My brother Tim

I have a brother who lives in Round Rock. Tim is married to an Aggie girl, and they have 2 boys. Many of you don't ever see him, or know him, but he has really distinguished himself in the business world. I thought it appropriate to share the awards he recently achieved. This is from the Aggie100 list. Tim, we are darn proud of ya!
Tim Miller ‘93 says he didn’t start with a big idea; he just knew that he saw an opportunity and was tired of working for someone else. Opportunity knocked and he followed by creating Intelligent Logistics, this year’s #3 company with a growth rate of 168.69%. Tim co-founded the Company in 2001 and now owns 100% of the operation. Round Rock-based Intelligent Logistics isn’t just a high-flying Aggie company; the Company was also listed at number 551 on the Inc. 5000 list of fastest growing private companies.
The Company is all about meeting the logistics needs of their premier clients. Their services include truckload brokerage, domestic forwarding, international forwarding, local cartage and warehouse and inventory management. They will also take on special projects to meet a client’s needs. Tim’s Aggie Corps background has been a big help. According to him the "Corps taught me about dealing with obstacles, dealing with adversity and not to take anything too seriously, including myself." All are probably good qualities when it comes to meeting a client’s demanding logistics needs.
The Aggie Code of Honor to --not lie, cheat, steal, or tolerate those who do-- is also an extremely relevant business principle. Integrity is everything. -Tim Miller

The band, the dog, and the cake

As many of you know, I play in a little country/oldies/random anything band. I guess I have dogs on the mind because I recalled this story that happened a few years back. The guys and me had been asked to play for a wedding reception at a house quite a few miles off the main road.
The setting was beautiful. The bride's parents had rented a large tent complete with Christmas lights and a canoe held the iced beverages. A dance floor was in place and a catered BBQ meal was almost ready. Besides the caterers, the band was the first on the scene.
The Hwy 304 band usually takes an hour or so to set up, assuming no one forgot anything, which I believe something was forgotten and one of the guys had to rush 15 miles back home to get the extension cord, amp, or whatever it was we had to have. One of the relatives rushed out of the house, to make it back to the church for the wedding pictures. "Be right back," she yelled as she spun out down the dirt road.
Unbeknown st to me, the lady had tried to save some time by putting the wedding cake on a table on the front porch. Bad idea. Bad, bad idea. What she did not know, and what I didn't know was, the old hound dog that was supposed to be tied had gotten hungry. I'm sure it wasn't the cake that made him gnaw the rope in two. The fragrant aroma of smoked brisket made everybody's stomach growl with anticipation, mine included.
I was adjusting a cymbal stand or something when something caught my eye. Something that shouldn't be moving on the porch was moving. Before I could comprehend the horror, the tragedy, the gravity of the situation, I heard a voice. It was a familiar voice, it was MY voice. GITONOUTTAHEA!!! I ran as fast as I could up the steps, but it was too late. Not only was his head nose deep in wedding cake, but there were two craters where a pair of paws had been.
I can't remember if we drew straws, but I was chosen as the one to inform the Mother of the Bride that her beautiful cake was ruint.
She did not cry. Or scream. Or faint. She decided that the cake, made by the famous Green Pastures Restaurant in Austin, Texas, would be fine. "We'll just turn it around, and no one will know." And she did. I will always hold great respect for that lady. Talk about the cowgirl spirit!
We went on to play to a great reception, even letting a guy and his wife sing a strange version of "Marie Levoe."
As Levon Helm once said, the drummer has the best seat in the house.

his name will be called...

The Indians often didn't name their children until the child did something to inspire a worthy name. This is how my dad David got his.
When our daughter Callie was born, we knew Dad would not have a regular name like grandpa, Pee-paw, or gramps.
One night, before going to bed Dad looked out one more time to make sure all was well outside before turning in. A flicker of red emanated from the barn. Then it stopped. Then, there it was again. On, off, on off. There was only one explanation. Some lowlife was hot wiring the old Jeep CJ5 out in the barn. Quickly he rustled through a drawer and found the bullets for his pistol. Fast but quiet as a cat, he pressed against the shop, then to the barn, moving sideways, pistol gripped by two sweaty hands, pointing skyward, Starsky and Hutch style.
(At this point of the story, Dad claims to have dropped and rolled, coming up with the culprit in his sights, trigger cocked. True or not, that makes for a great visual).
Expecting to find a cowering carjacker, he instead saw our blue Catahoula hound, Big Boy on the floorboard looking up with a sleepy dog smile, wagging his limb like tail. And pressing the brake pedal.

So Grandpa+Rambo= Grambo.