Windmill at the NM Farm & Ranch Heritage Museum with approaching storm clouds.

Closeup of a saguaro cactus near Las Cruces.

Cahill U S Marshal (1973)

Remembering Pistol Pete

I love reading biographies, especially sports biographies about extraordinary people. I finished this book last week and really enjoyed Mark Kriegel's journey into the life of Pete Maravich.

As a young basketball fan growing up in the 1970s, I remember Pistol Pete being somewhat of an enigma -- a fragile, high-scoring showman who always seemed to be on bad teams. This book is far more than a basketball book -- it chronicles Pete's life from even before he was born (you have to know Pete's father, Press Maravich, to know Pete). It's a story about a person who was molded by his father to be a basketball superstar ... the first million-dollar player. He became that, but it came at a price.

Pete was many things -- phenomenal, unusual, extraordinary, eccentric, melancholy, desperate, sad, needy, paranoid .... . It wasn't until he got on his knees and cried out to God one sleepless night that this skinny, 6-5 bundle of destructive contradictions was saved from himself. More than anything, this book is a testament to the grace, mercy and unending love of God. Toward the end of Pete's short life (he died at 42 of a heart attack), he gave his testimony in front of groups small and large. He became a completely different person ... what the New Testament calls "a new creation."

This book was given to me for my birthday by my step-son, Nicholas.

More of my senior portraits of Valvette Rivera.

Stepping into the world of senior portraits. Valvette did a great job ... I have a lot to learn, but this was a good start.

Traditional German supper in Fredericksburg, Texas. The potato salad was especially good.

Comfort food in Comfort, Texas.

Some shots from this year's wheat harvest. Grain. Sunsets. Food. Laughter. Dirt. Dust. Diesel. Sunshine. Grease. And more food.

The Unusuals

El Monterrey

I'm a sentimental person and the El Monterrey restaurant in Clovis, N.M. will always hold a special place in my heart. The place closed down in the early 1990s, but all throughout my childhood (and later), it was the place that my family went to celebrate special occasions.

The restaurant was established in the 1930s and served the best enchiladas ever. They developed their own sauce that is still sold in stores, and melted a thick layer of cheddar cheese across the top of their enchiladas.

The ambiance also was special. Just inside the front door, hanging on the wall, was some sort of silver, tribal mask from Mexico. It had small red light bulbs where the eyes were supposed to be ... just a bit scary when you're a little kid. The wooden tables were thick and featured small paintings on each corner. Not-so-good paintings also decorated the walls of this old place.

I was sad when I found out El Monterrey had closed. There was no warning. It just happened. A couple of days after I got the phone call from my mom giving me the news, I was driving home from work about 1 a.m. and it finally sunk in. My family and I would never be able to eat there again. I was brought to tears.

A few years later, I was back in Clovis and drove by El Monterrey. It was still there, but beginning to fade and crumble. I took a picture and a brick from the sidewalk in front of the building. I'm not very materialistic, but I do like to keep old objects that represent a connection to something I love.