Six hours on the road today and we’ll be back in Austin, Texas, home for about 7-years of our media lives. We’ll spend the first evening at the home of a friend who worked with me at Joseph A. Banks, a low point in my career. The TV station that employed both my wife and I was sold and new owners initiated a management change. My wife took a promotion with the former company and moved us to Austin. It was time for her career to take the family spotlight. At first, I enjoyed my time by the pool every day, taking advantage of an employment  contract buy-out, but soon it was time to find a job – any job. A non-compete forced me to seek something other than media, so I took a sales opening at the clothing store just down the street from where we lived. The good news is that I met two great friends, but the work was unfulfilling and at times even demeaning. Eventually, I took a more suitable position with the Austin Business Journal.

I look forward to dinner tonight with these two friends, although the drive will be long, hot, and boring. Yesterday, my wife did some shopping in some of the few surviving retail stores here in Marfa. It’s a shell of the thriving art community that we always heard so much about. I blame it on an ABJ co-worker who planned to be married here. We had secured a room at Hotel Paisano, where the Giant film stars once stayed, but the ceremony was cancelled. Ever since, we’ve wanted to visit what was described by many as a “must-see Texas gem.” Last night we had dinner at Jett’s Grill in the hotel, one of the few remaining dinner spots in the crumbling city, named after the James Dean character, Jett Rink. A place for lunch was also hard to find, settling on a tasty Tex-Mex joint called Al Campo. After a little wine in 100-degree temperatures, there was little to do but nap. 

I thought that even the ghosts had abandoned Marfa, but I began to rethink that when the original version of this post suddenly disappeared yesterday evening. I’m trying to remember what I wrote, but it must have been spiritually offensive. Further evidence of the unknown came during last night’s visit to the “Marfa Lights” visitor center. I was skeptical of the ghost-like orbs that are reported to appear in the skies every night. I’m now a believer, having watched them dance in the darkness. They look like headlights, but do not move like a car, visible far above the distant highways. It was the saving grace for our trip through here that was once a place where the rich and creative came to play. 

The Lincoln where we stayed was a bit misrepresented on the website. It was indeed a spacious apartment-like suite, but badly in need of repair. The good old days of Marfa were reflected in the antique decor that would have made Mother Marriott frown. We’ll be back in her welcoming arms later tonight at the Austin J.W. Marriott, a luxury hotel that was built in the space next to my downtown office, as we were abandoning town for Portland. We’ll spend the next few nights there, catching up with some of my wife’s former co-workers as well, as part of our Coast-to-Coast adventure to Florida.