Over the years, Texas Monthly’s most celebrated voices have written about the places that shaped them, from the Panhandle to the border. We revisit some of the classics.
Nearly seventy years later, the infamous Phantom Killer attacks may finally be solved. But Texarkana remains as puzzling as ever.
I pore over my old cookbooks not for the recipes but for the stories they conjure.
He was a world-renowned piano prodigy whose romanticism and technical virtuosity inspired thousands and famously helped thaw the Cold War. But as a visit to his hometown of Kilgore made clear to me, Van Cliburn was also a Texan, a Southerner, a Baptist, a patriot, and a man who loved
My mother-in-law knew how to sew, keep an immaculate house, and dress stylishly. In short, she was nothing like the unpolished young woman who married her son. Perhaps that’s why we loved each other so much.
Why would anybody take a charming place like Highland Park, tear down the nice old homes, build new fortresses, gradually drain the neighborly spirit, and call that progress? Don’t ask me. I don’t get it either.
The effortless goodwill of my high school reunion weekend.
After thirty years, I still love Highland Park.
Why has it taken so long for my sons to get married? Is it the wet towels mildewing on their apartment floors? The pocket change accumulating on every flat surface? Or is it that I've given them a skewed idea of what women expect?
My father was a hard-hitting newspaperman, but he was also an old softy. That helps explain why until his death two years ago this month, he and I were members of a mutual admiration society.
“She taught us, she fed us, she entertained us, and best of all, she wrote down the how-to of Corbitt hospitality in five cookbooks, giving us confidence that the civilizing pleasures of the table were within our reach.”
Writing about my children was more than a job—it was an adventure.
Leave college application to the kids? Not when other parents hire SAT coaches and speech writers for theirs.
Now that my son is behind the wheel, I can’t decide whether it’s better to ride shotgun or steer clear of him completely.
Reflections and recollections of life among the shadows of the Piney Woods.
What do the city of Lubbock, a defunct restaurant, and a submerged neighborhood have in common? They’re all places in somebody’s heart.
Don’t say this word aloud in polite company if you want to stay on the author’s good side.
When it comes to the women of my Highland Park reading club, our histories are an open book.
Once kids did their own homework. Now ambitious parents do it for them.
Maybe the mayhem generated by a trio of battling boys is just their idea of brotherly love.
Is it any surprise that a toddler who goes to sleep clutching a screwdriver instead of a teddy bear grows into a fourteen-year-old with a passion for motorcycles?
You can lead a child to culture, but can you make him like it?
Kids, house, husband - these are the natural enemies of a well-ordered day.
Reading aloud at Christmas charms the wiggliest kids and takes the humbug out of anyone.
Just say these three little words: “Shall we dance?”
Children today understand brand names like Izod and concepts like “rip-off,” but they don’t understand that some things—the best things—can’t be bought.
The dog that the family fell in love with was beautiful, well trained, and friendly. The only problem was, she wasn’t theirs.
Our Colorado skiing vacation thrilled the men in my life, but all it gave me was bruised feet and a battered ego.
What is a man to his boys? Fiend, antagonist, taskmaster, hugger, educator, realist—put them all together, they spell “father.”
Nostalgic daddies think of schoolboy football as good, clean fun. But kids soon realize it’s more like corporal punishment.
“In the League, you’ll run into a little tradition, some nobles oblige, and a lot of talk about diets, dyslexia, designer dresses, and divorce.”
Trees came crashing down, power lines writhed on the ground, the lights went out, and the heat went off. It was Dallas’ trial by ice.
Soon it will be too late; the days of block parties and neighborhood stores are vanishing.
At the National Women’s Conference, the feminists changed their sandals for pumps and embraced mainstream America.
Women need maids, maids, and maids . . . well, they could use a little help, too.
Renewing the old adage of child rearing—you can’t fool mother nature.
It’s called competitive childbirth, but no gold medals are awarded for it.
A child’s feelings about Christmas can pretty well be summed up in one word: loot.
A mother is many things to her children, but mostly she’s a chauffer.
Kids should learn early that music is the staff of life.
What is happening to your children, sitting in front of the TV?
