I have recently acquired a small bundle of old family photos--some over 100 years old. One photo is of my grandfather, Thomas Edwards Mills, in 1887, aged about three. He is wearing a dress, and has shoulder length curls. The back of the photo is inscribed: "Tommie E. Mills, to his dear Grandpa" in faint, almost indecipherabole copperplate. So this piece of cardboard thad I hold was written on by his parent, probably his mother, my great-grandmother. The photograph is faded but I can see that little Tommie is bracing himself against a table that holds a vase of flowers. Photography in those days took several minutes. I'll bet it was hard for him to hold still. His right hand--the unbraced one--is a bit blurred against the white of his dress--perhaps he moved it. His face is severe, concentrating, I imagine, on the immense effort of staying still. I imagine that three was the earliest age that one could ask Tommie to stay still for a picture.

Leap forward several generations and more than 100 years. I am using a scanner and computer to capture the photograph in digital form. I have the technology to enhance the photo, to increase the resolution and the brightness, so that we can see details long lost in the original version. I see his chubby fingers spread out on the tabletop, I observer that Tommie is wearing little high top leather shoes--they must have been expensive. The face that looks out at me now is the face of the sixty year old grandfather that I remember so fondly. I am so pleased that I have recovered the details of his three year old self--and yet, as I look back at the original, faded cardboard, there I seem to see the real Tommie E. Mills. For he is indeed faded in my heart and indeed is lost to almost everyone still living. The mother who dressed him for the photograph lived only 9 more years, and no picture remains of her, just the copperplate and the look on Tommie's face as he stood so still for his mother.

Birthdays and learning to blow raspberries

Drew drove Homer to sit in Virginia's lap for protection, but when Owen arrived for a crab fest and to inaugurate a week long celebration of his third birthday, Homer disappeared. So no photos of the alpha dog today. Just two little boys with the same high pitched giggle we remember from their mother's childhood.

Texas

I left for Dallas on Sunday the 22nd, to stay with my sister. I caught an earlier flight but my baggage came in on a later one, over an hour later. So my sister and I shopped at the outlets near DFW. My mom drove down that same afternoon (she is still driving, but picks her time of day. On Monday we went to the Hunt family ranch, Game Creek Ranch, stopping at DFW to pick up my cousin Ann from Tucson. This was a surprise for Mom, as we had told her we were picking up the ranch managers wife as a favor to him. The ranch itself is very beautiful, 5000 acres plus or minus, with a 14 suite ranch house situated on a hill that overlooks the property. We stayed until Thursday, hiking, shopping, lunching at Rough Creek Ranch, which Conde Nast declared the "best lodge in North America 2005). I think Game Creek rivals it. We saw elk, oryx,sable, and deer on the Hunt Ranch, and buffalo at Rough Creek. We also saw hunters, and if I ever thought hunting was cruel and weird, I reinforced that impression. To hunt "mixed bag" the hunter dons an orange hat and walks into a field with a couple of dogs. He finds a likely bush and circles it with the dogs, hoping to flush a quail or pheasant. When the bird flies he shoots at it, often just a yard or tow away. This is sport? On our way into Rough Creek on a one lane blacktop road we saw a beautiful pheasant standing by the side of the road. On our way out the same pheasant was lying in the same spot--road kill or hunter kill, I can't say which.

We celebrated Mom's 85th birthday Thursday night with dinner at Margarets in Dallas, and on Friday I flew to Houston for the board of directors meeting for the Rice Alumni Association. I love being a part of this group. Friday night we had cocktails at the Rice President's house--he is David Leebron, formerly dean of Columbia Law--met all day Saturday, and on Sunday Karen Rogers picked me up for breakfast and a ride to the airport. All in all it was a great trip.