Maybe it is summer, after all
At Camp Mabry it was reported to be 100 degrees in the shade, not long before the storm struck. Our screen pavilion bent and broke from the weight of the water coming down in torrents and from the hailstones, which were the size of mothballs, not golf balls, at least here. All the Rose of Sharon shrubs had begun to bloom, and some flowers were knocked down. Earlier, we had treated ourselves at Luby's, the crossroads of the Texas universe, where diners are from the city and from the country, are police and firefighters, are old and young, and display every color of skin known to human kind. My particular treat is jalapeno cornbread made from good, coarse-ground Pioneer cornmeal; K. enjoys the pies. There was a busload of young people from San Antonio; there were young girls in sequin costumes who may have made an appearance over at the State cemetery; there were children in those wonderful rolling high chairs. Displayed artfully arranged on a tabletop were the quality ingredients that go into a Luby's meal. I wanted that giant-sized square tin of Colman's mustard, with the bovine head also very large. I've seen institutional-sized Colman's, but there must be a grade beyond that, even!