Texacanized

I still don't totally understand how I ended up in Texas, or should I say, ended back in Texas. I did take a 2 1/2 year break, but I've been back for 11 years. Once you get here, it gets harder and harder to get out. Texas is a big ass state! It can take a good hard day of driving to reach the closest state border, so I guess you just say awhile. 

When I first arrived in Austin, I pronounced the Spanish named streets like my 8th grade Spanish teacher (Mrs. Morales) taught me. Now I've learned to talk like a Texacan. Manchaca is pronounced Man-Chak. Guadalupe sounds like Gwad-a-loop and San Jacinto? San Jay Sinto... so much for that rule about J in Spanish.

Another amazing first moment made me think that there were no other Jews in the state or someone Jewish had a great sense of humor. I saw a huge red neon sign that said:

I later learned it was a grocery store chain. H is for Henry E. and B is for Butts (I don't think this is a Jewish guy). We still say, "We're going to the HEB, need anything?" BTW. there are a few shelves in each HEB of Kosher food, right close to the other "ethnic food."

Right close? A Texacan thing to say. After so many years, it is a bit alarming that I barely notice the Texacan in my daily speech. I have been known to say, "I'm fixin to..." or the dreaded, "might should.." without blinkin. Oh my goddess, see.. a "g" just slipped away! This, from a woman who uses Yiddish expression nearly every day and still says "Aw-range" and Straawberry like I left New York a few weeks ago.

Another Texacan thing is to brag about how I've managed to survive the worst recorded summer heat in Austin history. As I have previously blogged, weather is easily a 30-minute conversation...with a stranger...while in the HEB check out line... after everyone seems to have gotten out of church gets out on Sunday (everyone is in their Sunday best jeans), after the Friday pay day. It seems like everyone gets paid every other Friday in Austin. The next top ten topic of conversation after weather is High School or College Football, but that is another blog.

I realized a few weeks ago just how Texacanized I have really become. We've been thinking about putting aside some cash for a second vehicle. All of a sudden, I want a wait for it... (Hold on to your hats! Oh right, only Texans wear hats all the time) A TRUCK!!!!

Not an SUV or crossover. A truck. Not to freak out anyone too much, I want a little truck. No big tires for me. I do not want a truck that requires a step extension. No F anything, more like a truck so I can put stuff in the back, like firewood. Small enough so a couch or bed WILL NOT fit. I don't mind helping a friend move boxes but I am not opening a moving business. Big Truck? Kiss your weekends goodbye!

I can hear my friends getting a giggle about this. I am sure a serious intervention will take place. "Really, Why on earth do you want a truck?" I really have no logical explanation. I used to say, "I want a pony" every time my son started his list of "I wants"  and he laughs. Now he catches himself mid list and says, "I know Mom (eyes rolling). You want a truck." Maybe I want a truck because every month is Truck Month at just about any dealership here in the Big State. Or maybe it is the "Texas Edition" that just wins me over.

I'm supposin as a Texacan that I'm fixin to get a small truck right soon enough ya'll!

The People Upstairs

Disclaimer: I recently moved to an apartment after living in a house for nearly five-years. We have met wonderful people and strangely, there is more of a sense of community here in Building Six compared to our old street where we never even spoke to one set of neighbors. Well, they never spoke to us. I think it had something to do with our "Eve was Framed" bumper sticker and they run a summer bible camp.

There are a few characters that I will share about in the future. But know this... I love my neighbors. The people who moved in upstairs are really very nice, and I'm sure perfectly normal everyday folks, but you be the judge. Feel free to weigh in with your findings.

Our new neighbors moved in about two months ago. A husband and wife with two kids arrived from Corpus. Our first impression was watching the husband lift a television, not a little one, more like a 48" TV by himself out of a pick-up truck like he was lifting a laundry basket. He has a set of dumb bells on the patio and looks like the kind of guy you want on your side.

Exhibit A:

Being our normal "sitting on the patio" selves, we introduced ourselves. Our neighbors are named Bonnie and Clyde. No, not really just Bonnie and Pete. Okay, many of us have "Normal Names" in Texas. For instance, my friend Eligia goes by Cindy or another guy I know is named Alejandro but goes by Alex. No big deal.

We learned that Pete and his dad own a BBQ place. I seem to have neighbors who are related to BBQ joints. Our last neighbor, a truck driving, ex-rodeo guy grew up on the BBQ circuit and would be out at his grill in all kinds of weather and all hours of the night. We didn't mind, there was always the scent of charcoal and wood chips wafting in the air and he would tap on the door and say, "Hey, try a little of this." My husband learned to master ribs and brisket just from mowing the lawn or chatting.

Evidence B:

Bonnie and Pete do not seem to work. Sure, he is supposed to be scoping out potential locations for a new restaurant. Like Austin needs another BBQ joint. We don't see them during the day, but we do visit over the patio rail in the early evenings, or see them up at the pool during our late afternoon swims. We assume that the BBQ joint supports the people upstairs.

Evidence C:

So now we have upstairs neighbors after a few months of vacancy. No real complaints about noise really. Sure the AC system has a line issue that used to wake us up in the middle of the night every time the neighbors' AC kicked on but now it is white noise that helps us stay asleep. We all drop stuff by accident or washers go off balance now and again, but no loud music or screaming.

But all of a sudden on the weekend nights, I would shut off my reading lamp at say 10:30 or 11:00 pm and as if by cue, I would hear thumping, running, and well sliding of objects over my head. One weekend of disturbed sleep went by. You know, the kind of sleep that just when you drift back to sleep you are awakened. It used to be by a hungry infant, but my kid is almost ten and has thankfully been sleeping through the night for some time now. I just don't do interrupted sleep very well now. Okay, I never did interrupted sleep well, who am I joking?

It was Labor Day weekend so I wrote it off. Friends had come to town to visit, no one had to go to school or work.

The next weekend rolled around and again, the same thing. I would wake up literally saying, "WHAT THE F*@%?" My husband Paul eventually got up and said "I'll take care of this" and returned with the broom and pounded on the ceiling. Quiet for 15 mins, another doze and then again, Thump! Ththump! Bump, Slumph! Now he got up, let the dog out and noticed that all the lights were on upstairs.. it was 2 AM. He walked up the stairs and knocked. After a few minutes the door was answered after he spent several minutes listening to the familiar sounds of... XBOX Live. It turns out the 13 year old was playing a live action game but it was 2 AM.

But wait..... the TV is in the living room, not in the Master bedroom. So just what is up with the people upstairs?

Conclusion A: My upstairs neighbors are laying low. They moved from Corpus because the heat was on and Austin is a place where everyone can kinda just blend in. Each night they are up to various illegal acts like packaging hot electronics or running a sweat shop and those are the footsteps of children working through the night manufacturing knock-off Dooney & Burke purses.

Conclusion B:

"Bonnie" and "Pete" are in witness protection. They cannot work since it may put them at risk. The kids are just a cover. The "friends" that came to visit are actually their handlers, making sure that their cover hasn't been blown. During the day, Mr. and Mrs. are testifying in a sealed hearing in Washington DC during the day and are flown home every evening. They can only be themselves after dark and they are a family of acrobats from Ringling Brothers Circus and they know who killed the bearded lady.

Image via Wikipedia

Conclusion C:

My neighbors are just normal people who let their kids stay up way late on the weekends.

Dear Me,

Dear Me,

1984... you are 20. I still see you when I look in the mirror. Now softer, more gray, wiser. If only you knew what I know now. Seriously, I would not change a thing. Your are the eternal optimist, a dreamer an adventurer. You are on on the verge of discovering who you are. Really... don't second guess yourself so much. Sure, you will get bumped and bruised along the way, but that truly builds you into the woman I am today. Hold tight kiddo!

You will go on to earn that college degree a little later and in the process you will find your political voice. You will lead, meet women who will be your sisters forever and some will have a profound impact on your life. They will teach you that the personal is the political, that you are a goddess. Your mentors will fall from the pedestals you placed them on, but sisterhood is powerful and true.

You will rise and fall like the tide where love is concerned. But you will find love. The old adage, “You'll have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince” is actually true, why else would it be an old adage? You will fall in love, crash and burn. But you will rise again like the phoenix from the flame because you are a survivor. Those with whom you share true love will be loved across many lifetimes, for once you truly love, it cannot be undone. Try as you may to cut those bonds, your love is eternal. You will learn that true love is not fallen into. That is a crazy ride that may pulse with adrenaline, but you will eventually fall, which includes pain and scarring. Love is something that is built over time upon a solid foundation of true friendship,

I have only one request, and it is that you keep doing what you're doing because our path, maiden...mother... crone is one we travel together. I am mother now, and you are always with me because I see you smiling back at me in the mirror every day.
 
Love me

Write a Letter

I heard a marvelous tidbit on NPR the other day how a young blogger, in her twenties, asked her older blogger friends to write a letter to themselves when they were twentysomething and give their most important bit of advise... something they wish they knew when they were in their twenties. I feel awful that I can only remember the young woman's first name, which I think was Lisa. I guess that means I'm more than twenty.

I thought it would be interesting for my followers to do the same. Yes, my postings tend toward humor, but be as serious or not, as you want to be. I will be posting my own letter within a week. So sit back and really think about this. If you do not want to post your letter in the comment section, or feel the space is too short, please feel free to email it to me (gaia@mindspring.com). If you don't want any of the information posted, please just let me know, I will respect your privacy.

Followers

I have to admit that I was giddy with delight when those little faces began popping up. I sang, “I've got Followers!” to my family and actually did a little dance. Then I got to thinking...

The term “followers” has a bizarre ring to it, particularly for those of us who live in Texas. Remember that group of “followers” in Waco? Does this mean that I should build a compound and claim a tax exemption?

Followers actually reminds me of that elusive cult-like group call the Travellers. After all, I have an Irish last name now and perhaps we can all learn Shelta together as we caravan from town to town.

Photo courtesy of Irish Aires News

But seriously, not to offend my new followers, but isn't following someone kinda like stalking? Will the literary paparazzi come banging on my door demanding more blog entries, stealing photos of me without makeup? Wait... I don't wear makeup, but no one should see me before my first cuppa coffee in the morning.

Hmmm, this being followed is serious business. So if you know a way I can cultivate more followers, drop me a line. And if you are just a lurker, you can comment anonymously.

I Knit

Knitting isn't what it used to be. Have you walked through your favorite craft store lately? Or even visited your LYS (local yarn store)? Inviting colors and textures await you. Wool, washable wool. Bamboo, linen, alpaca, cotton and more.

I taught myself to knit. My mom has said she taught me when I was little, but I don't remember. I came upon knitting because a series of events in my life left me unraveled. I literally had to find something to do with myself so I could sit down and do anything that required me to focus outside myself ... to do something to occupy my trembling hands. Back then the Internet only offered a smattering of knitting sites compared to today where you can spend days browsing... finding supplies, instruction, patterns and blogs.

I was browsing, looking for a how to knit website and came upon Tom, a kind faced man who was willing to share his knitting knowledge with the world. Regrettably, his site has disappeared. I printed out his instructions and static photos (hard to believe, but true, there wasn't really any video online yet). My equally neurotic friend and I went to a now non-existent shop and a kind gray-haired lady helped us select our very first needles and yarn. We sat for hours trying to figure out how to cast on with our friend, Tom. We mastered the long-tailed cast eventually and we were ready to knit, and knit and knit (purl came later).

The click-clack sounds of the needles became soothing music for my shattered and bruised psyche. The repetitive motion became my meditation. I finally felt as though my unraveled life could be knit back together again. I carried a knitting bag with me everywhere. If I needed a quick fix, a moment of calm or reassurance that my life could be “normal” again, I'd sneak off at work to the bathroom, or find a corner during my lunch hour.

Slowly, my first variegated purple wool scarf emerged. Wrapped around my neck, I still wear my “purple heart” with pride. It reminds me that I survived and came out the other end of my first clinically diagnosed depression. So if you are Tom, thank you for helping me save myself.

My "Purple Heart" Scarf

Bag O'Friendship

So you arrive at work early, isn't it always early when you have to go to that place? Anyway, A co-worker wags a zippy bag of something yummy and asks, "You want some?" Your coffee could use a companion... your sedentary spread begs to differ. Okay, just a little taste. Yum. Your pal now tells you, "Its Amish Friendship Bread and I'll bring you a bag of starter tomorrow with directions." Easy peasy. I can read and I can actually bake, which means you read all the directions.

Next day a zippy bag of whitish ooze sits politely by your keyboard and you dutifully carry it home and proclaim, "We'll have tasty Amish bread in ten days." Each day you squish or mush the bag, letting out the extra air (this stuff is fermenting away), and finally you get to feed it. Several more days and you're ready to give out several bags of your own mushy stuff and yes, bake it up.

My only problem is that I forget about baking until 10:30 pm. My husband ran out earlier to get the large box of instant vanilla pudding for the recipe. However, I forgot I need both baking powder AND soda. No box in the frig and any baker worth their salt (pun intended) knows you can't skip an ingredient. I'm texting my neighbor anxiously awaiting a reply, I'm cracking eggs, measuring cinnamon, salt, etc. Then, I find myself standing stunned in the kitchen. I was supposed to separate out those pesky "friendship" starter bags! I am not a good friend :(

The instructions basically tell me I'm shit out of luck... the starter is only available from an Amish person. What? Remembering that I live in Texas, I realize that the my chances were rather slim to find an Amish or Mennonite community, particularly after 10:00 pm.

So, what I do know of the Amish (or was it Mennonite) is that they had a farm stand in Homestead Florida. There you could purchase the most delectable, scrumptious strawberry shake. While slurping it down, you could purchase wholesome and amazing breads (dilly, a family fav), pies and veggies. I don't recall seeing anything that resembles Amish Friendship Bread. This particular group migrated from the North for strawberry season. Yes, the men and women were dressed in their plain garb, nearly all had blue eyes and were polite and soft-spoken. I doubt they would give any of their recipes away on a photocopied sheet. Besides, would they really use a box of instant vanilla pudding in any recipe?

So where did this recipe come from and why was I feeling like a bad friend? After dumping the less than friendly bread batter down the sink and cursing in an unAmish fashion, I remembered that I killed a Bag O'Friendship in the past. I am not destined to bake a bag of mush. But my curiosity was peaked and a quick visit to my friend wikipedia revealed, "There is no reason to think that the sweet, cinnamon-flavored bread has any connection to the Amish people although the name is taken from them. According to Elizabeth Coblentz, a member of the Old Order Amish and the author of the syndicated column 'The Amish Cook' true Amish Friendship Bread is "just sourdough bread that is passed around to the sick and needy...The instructions distributed with Amish Friendship Bread typically omit instructions on how to prepare starter from scratch, and frequently claim that the recipe is a secret "known only to the Amish".

Now I feel better. None of my friends are sick or needy at the moment. I guess its an omen and I'm off the hook.

BTW: Here is a recipe for a starter that I found on the Internet. And I thought the Amish did not embrace technology.

1 (.25 ounce) package active dry yeast 1/4 cup warm water (110 degrees F/45 degrees C) 3 cups all-purpose flour, divided 3 cups white sugar, divided 3 cups milk


Directions

In a small bowl, dissolve yeast in water. Let stand 10 minutes. In a 2 quart container glass, plastic or ceramic container, combine 1 cup flour and 1 cup sugar. Mix thoroughly or flour will lump when milk is added. Slowly stir in 1 cup milk and dissolved yeast mixture. Cover loosely and let stand until bubbly. Consider this day 1 of the 10 day cycle. Leave loosely covered at room temperature.

On days 2 thru 4; stir starter with a spoon. Day 5; stir in 1 cup flour, 1 cup sugar and 1 cup milk. Days 6 thru 9; stir only.

Day 10; stir in 1 cup flour, 1 cup sugar and 1 cup milk. Remove 1 cup to make your first bread, give 2 cups to friends along with this recipe, and your favorite Amish Bread recipe. Store the remaining 1 cup starter in a container in the refrigerator, or begin the 10 day process over again (beginning with step 2).

Photo credit: http://morganmoore.typepad.com/one_more_moore/2009/02/amish-friendship-bread.html

The case of the Fancy Rat

Just what would be your first reaction if you were to ring the doorbell of person to provide them with a service and they answered the door with a rat perched upon their shoulder? Upon entering the residence, you would note that there were several more rats skittering about the home. The homeowner goes about her business as if nothing is unusual?

Well, our poor service provider did his job and left as fast as his big feet could carry him. He told his manager that our customer had unusual pets and notes were made to "the system." This mention of rats, like a bad game of "telephone" evolved into a rat infestation and before you know it, unsanitary or unsafe working conditions.

Rats? Who keeps rats as pets? One would think they might be raised to feed the huge bald python living in the basement. Or perhaps they weren't rats, but hamsters? Nope. These are special rats, fancy rats. When this complaint rolled across my desk I asked myself, "What the hell is a fancy rat?" I opened up the Goggle machine and was amazed at just what I found.

From our dear friends at wikipedia:

"The fancy rat is a domesticated brown rat (Rattus norvegicus), which is the most common type of pet rat. The name fancy rat derives from the idea of animal fancy or the phrase, "to fancy" (to like, or appreciate)... 

"Fancy rats have their origins as the targets for blood sport in 18th and 19th century Europe. Specially bred as pets since then, fancy rats now come in a wide variety of colours and coat types and there exists several rat fancy groups worldwide. ..."

 
Really? Bloodsport?  I just had to dig deeper and found that there is an American Fancy Rat and Mouse Association homepage. I found rather a disturbing history article by Nichole Royer that states due to an "...excess in the rodent population led to a rather unusual sport. In Victorian England, great numbers of wild rats were captured for use in rat pits. This pastime was particularly popular in London and involved placing a large number of rats in an enclosure with a dog. The dog would then proceed to dispatch as many rats as possible, and the one who killed the largest number in the shortest time was declared the winner. Bets were placed on the dogs and large sums of money exchanged hands at these establishments."
 

Was our customer running a rat ring in her country home? Would we divulge the dirty secret and would our unsuspecting customer make the headlines?

OR

Did this person keep rats as pets? Okay... ferrets, hamsters, gerbils, guinea pigs, but rats, with the long hairless tails? Yep. My customer calmly told me it was her husband's rat. When asked if she had more than one rat, she wanted to know why that mattered. The good news is that domesticated rats "pose no more of a health risk than other common pets. For example, domesticated brown rats are not considered a plague threat, while exposure to wild rat populations could introduce diseases like Salmonella into the home. While fancy rats are subject to different health risks than their wild counterparts, they are consequently less likely to succumb to other illnesses prevalent in the wild." Thanks again to wikipedia. I could tell my company with reasonable certainty that no one would be exposed to the plague!

Because I couldn't leave well enough alone, I learned that these fancy rats are bred for the coloring of their coats and are companion pets. YES! Rats as pets! Would you believe there are siamese points, dalmations, and cinnamon rats to name just a few. You don't have to search for yourself, people dress them up and take pictures.

Okay, Okay, I knit and I found this to be kinda cool in a weird knitty way!

I had to convince our customer that "fancy rats" were not your typical pet and ask her to kindly have them and any "signs" of rats out of sight before any service provider would return. After hours, yes hours of telephone conversations with our customer who made outlandish allegations she was being discriminated against for her pets just like "those people" but she needed her appliance so she relented and agreed to put away her pets, just like we would ask the owners of dogs to do.

By the way, just who are "those people?" Ahhh, I feel another Tale from the Service... customer service that is..

Stories from the Service...

I plan on writing a book or going on a comedy tour to share amazing but true stories from my worklife. The book might be titled, "Tales from the Service."  If you work where I do, please do not disclose who I work for because I'm not allowed to disclose "proprietary" information. If I get a book contract, they can sue me but in the interim, I need the job! LOL!

New Blog

She said this and that... is a place for me to put those thoughts that rumble around my head. Like many women today, I wear many "hats" and have less than the wanted time for myself. I work for a large retailer resolving escalated consumer complaints, I'm the mother of a nine-year old boy, and married for 12 years on June 19.

The job is a source of angst, humor and my income.

My son is truly the best thing I have ever accomplished in my life. He is smart, makes me laugh every day and taught me what unconditional love is all about.

My husband is my best friend. Really? Yes, really. We navigate life together, not always agreeing but there is a deep respect and love at its foundation.

She said this and that... will be an exploration of my "hats" and I invite those who find this to add their experiences and ask questions.