Since moving back to Texas, I’ve been trying to figure my way around our home in Corsicana and, I guess, Texas in general. At least Texas in 2019. The truth is, I mostly reside in a place called Imaginary, Texas.
Here in Imaginary it’s hot as hell like in the rest of Texas but the politics are a bunch more agreeable. It’s Willie For President, and King George for… King. In Imaginary you can still find a lot of ‘Lone Star Beer and Bob Wills Music’. Gene Autry’s ‘Ridin’ Down The Canyon‘ to the glow of ‘Purple Sage In The Twilight’. Ernest Tubb is waltzing across Texas, but he still hasn’t made it all the way yet.
What you’ll see round here is more broad brim hats and less ball caps.
The pickup trucks ain’t all automatic and sedanitized. There’s more bowlegged old guys. More whiskers and can-do attitude. Less IRA contributions and air conditioning. More busters and less brokers. It’s a place where each one carries their own weight but is quick to pitch in when another’s in need. A real nice place.
I pretty much spend my time in this pretend western paradise, paintin’ my quirky cowboys, hummin’ some little tune about dogies gettin’ along or, you know, tumbleweeds. I daydream about getting an old brown horse and maybe a head of cattle. I like those little Texas shaped corn chips from H.E.B. I like those Travis Club cigars kinda burnin’ and fallin’ apart while I listen to Ranger baseball. I pretend them Rangers won’t be 27 games back in the AL West, and that they might have a real chance at the wild card next year. Imaginary, Texas.
Thanks for coming along to take a look at a few of the things I brought back.
As you’re leavin’ here’s the Singing Cowboy to take you out with an old favorite, I’ll Go Ridin’ Down That Texas Trail