My family is decidedly pro-small town. You wouldn't know it by talking to me as I put on a pretty big front about being a city girl who enjoys the humanities, wine, and all things culture. (You can hardly catch my accent.) I mean, I do enjoy those things, but my roots stem from another place too. My mom and dad both grew up in the flat-lands of Texas. When I say flat, I mean that you can see twenty miles in all directions and if you stand on a tuna can, you can see thirty more miles. There are maybe three trees and a canyon in the panhandle of Texas. Tiny lakes sneak up on folks and are there, it seems, to add some thirst relief to the otherwise dusty landscape. The small towns surrounding the "hub" which is Lubbock are places where kids have to be on the basketball team, the cheerleading squad, and of course in 4H all at the same time because otherwise the teams wouldn't exist for lack of team attendance.

Mom describes her hometown like this: "The people get their entertainment from the land. They do things that other people wouldn't consider"fun." They hunt deer, quail, rattle snakes, and they fish. It's a place where your entertainment fund includes shot gun shells, bait, and beer money. These days, unless your a big-time farmer, it's hard to remain there." Like all small towns, Mom's is fading away. She realizes that it was a great place to grow up, but that that type of lifestyle is dwindling and people have to move to the cities in order to make it.

This is sad, especially since "they do grow good people there. It is a place where you learn to care for and support others and they care for and support you. You know everybody; you know their troubles and heart aches. As a result people care for each other and look-out for one another," says Mom. It's true and it makes me a little apprehensive about losing that sort of shepherding to the big city. We just have to be more intentional about loving one another and participating in each others lives: Bring over condolence caseroles and soup for the sick, attend the area sporting events and cheer for your friends' kids, participate in school functions and fund raisers, etc.

Don wranglin' a rattle snake

Me learning a lesson (probably on how to use my knuckles when throwin' a punch) from Just Don.



My Big Dutch! I absolutely ADORED this man. He was/is my hero. He lived through the Dust Bowl, he cooked outside like a real cowboy (dug a hole in the ground, filled it with coals (a sort of dutch oven) and made sourdough rolls, cobbler, etc. and he was ALWAYS on my side. Perhaps it was because I was the only granddaughter...



Mom and Don before the rattle snake days... I'm sorry I missed this picture before Don died. I would've given him hell about wearing high heels and carryin' a purse! What a city slicker!

Mimi (flat-land diva), Don, and My Big Dutch (fixin' a Seagram's VO and coke) at the lake

Happy Thanksgiving

I don't know these guys but I like them, and they remind me of Guffman for some reason.
I'll have to try the pie and jack!(?)
Happy Thanksgiving! I am sincerely thankful for you everyday and love you!


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How I ended up like this

10 reasons why my mother is the coolest person in the world:

1. She loves people unconditionally and models such an amazing example of tolerance and temperance for me and the Putz. She has always helped us see that we need to put ourselves in other people's shoes. Of course there is sometimes the "Oh good gravy!" outburst (who says that?) when she is flustered, but she would rather feed people in a soup kitchen on Thanksgiving and visit people who are lonely or sad than participate in any of the other pomp and circumstance that life sometimes blinds us with. Please don't misunderstand; Mom is the first to lead an impromptu baton twirling march around the backyard (sorry about your ankle), but she knows what is most important.

2. She keeps a Ginger drawer at her house and fills it with articles from magazines, newspaper clippings, clothing and shoe catalogues, and other "treasures" that remind her of me or that she knows will be relevant to me. I look forward to pilfering through the Ginger drawer at each visit.

3. She has "Elvis church" on Sunday mornings. As soon as she wakes up, the Elvis gospel CD is on and Mom sings loudly enough that God AND the neighbors can hear it, and she has such a beautiful voice that no one minds. In fact it's contagious!

4. Music has always been a major part of our household, whether it was a holiday (we were usually startled out of our beds with blaring Sousa marches on the morning of the 4th of July, at Christmas time it was usually Jingle Bell Rock, and I've already mentioned Sundays), or just because. Each morning she would wake us with "You Are My Sunshine" and would respond to our cranky morning sour faces (since we woke up to that damn sunshine song) with "You're Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile." At the time, we felt that she was sick and twisted and singing just to torture us, but now I miss it. Every time I see her, she wants to introduce us to a new song she just heard. Hey Mom, remember when we were at Texas Roadhouse and you were telling us about "I Hope You'll Dance" and the song played three times back to back - probably because a management type really liked the song - but we pretended it was a personal message to Putz, Wratch and me? I loved that! Also since I was a budding musician (I was in every music class CHS offered), she tolerated a lot of music practice from me and my friends. Her favorite (and she still mentions this) is when my friend Neal would come over and play "Hey Jude" on the piano. So from Willie Nelson to Chopin, from show tunes to "Save a Horse and Ride a Cowboy," and from to AC/DC to "Do Lord," my mom influences (and sometimes berates us) through music.

5. She has a purse dog, but doesn't groom it like a typical purse dog. The dog's name is Sugar (short for Sugar Plum Fairy) and runs the household, but we love her. There is still much debate over whether she actually trained Sugar to sit on our heads or whether she simply encourages Sugar with her strict and bold discipline of "oh Sugar, no. It's bad manners to sit on people's heads. Rich and Ginger are our friends. Yeah. Come here to me. Who-zha-bebe?"

6. My mom thinks that ruby slippers, feathery fringe, and sparklers can save the world.

7. Mom welcomes all of my friends into her house, even the seriously silly ones.

One of my favorite trips was the one where Fougs and I went on a road trip to visit. Right before we left town, we went to the dollar store and bought fuzzy pink boas and glittering tiaras in Mom's honor and in order to get into the perfect mind set for the visit (which is completely ironic since Fougs and I are more the tree climbing, tomboy, we will verbally kick your ass but only if the other is there for back-up, philosopher types). We wore them the entire 5 1/2 hours it took to get to Lubbock and Mom loved it! She keeps the tiara on her kitchen cabinet. By the way, this was the first time Fougs went to visit Mom. Thanks for being a good sport, Fougs, and a total goofball to match my goofballery, and thanks Mom for welcoming us and for the homemade hot chocolate!

8. Mom makes a damn good margarita.

9. She is hilarious in movies. Mom generally interacts with the film, loudly. She claps during the redemption scenes; she yells "That can't happen!" during the unbelievable or ridiculous parts; she gasps loudly and puts her arm across the person next to her, stranger or no, (like a human seat belt) when something startling happens; and she cries at both the happy and sad moments. (A classic example from when I was a kid is when she cried during The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle movie because the Footclan (little boys) didn't have mothers to take care of them.) Going to the movies with Mom is quite the experience! (and thanks for always wearing long skirts to the movies so that when Putz or I got cold, you could spread the skirt over us like a blanket)

10. She thinks I can do anything, but she still lets me sit in her lap.

This short list does not do Mom justice, because she is so much more! I didn't even mention the Lady Raiders, The Nutcracker, Harley engines, the fireplace table, the fact that she worries I might be arrested someday (I'll leave you all guessing at that one), that her alias (just in case she needs one) is Monique, or pot roast!

I love you Mom! I'll see you soon!

Basketballs and Guinea Pigs

There are 5 or 6 little neighborhood boys (one might be a girl) who are constantly playing outside together. Everywhere they go, they carry a ball of some sort; today it was a basketball.
Anyway, they don't know my name but they know that I'm Mr. Haag's wife, and they know Mr. Haag because their big brothers were in his class last year, they think. They are nice enough to wave at me if they see me outside and they are happy to sell me cookie dough for their school fundraiser (and I'm happy to buy, though I've never actually received any cookie dough). It's a reciprocal relationship.

Today the doorbell rang and when I opened the door, there stood the lot of them, bouncing and bouncing and bouncing the basketball. They stood there for a second looking confusedly at me, like they didn't remember that they were the ones who initiated the contact. The one wearing the blue shirt pulls something out from behind his back and holds it up to me as he says, "Hey, do you want this?"
That something is squirming.
Because I've been teaching for 9 years and because I taught 7th graders for 5 of them, I didn't jump back or squeal or do anything girlie, but it did take me a second to recognize that the boy in the blue shirt was holding a guinea pig.
Me: Is that a guinea pig?
Boy in Blue: Uh. I think so.
(Boy in Blue passes the flailing, terrified rodent to me around the bouncing basketball. I take it and hold it close, petting its back because I feel sad for it.(Ok. So I am girlie))
Me: Is it yours?
All of the boys: yes!
Boy in Blue: But I don't want it anymore. Do you want it?
Me: Why don't you want it?
Boy Who Needs a Haircut: My dad and I really want it, but my mom said no.
Red Headed Freckled Boy: See, I told you it was a bad idea to go door to door to give it away!
Me: But look how sweet he is. Are you sure you don't want him?
Boy in Blue: Yes.
Me: How long have you had him?
All: (Say different numbers at the same time.)
Red Headed Freckled Boy: No. You've had him for 2 days.
Me: Does he have a name?
Boy in Blue: No.
Me: You didn't name him? Do you have a cage for him?
All: Yes.
Boy Who Might be a Girl: But you dug that cage out of the trash.
(All nod)
(Basketball continues bouncing and boys blink at me)
Me: I don't think I can keep him because I have two kitties who might eat him.
Red Headed Freckled Boy: Oh yeah!
Boy Who Might be a Girl: I have two dogs!
(All nod)
Me: I'll tell you what. Let's wait until Mr. Haag gets home and we'll see what he says, but I'm pretty sure he'll say no because of the cats (Rich is a good scapegoat). Look how calm your guinea pig is.
Boy Who Needs a Haircut: (to the Boy in Blue) He never acts like that when you hold him.
Me: All you have to do is make sure to hold him real close and hold his feet so that he knows you won't drop him. Also, don't make any loud noises because that makes him nervous.
(Basketball stops bouncing. Boy in Blue smirks and looks at his friends who are wide-eyed. I pass the guinea pig back to him. Boy in Blue is already heading towards the next house. Basketball resumes bouncing.)
Red Headed Freckled Boy calls after him: Hey! You forgot to say thank you.
All boys turn and yell: Thank you!
I close the door.

My thoughts:
1. Those kids are hysterical!
2. I wonder if their parents know they are giving away the family pet, or even worse, a little sister's pet.
3. I need to wash my hands

Already the boys have forgotten about the guinea pig. They are currently riding bikes, playing with a remote control car and yes, bouncing that basketball. I hope the guinea pig made it home.

Billie Holiday

Relax to this sultry, delicious sound while you read the following.

A Billie Holiday Evening

It's a Billie Holiday kind of evening. There's nothin' like coming home, relaxing to some bluesy jazz music, sipping on a sweet-ish red, and perusing the newest edition of The New Yorker. This is a Gatsby lifestyle, friends.

I love being completely immersed in and embraced by the glamorous sadness of the sound- the sexy confidence of the bass, the airy pulse and brush of the high-hat, the winking subtlety of the piano, the flirty trumpet, maybe a slip of the clarinet, and the melting whisper of Lady Day's voice or Ella Fitzgerald's or Diana Krall's or Lena Horne's, or any of the others, tragedy and all.

Yes, tonight I've got the world on a string... and whatever your dreams may be, dream a little dream of me...It's the nearness of you... You haunt me...Darling, save your love for me...I've got it bad and that ain't good.

The candle lit bubble bath is inevitable.

Wine with Emily

If Emily Dickinson were my friend, we'd have to have a long chat, preferably over a full bodied merlot and cigarettes. First off, I'd have to get her to come out of her shy, shackled seclusion and leave the security of her home and her generation. We could talk about lost loves, the delicacy of the spirit, and what it means, exactly, to have faith in...anything, really. I'd ask about why she allows diction and syntax to imprison her in such melancholy moments, and then I'd read some Dorothy Parker to her as an experiment to see if she would laugh or cry, or do both at the same time. Finally, I would address the Truth found in this poem and ask her how she knew:


202
by Emily Dickinson

This World is not Conclusion.
A Species stands beyond -
Invisible, as Music -
But positive, as Sound -
It beckons, and it baffles -
Philosophy - don't know -
And through a Riddle, at the last -
Sagacity, must go -
To guess it, puzzles scholars -
To gain it, Men have borne
Contempt of Generations
And Crucifixion, shown -
Faith slips - and laughs, and rallies -
Blushes, if any see -
Plucks at a twig of Evidence -
And asks a Vane, the way -
Much Gesture, from the Pulpit -
Strong Hallelujahs roll -
Narcotics cannot still the Tooth
That nibbles at the soul -

Pandora Pretty Much Rocks

If you have not been introduced to Pandora, please allow me.
Pandora is a music site that allows you to enjoy the music you already love, and it provides other artist suggestions in an effort to acquaint you with new music in a similar genre. It's all very easy and user friendly.

Step 1: You create a radio station. So, for example, I created a KT Tunstall station. Pandora plays a KT Tunstall song, and if you like that particular song, Pandora analyzes the sound. KT's looks like this:
basic rock song structures; a subtle use of vocal harmony; mixed acoustic and electric instrumentation; a vocal-centric aesthetic; major key tonality; electric pianos; subtle use of acoustic piano

Step 2: Pandora plays other songs by other artists who have a similar sound. So in the KT Tunstall genre, Pandora plays Liz Phair, The Cardigans, Sixpence None the Richer, etc.

Step 3: If you hate the song, you can give it a "Thumbs Down" and Pandora will skip it and move on. If you love the song, you can give it a thumbs up and even bookmark it for later.

Step 4: All of the songs provide album information if you want to know about a particular one. Also, you can buy the album directly from the site...or not.

Step 5: Enjoy your radio station!

You can create several radio stations and play them at any time, according to your mood. The best part about all of this is it is FREE!!
And it is!

Brian Haw and the Great Dictator


I have traveled to London many times in my life and I've never seen Parliament Square without Brian Haw's banners, placards, and rainbow peace flags. I've often wanted to meet him, though I didn't know his name until a year or so ago, just to talk to him about his life and his cause. I'm embarrassed to say that I have never been brave enough to cross the square and (still) am more than horrified, grossly intimidated, and frightened by the photos on some of the placards (This is, I think, part 1 of the intended reaction to this display. Part 2 would be to think about what it means). Also, I'm an American (a Texan, even!) so I wasn't sure about what kind of reception I would receive. It turns out that Brian Haw is a humanitarian above all. If the British government allows Brian Haw to keep his allotted protest space, I think I'll pay him a visit next time I'm in London.

It's kind of cool that through the PiCs I've learned about him and get to hear his voice. Thank you PiCs and thank you to Dan for this particular clip! It really is a small world.

Oh, and Big Ben chimes in the middle of this recording. Regardless of your thoughts on the state of democracy today, the chiming of Big Ben is still one of the coolest sounds in the world!

Nerdalicious Saturday

Finally, it's Friday! Tonight the weather even changed for us a little and it is at least cold enough that I can actually wear long sleeves and a scarf (not just for the fashion) without dying of heat stroke! I think I even smelled a fireplace fire in my neighborhood- a rarity for sure! As usual, the metroplex forgot Fall and we're moving straight into winter - then summer for two days- then sleet when you least expect it. You gotta love Texas weather! Anyway, I love Fridays because, more importantly, they are Saturday eves!

I seriously dig Saturday mornings during the winter: unlimited coffee, warm in my favorite snowman mug; newspaper/magazine/novel reading whilst nuzzled under a soft blanket beside my fuzzy, oatmeal scented kittens; and the delicious solitude of the early morning quiet...
Until Wratch wakes-up! Then it's Car Talk and Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me blaring on NPR. What- a -NERD! Geez! It's a good thing I'm head- over- heels attracted to the NPR listening, nerdalicious types! (Don't tell Wratch, but I do like to listen to the Car Talk fellas. They're wicked retarded!)

I love Saturdays. It is this anticipation of a lazy Saturday morning that gets me through the week!