Whoa Nelly!

I tend to drive fast. I tend to rush things. I tend to get anxious.

Sometimes, gentle reminders are necessary for me to realize that I need to slow down, take a step back and be patient.


As I was rolling out of town last Friday toward Austin, I got one of those "gentle" reminders: a speeding ticket.

I was driving a rented Dodge Durango that had a Hemi. I've never driven anything with a Hemi, but I'm here to tell you, they can get away from you. I was headed down I-27, not even out of Lubbock city limits, when I was making my way toward the Post exit to head southeast on the six-hour trek to the state capitol city. I was running late getting out of town, and I needed to be in Austin at a certain time.

I noticed as I pulled up the incline on the exit that below me there was a motorcycle cop that had someone pulled over. "Poor sucker," I thought to myself. It was at that point that I glanced in my rearview mirror to find a motorcycle cop was pulling me over, too.

"Poor sucker."

I claimed that I had a rental and wasn't yet used to it's power, but he didn't really care. He said, "Drive safe," as he handed me a ticket for going 82 mph in a 65 mph zone. Oops.

What a way to start a trip. That makes ticket No. 3 for this girl in the state of Texas, ticket No. 2 from a motorcycle cop, and ticket No. 2 for me while driving to see the Hogs play an away game in Texas (both in which were disasters, i.e. remember the Cotton Bowl New Year's Day?)

Once I got to Austin, I found myself in a city full off 95,000 fans who had arrived there for the football game, as well as thousands of hippies who had arrived there for the annual Austin City Limits Music Festival.

Since the Razorback game was rescheduled in Austin from its original date of Sept. 13, thanks to Hurricane Ike, it was unfortunately rescheduled on a date when every hippie and music lover from the lower 48 would be in town.

Driving through the ridiculous traffic once again reminded me of how we live in a crazy, fast moving society. People lose all sense of kindness in traffic. A cab driver mouthed obscenities to me as I was changing lanes. As I was trying to leave the city Sunday, a Cadillac Escalade flipped me off as I was trying to get on to the exit ramp.

Other than wanting to get the heck out of Dodge and away from the vomit-inducing sea of burnt orange, I was looking forward to getting back on some roads where concrete wasn't present on either side of me, and to a place where you get a gentle, friendly wave from the passing farm truck.

Once you get to the Sweetwater area, which is quickly becoming the wind energy capitol of the world, you see hundreds of giant wind turbines turning in the sky, creating effortless, renewable energy. Their numbers seem to double every time I drive through that area. It takes special trailers to even haul in the blades, because they're so gynormous.

From a distance they seem to be turning slowly, when actually the tips of the giant blades are moving about 240 mph. Anyone every feel like that?

Patience has always been a problem for me. Slowing down is hard. Even after my 900 mile roundtrip drive to Austin and back, which provided me with ample time to contimplate the idea of slowing down (and the fine that will accompany my ticket), I once again found myself in a hurry yesterday morning. I was brushing my teeth when I realized I had put antibiotic ointment on my toothbrush instead of toothpaste.

At least it wasn't Preporation H.

Stay tuned for more from Austin from "Beyond Enemy Lines".

Running with a Purpose

Back in the spring, I really got into doing 5 k races and marathon relays. When I say "marathon relays" people for some reason automatically disregard the "relay" part of the term and assume I heroically ran a full 26.2 mile race. That's ridiculous folks.

Now, I would love to someday run such a gallant race, but I'm 100 percent confident that will be a long time from today.

The relays allowed four to five of me and my racing buddies to split up the 26.2 miles into increments, so some of us ran 3.1 miles, some ran 6.5 and some ran 7.6...or however the particular race had it divided up.


Regardless of the distance, these races usually provide us with the chance to work together to finish, and nearly all of these races are to raise money for a particular cause.

The coolest race I've done so far (I make it sound like I've ran just thousands of races...I'm still very much an amateur) was the Oklahoma City Memorial Marathon Relay. Our team the "Tri-State Trotters" ran in some rather, umm... let's say, less than favorable weather conditions. When the race started at 6:30am, it was about 37 degrees and drizzling on us. We had to catch overloaded buses to get to our exchange points, and that was a story all it's own. But, at the end of the race, our team of five runners had placed fourth overall out of all the women in a race that had nearly 50,000 people present. Plus, we got cool medals and all the NutterButters we could handle after finishing.

But the coolest thing about the race was the cause. Some ran in honor of loved ones who died in the bombing in 1995. During my 7.6 trek, I came upon several runners who had pictures on their backs of victims. That was their reason for running. It motivated them.

It's so easy to sit on the couch and say, "Oh, I'll run tomorrow." Which is exactly what I did last night. Lazy bum. But, sometimes when you realize that you're so fortunate to have functioning legs, or the mere ability to get up and run, it puts things in perspective. When you run these races for a particular cause, not only are you using your God-given ability to be mobile, but you're raising money to help others who can't.

The Lubbock affiliate of the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure is next weekend, and I've signed up to run the race with a team from the church I've been going to. I'm also running in honor of my grandmother, Reta Thompson, who had breast cancer.
We likely all know someone who has been affected by breast cancer. I know way too many people who have had to deal with it.

I'm not much of a solicitor, and I never intended to use this blog as a money raiser, but if you've got a few extra dollars you can throw into the Komen Foundation, then click here to donate and I will run in your place. Some good buddies have already donated and I am very appreciative.


Click Here to Donate

I haven't exactly trained for this 3.1 miler like I have for other races in the past, but while I may be huffing and puffing out there with burning legs and aching lungs, I know that there are many suffering from this awful disease that would gladly trade places with me.

After the Storm

Every morning when I get to my office, I take out the Sharpy in my drawer and I cross through the previous day's date on my desk calendar. Not that it really makes all that much difference in my weekly scheduling efforts, but it's kind of like a mental process of saying, "Ok, yesterday is in the books, time to move on to today."


Yesterday was one of those days that I wanted to go ahead and not only cross off the previous day, but the very day I was about to begin. It was a day I've been looking forward to and dreading for months. It was a day that an event took place that, in the days leading up to it, had essentially divided a town, ended friendships and hurt families.


Crossing off Sept. 16 from my desk calendar was the best use of a Sharpy that I've ever experienced.

While registered voters were filing into the First Baptist Church in Prairie Grove, 600 miles away I spent a good portion of yesterday playing "private investigator", trying to track down the identity of an "emailer at large" who is hiding behind the cover of a fake email account. While they were stirring up havoc, innocent people were taking the heat for this cowardly person's actions. I hope whoever the person is occasionally reads Essays From Texas, because I just want you to know I'm on to you. Sending that crap from the Fayetteville Public Library was a poor attempt at covering your tracks.

Never in my life have I seen such childish mudslinging over something that in the grand scheme of things is oh so very tiny. Yet, at the same time, the decision that was made on Sept. 16 was a big deal, far more reaching past anything anyone really ever thought it would be.

But the price that was paid to get past Sept. 16 was a heavy one.

If anything, the division brought together people that would once have been unlikely friendships. Long time friendships were strengthened in faith, while others were destroyed because of foolish, selfish pride based on slander.

After the dust settles, the strongest friendships will have proven themselves, especially those who fell on different sides of the issue. But, they will remain, and probably stronger than they ever were.

When I moved back to Texas, I was given a mug that said, "Good things happen when you go for it."

I never really drink out of mugs, but I like to have them sitting on my desk because that's what desks in offices are supposed to have sitting on them. I've tried to be a coffee drinker, which at one point in my mind meant that I had stepped up in the world of professional adulthood, but I decided I would rather listen to Don Ho's "Tiny Bubbles" for 24 hours straight than choke down such liquid nastiness every morning. Nothing against coffee drinkers, it just never agreed with me much.

Anyway, that mug is a reminder to me that we can either sit like ducks in a row and let the world go by, or we can "go for it" and make a difference. Whether it's a small town campaign, a consumer education campaign (insert plug here for TexasPriceCheck.com), or sending food donations to the Texas coast - no man ever made a difference by being a sitting duck.

In perspective, this "civil division" I've been speaking of is a small conflict in a country that is experiencing much greater problems. It's hard for me to believe that as I type this blog post, people in the very state I am in are going back to find that their homes have been washed and/or blown away. Lubbock was under water a week ago, but nothing in comparison to what these people are enduring.

The storm has blown through. Now all we have to do is sift through the rubble and move on.

The Chill of an Early Fall

For those of you who are George Strait fans, the title of tonight's post may remind you of one his songs.

"Oh how quick they slip away, here today and gone tomorrow. Love and seasons never stay, bitter winds are sure to follow."

As we come to the midpoint of September, cooler weather is beginning to set in; the air is getting thinner, and the seasons prepare to make another transition.

When this time of year comes, I can't help but be filled with an enthusiasm for Friday night and Saturday afternoon football. Back when I was a small town school girl, I used to dread that first day of school, but had hope because that meant football season, cooler weather and the opportunity to wear a different wardrobe was upon me.

While it may mean different things to different people, Friday nights in a small town always have a magic to them. It's a time when the whole town comes out in united support for the home team. It's a time when everyone visits with one another, friends sit with friends, and you say hello to just about everyone as you make your way to the concession stand. Even once you get to the concession stand you usually spend a whole quarter of the game talking to someone about important things, like how the basketball team is going to be when they start playing.

There was always an excitement to me with the coming of fall. No more hot, sweaty days of summer. Plus, it gave me a chance to wear a jacket, and I LOVE jackets.

Anyway, my point here folks is that the excitement of fall, in my mind, translates into a love of what it brings: unity.

We're all on the same team.

Again, this is another post of me rambling about something that is going on 600 miles away (or 557 depending on which route you take). But, it's an issue that affects my family, so it concerns me.

"Oh how quick they slip away, here today and gone tomorrow. Love and seasons never stay, bitter winds are sure to follow."

While George may be singing about a lost love and how it's going to drive him to drinking, I interpret this line a little different in application to the situation in PG.

A great friend of the family once told my dad, "At one point in your life, you will realize who your true friends really are."

I've never felt the meaning of that like I have recently.

At the end of the day, all of us really only have three things that truly matter: our faith, our family and our friends. Without these things, we would all be living meaningless lives. I will speak for myself on this, but those three things are the root of my happiness. Without them, I am empty.

"Oh how quick they slip away, here today and gone tomorrow. Love and seasons never stay, bitter winds are sure to follow."

The kind of friends that are here today and gone tomorrow...it is inevitable that we will all experience friendships like these. Sometimes it takes a nasty situation to bring true colors to the surface, but regardless, it will happen at least once to all of us. And when it does, disappointment sets in and hurt overcomes you. And sometimes, it's the people you would least expect.

The choice that follows is whether or not we allow those "bitter winds" to follow.

State of Emergency: Revisted

In case my first blog post today didn't get my point across, take a gander at these pictures.


This is Jones SBC Stadium, the home of Texas Tech football.

I have no idea who the girl is, but that's not the point...


I should also mention that we have a home game here in Lubbock this weekend against SMU. Maybe they should just make it a water polo match instead.

State of Emergency

While Hurricane Ike makes his way toward the Texas Gulf Coast, the city of Lubbock is experiencing its own version of a weather disaster.

The Lubbock International Airport (which is directly east across Interstate 27 from where I work...like 1 mile away) received the most rainfall in a 24 hour period in history...of the airport, I assume.

Over eight inches of water was dumped over the city of Lubbock yesterday, which is over half of the average yearly rainfall for the city. To put it simply, Lubbock just doesn't see rains like that.


At 9pm last night, the Lubbock mayor declared the city "in a state of emergency" encouraging people to "turn around, don't drown".

The local weathermen are calling it a "100 year rain". All I know is during the three and a half years I've spent living out here out of that 100, I've never seen it rain like it did yesterday.


Every school is closed today. Even Texas Tech University shut its doors, and I don't think they ever close down, unless there's some major weather event like a flood or something.

The roads were like those of a ghost town this morning on my way to work, which actually made my morning commute quite pleasant, despite the slow moving 1978 GMC Cheyenne pickup that drove in front of me. Many roads were closed, and most had barricades where portions of the road where submerged.

Yesterday on my way home from work, I encountered standing water on the street I live on that was every bit of six inches deep. I felt like I was driving a motor boat.

This is Milwaukee Ave. Looks more like the Milwaukee River. I wonder if there really is a Milwaukee River?

Cotton fields are flooded, making them look more like rice fields than a crop that will produce white, fluffy softness.

Now, you have to remember that Lubbock County is the flattest county in the country. So, when you get a lot of water, there's really no where for it to go, except for places like the Wal Mart parking lot, or Dave's Need For Speed Go Cart fun station.

Seeing it rain all day is not really something to write home about. I've seen it rain all day in the Ozarks many times, but there's plenty of hills for it to drain off. But, out here, as I've mentioned in a previous post, even a half an inch of rain can put the Wal Mart parking lot on 4th St. under water. Holy crap, that's my second mentioning of Wal Mart in a single post. Next thing you know, I'll be like this: View news story here.

It just doesn't rain all day like that out here!

Thankfully, the corn and peanut office has remained open to serve the growers of this state. Rest easy.

Meanwhile, Gov. Rick Perry has intelligently called Hurricane Ike a "big storm". Yes, folks, that right there is way he is governor of the largest state in the lower 48. Not just any Joe Blow can recognize the sheer size of Hurricane Ike, unless you're, oh let's say, the Weather Channel, MSNBC, or anyone with Internet or cable television.

The city of Lubbock was already preparing for an influx of evacuees from the Houston and Galveston areas, however, many of the cots set up for these people had to be used by Lubbock citizens whose homes were flooded.

Fortunately, I have a top floor apartment. I just hope the flooding doesn't give me an excuse to meet the people that live below me.

Civil Divisions

I've done my best since I started this blog to avoid controversial topics on the home front. I do a lot ranting about the battle we've fought here in Texas on the corn front, but that doesn't really get too personal, unless you're Texas Gov. Rick Perry. Governor Perry, you're a moron. There, now I'm getting personal.

My comrades in Texas may find it humorous or a waste of time that I would spend even a minute worrying or getting involved in disputes, rumors, gossip or anything that accompanies small town living back in the homeland.

But one fact remains, you can take the girl out of the small town, but you can't take the small town out of the girl...no matter how far away I may move.

When you love something, you become passionate about it. I love Prairie Grove, despite its occasional flaws that stem from its citizens. Every town has them, so it's just apart of life. That's what makes the world go around. I mean, what would the old farts down at the parts store have to talk about? What would the regulars at the Courts talk about? Without controversy, the small town as we know it would become stricken with the worst kind of demise - boredom.

Thanks to technology that's all fancy-like, I still somehow find myself in the middle of hometown debates. Some may say it's none of my business since I chose to leave, but my argument to them would be that I still pay taxes on a house and property there, so take that.

In most towns right now, if you mention the word "election" they assume you're talking about the presidential race between Obama and McCain. And, now while that in itself may stir up some debate anywhere you go, Prairie Grove, Ark., is different. You mention the "e" word in the Grove and you can see people's blood pressure rise...but not about who will carry out duties in the White House for the next four years. (Since I'm all about controversy today, I'll go ahead say thank goodness "W" will be going back to his ranch in Texas.)

No, their excitement rises for a different election...a more local election, and I will leave it at that.

At this point, I've lost my Texas readers on today's post. That's ok. This doesn't really concern you guys. Fellow Texans, yall come back later when I talk about something a little more fun, like tailgating, ok? Great. Glad we got that settled.

Now back to my soap box.

Perhaps today's blog post should have been brought to you by Charmin toilet paper or Bounty paper towels. There seems to be plenty of wiping up to do, and I would welcome any sponsors.

It never ceases to amaze me how certain issues can really spark a flare in people's hearts, and bring out the true colors in them. They set aside all reason because someone told them something and they grasp it without investigating all sides of the issue. The glory about living in a democracy is that we can have different views on issues or candidates. That is what makes this country great.

However, when the truth becomes tainted, stained or manipulated - that's when disappointment sets in, and the happy, everyone-loves-everyone town that is so dear to me becomes some what of a farce. People aren't always who we think they are.

Now, I realize that not everyone in the town has to agree on things. I'm not an idiot. We all have our right to free speech, and we all have our right to believe what we want to believe. That's what thousands of U.S. soldiers have died for through the past centuries.

But, to think that a controversy could tear apart friendships and separate all logical reasoning in people? I thought we had this all settled back on the cold winter day of December 7, 1862 when the North and South fought on the bloodied hillside of Prairie Grove.

Maybe we were due for a relapse. I mean, after all, it has been a while since such an issue has divided a town. I'm just waiting for the stoning to begin at the center of town, or maybe even a scarlet letter will be placed on someone's forehead? Perhaps we could consult the writings of witch hunters of the 1700s. They were good at confusing the truth about people.

It just saddens me to think that people are allowing such an issue to influence what they know is right. Everyone has their reasons for the decisions they make. Whether it be another individual's strong influence or bad gas, this issue has gotten out of hand.

I'll put my head on the chopping block any day for what I know is right. That's the way I was raised, and I'm not afraid to take a stand. If that makes me a "vigilante sewer dweller" then so be it. I've always loved the Ninja Turtles. But when I go to bed at night, I know in my heart that my intentions are pure, my reasons justified, and my cause worthy.

At the end of the day, we're all still Prairie Grove Tigers. (Again, if you're a Texan, I'm really impressed you're even still reading this, because I know you couldn't give a flip about this.) We'll all still see each other at ballgames. We will volunteer together at FFA events. We will pass each other on the road. Our kids will play sports together (I don't have any kids, but you get the point). We will all still be Tigers.

Get over yourselves. This never had to be personal. Throwing rocks like a little kid on a play ground isn't exactly what I call a good exercise of free speech. Regardless of what side of the fence I fall on in this issue, I will respect anyone's argument if they have solid ground to stand on. Just be reasonable about it. If you fall on the other side of this, I still like you, I just don't understand you. There's nothing personal about it.

Now, let's all be friends, burying the hatchet, and go see Bernice for lunch. I like the town a lot better when we can all eat pie together in a civil manner.

And, while we're at it, pray that Hurricane Ike doesn't wipe out the Texas coastline in the coming days - I'm supposed to be in Austin for the Razorback game.

Clotheslining

There is perhaps nothing more American than small town festivals, fairs or reunions. Traditionally, these events happen annually in their respective small towns, and represent a time when all of the town's citizens come together to celebrate something. Those who have moved away often come back and reconnect with old friends and family and their roots. Some use it as an excuse to catch up on the town's gossip. I mean, if there's that many people gathered together, there's got to be a good story somewhere.

In my hometown of Prairie Grove, Ark., we have the annual Clothesline Fair every Labor Day weekend. I was told this was once referred to as the "Clothesline Fair and Reunion" some time ago, but the "reunion" part has since been removed from the name. Regardless, it's still basically a reunion for the town, and I find it silly not to keep that in the name.

I mean, look at Dalhart's annual XIT Reunion that I wrote about a few weeks ago...just throwing that out there to you fellow PGers.

Anyway, it would be a mortal sin to not go home for the Clothesline Fair, so I went home for the long weekend.

Traditionally, the Clothesline Fair kicks off on Saturday morning with a parade. Then for the next three days, there's a large craft fair in the Prairie Grove Battlefield State Park. Every school group or civic group has a volunteer booth, selling corn dogs, kettle corn, snow cones, burgers...you get the picture. One challenge to the really involved people in the town is that it usually falls right after the Washington County Fair. So, once those two weeks are over, Prairie Grove citizens are exhausted. In fact, they even gave the school kids Tuesday after Labor Day off to recuperate.

You see all kinds of venders, selling things like purses made from old vinyls, pottery, jewelry, and a lot of other crap you really don't need but buy anyway.

It's a great time, though, because you see people you haven't seen in years. I noticed this year that everyone I saw that I went to high school with was pushing around baby strollers.

Back in the day, I didn't make it through a Clothesline Fair without purchasing a rubberband gun. This was a yearly tradition. Now, I just get my kicks from kettle corn.

In the parade, there's cheerleaders, the band, antique tractors, a few random four wheelers that no one really understands why they are in the parade, horses, election candidates, the grand marshal, and of course, square dance groups.

Yes, square dancing is a big deal in the Grove during the Clothesline Fair. If you're not from there, it may be a concept that is hard to grasp. It may sound silly. It may evoke a response, such as, "That's so Arkansas."

Whatever you may have to say about it, one fact remains: It's a big stinkin' deal in Prairie Grove. Hundreds gather to spectate or watch their kids "circle up eight" or get back to their partner for a right and left grand.

From the time you turn about four or five until you graduate high school, you're eligible to be in a group. You dance in exhibition until you get to junior high, then you start in competition.

And let me just mention, the competition of square dancing groups is just as big of a deal as winning the football game on Friday night. Surrounding towns like Farmington and Lincoln now bring groups over, and the rivalry that exists between the towns is still very evident on the dance floor. Group supporters bring noisemakers, they wear t-shirts sporting the groups' names. People go nuts.

On the topic of group names, let me give you a few examples: Jumpin' Jelly Beans (this was my group's name back in the day until our group fell apart in the mid-90s), Buckles and Bows, the famous Levi's and Lace, Dixie Dynamite...the list goes on. Except now, much to my irritation, there's groups named "Get R Done"...seriously people. What are you trying to make us look like? Rednecks or something?

A picture of my old group the Jumpin' Jelly Beans was printed in Southern Living magazine when we were like six years old. Yes, that is impressive, I know. Too bad I don't actually have that picture to display for you. Sorry.

There's typically around 60 groups. That number used to be a lot higher. But regardless, all the cool kids square dance. You start practicing as early as late July to get your moves down. In competition, the dances last as long as 10 minutes, and there's some pretty complicated moves in these dances folks.

You have four girls and four boys. Then you have a caller who shouts out the calls for the group to follow. When it comes to competition, callers from days gone by have become infamous for being tool sheds (this means "dorks" for you older folks). They devote their life's energies to the Clothesline Fair's square dancing and their quest for victory is nothing short of pathetic, yet entertaining.

But at the end of the day, the winners of the year's competition get to retain a pride that lasts a lifetime. In fact, my all-time favorite quote about the event is from my esteemed brother-in-law following his group's victory a few years ago:

"This year has been great because we beat Farmington in football and square dancing."

That may not be an exact quote, but it's pretty darn close. I think that pretty much sums up my point right there.

It's a special time for Prairie Grove, whether you still live there or not. As with any town's festival, the year wouldn't be complete without the Clothesline Fair.

Long live small town fairs.

Sky High

If you read my blog, you know I'm a huge fan of the sky. I love photographing the sky. It's one of God's creations that is absolutely mesmerizing to me.

It's different every hour. It changes constantly. Throw the sun in the mix, and you have an amazing sight.

Whenever I fly somewhere, I always head straight for a window seat. I usually don't spend the entire flight looking out the window, but I never get tired of looking out above the clouds.

On my last flight back to Lubbock from a trip home, the view out the window was no exception. It was a later flight, so the sky was in twilight. I don't have a picture of this, so you'll have depend on my mental image painting abilities here. There was a deep blue ribbon of sky sandwiched between two silky layers of cloud, that eventually gave way to white, puffy clouds frosted with golden color from the setting sun. Sounds pretty, huh? Too bad you can't see it.

Yesterday morning, I left Lubbock at 6:00am before the sun came up to head north back to XIT country in Dumas for a Monsanto Field Day (which, by the way, was the coolest field day I've ever been to...they gave away a four wheeler, two half circles of corn, three GPS units, some camp chairs and a bunch of other crap that I didn't win. I did, however, take home some cool caps.)

It was a cool morning that put the fever of fall into my bones. When I walked outside to get in my car, I could smell fall in the air. Each place has its own fall smell. Lubbock's smell is a sweet, crisp smell with a slight hint of feedlot. That sounds stinky, but it's not. I love that smell. It was 50 degrees in Lubbock and an even colder 46 degrees in Dumas, 180 miles north.

When the sun came up it looked as if it had set the prairie on fire. A burning orange glow bubbled up on the horizon. The sky remained mainly black, until the sun peaked a bit higher, turning it into a deep ocean blue sky.

I almost wrecked a couple times as I headed up I-27. I couldn't keep staring at the colors the sunrise was causing. I know this happens every morning, but it never fails to amuse me.


I finally had to pull over and let my photographic itch be scratched.

Even though it's a long drive to Dumas and points north of there where corn grows and FFA members meet, I still enjoy the drive. You can almost hear the theme music from Lonesome Dove playing as you drive down in the dips of the canyonesque (I just made up that word) landscape around the Canadian River. Oh, wait...maybe that was because I was playing the Lonesome Dove soundtrack.


Anyway, a blanket of morning fog was selectively covering part of the land and it managed to create a lovely morning sight.



I typically catch more sunsets than sunrises, but I'm always glad when I drag myself out of bed and witness my favorite of God's visual creations.

Cat Wigs: Revisited

The West Family animal collection has suffered a loss. Tinsley passed away into the kitty afterlife Monday after a lifelong battle with old age. He was 18 years old.

No, seriously, he really was that old...in human years.
As you may recall from my posting of "Cat Wigs" last month, Tinsley was a cat of great flair, charm and purring ability. As evident in "Cat Wigs" Tinsley also had great taste in hair styling.

Tinsley was laid to rest Tuesday in a Special Kitty cat food bag high on the hill with other animals that once romped around the West Farm.

So, here's to you Tinsley - May you always purr loudly and work your claws in feline foreverness.

Sidenote: I still question the sexual orientation of this cat. While most of the animals on the farm seemed to have accepted Tinsley for who he was, I still think there were a few who refused to look beyond his personal choices. Regardless, this fluffy feline will be missed.