering on the part of my million or so blog fans. At any rate, my favorite phrase here is “fighting like Mexican animals” at the ticket counter. Superb!

Elvia and Pia at a shoe shop

This is at Fernando Pessoa’s home, an engraved quote from his writing.

An imaginative display of the writer’s frustrations at the Pessoa home. Today we ‘d just drag blue and hit delete.

Elvia and Fernando Pessoa having a chat.

Beautiful Lisboa. So many people fleeing the Nazi regime in world War II were so relieved to see this port, safe at last. Some didn’t make it, like the writer Walter Benjamin.

At any rate, whatever the troubles or missed planes, good Portugese wine makes everything better!

So I’ve joined them in this adventure from my computer desk. Travel for me now is difficult, with wounded horse needing daily care and my health only indifferent, so I’ve had a great time! All the Contrerases send greetings and love to all Johnsons.