After a day shooting guns, what better way to unwind than with a little two step at The Broken Spoke, one of Austin’s most popular dance halls. Here I am with Broken Spoke owner James White and his son-in-law…from Manchester, England. I don’t think I need to explain who’s who.

I was trying to shoot this picture without being obvious. I’m gutted it came out blurry. But I think you get the idea.

I call this one: “The Gibson Bus.” Excuse the titles, I’m still learning. The singer, in case you’re wondering, is Jesse Dayton.

I couldn’t resist.

It’s rained every day since I arrived in Austin. The TV and radio are full of stories of flooding, rooftop rescues, and rising streams, rivers and lakes. Some parts of Texas nearby are being pelted with the same amount of rainfall in 24 hours—about 18 ins—as they would normally expect in one year. And yet I am in that strange situation where the only evidence I see of the flooding is on the news. In Austin itself, all I see is a gray sky and intermittent bursts of sunshine:

Central Texas is getting hit by more storms this morning, and the National Weather Service has put a large portion of Central Texas, including Travis, Hays and Williamson counties, under a flash flood warning until 11:15 a.m. The storms, which are moving in from the southwest, are expected to cause flash flooding and spread north throughout the morning. There’s another line of storms coming into the area from the northwest through the Hill Country.

[...]As of 6:45 this morning, Lake Travis was at 693.6 feet above sea level, which is 12 feet above what is considered full. The Lower Colorado River Authority, which regulates the flow of water through a series of dams on the Colorado River, says four floodgates are open at Mansfield Dam, which regulates Lake Travis. Three floodgates are open at Tom Miller Dam, which holds in Lake Austin.

One of the more unusual intros to a story:

First you get phone calls that seem kind of strange. Mom is quitting her bridge club because “they think I’m stealing from them.”

A week later, she mentions an old boyfriend from the war who’s coming to take her to dinner. You think, OK, it could be true.

Then the police call from her house. “Your mom thinks there’s someone hiding under her bed.”

Now you know. The forgetfulness, the fantasies, are dementia, Alzheimer’s, something like that. Your sister suspects the worst.

This isn’t just the story of one petite brunette with terrific legs who was called “Shorty” by her husband, granddaughters and daughters, including me.

This is the story of millions of Americans caring for elderly parents and maneuvering in the murky worlds of medicine, law, hospitals, nursing homes, guilt, fear and family ties.

Spotted in USA Today.

A song on the radio with the lyrics “Oh Lord I wish John Stetson made a heart instead of a hat.”