Entry #11

Entry #11

Thursday, September 22

1:30 p.m. There must be someone in the corporate office of Hubbell & Hudson who's Jewish because they’re selling round challahs for Rosh Hashanah as well as potato latkes. The latkes are on display next to bacon-wrapped meatloaf, interestingly. Still...

Thanksgiving decorations are already out, and there are a host of figurines for sale including Indians and Pilgrims, both male and female (no kids though). How does one arrange such figurines? How many does one get of each? Right now they’re all in a group huddle.

2:00 p.m. I finally found out that Terry Gross’s show, Fresh Air, is on at 11:00 a.m. Michael Lewis, the author of Moneyball, is tomorrow’s guest.

I’ve met Michael Lewis before. He’s a parent at Prospect Sierra, the school my kids attended before we moved. While Michael Lewis is quite busy being a world-famous, best-selling writer, he’s still a dad, which brings him down to earth, at least on campus. 

This brings the Six Degrees of Separation game to mind: Me, Michael Lewis, Brad Pitt (a mere two degrees—the closest I’m sure I’ll ever get to Brad Pitt). I have a good friend in New York who’s usually my Six Degrees of Separation connection (she just had dinner with President Obama a few days ago), but this one was fun.

Friday, September 23

We went to see a movie last night and the downtown area was nearly deserted. We were one of three couples in the theater and went outside and saw hardly anyone there, too. A Dutch woman I met at the kids’ school likens The Woodlands to The Truman Show, and this film definitely came to mind while walking along the empty downtown streets.

If you haven’t seen it, here’s a synopsis:

Truman Burbank is the star of one of the most popular shows in television history. The only thing is—he doesn't know he's the star. An entire other world has been fabricated for him... His hometown is a giant set piece, and everyone around him is an actor going by a script. But Truman is not happy with his life. He wants to see the world. He wants to get away from his happy-happy, ever tidy, nice'n'shiny little town...

8:00: I overslept this morning after having weird dreams about a gigantic black spider I saw scamper across David’s shoe on the sidewalk last night. It was the biggest spider I’ve ever seen, something that may very well be related to Hagrid’s friend, Aragog.

Upon leaving the house, our next-door-neighbor was also leaving. Izzie saw her and instead of hopping into the car like she usually does, she ran around like a lunatic and jumped up on our neighbor (who’s allergic to dogs). Our neighbor smiled and said, “It’s all good,” but I knew it was not. I made things worse by asking if her cleaning lady would be available to clean our house, too. She explained that this woman only cleans their house. Oh.

I felt bad about our morning interchange, so I bought a small yellow rose plant for my neighbor and wrote a note of apology. Only after I made the purchase did I make the connection between this plant and “The Yellow Rose of Texas.” No symbolism intended.

On the way home, a sporty silver Mercedes swerved around me and sped by. Its license plate read: GT GRL. This brings the following questions to mind: What will his vanity plate say if he loses the girl? Should he really be advertising the fact that he needed a sports car to get her in the first place?

This morning’s Huffington Post cited a satirical Twitter account, @RickPerryFacts, which now has more than 1,700 entries:

Since 2009, the satirical Twitter account has documented everything that makes Rick Perry the 2012 election's most bad-ass candidate, from peeling potatoes with his eyelids to ghostwriting every article in Garden & Gun magazine...these are the only facts you need to know.

Here’s a sampling:

• Rick Perry’s cereal never gets soggy. It sits there, staying crispy for him.
• Rick Perry has never lost a sock. Ever.
• When somebody yells, “Last one is a rotten egg,” Rick Perry is never, ever the rotten egg.
• Rick Perry lives vicariously through himself.
• Rick Perry does not “style” his hair. It lays perfectly in place out of sheer terror.

Saturday, September 24

Noah decided he wanted to join a bowling league. He’s been asking me about bowling for quite sometime actually, but I’ve always managed to find something better for him to do that didn’t involve a dark, noisy space with lots of greasy food, cigarettes, and greasy balls. Now that we have plenty of time,  I really couldn’t say “no.” So, for the foreseeable future, Noah will go bowling on Saturday mornings at the AMF bowl just outside The Woodlands bubble.

Noah’s actually fairly good at bowling, though his form is pretty goofy—he seems to do an arabesque upon releasing the ball. Aidan explained to the bowling coach that Noah bowls the way Lincecum pitches, but the coach said he’s a football guy and didn’t get the reference. I wonder if he’ll say anything about Noah’s balletic form. I hope not. It’s what makes his bowling entertaining.

I saw lots of kids with bowl cuts and thought it ironic that I noticed this at the bowling alley...One woman was stitching quilted coasters to pass the time while the coach handed out forms. Do you know there are 22 official rules? Seems everyone takes their “sport of choice” very seriously around here.

Izzie needed to go out, so I took her for a walk around the area, which was largely composed of parking lots with the frontage road traffic on both sides. We went around the back of the bowling alley in search of a garbage can and I accidentally opened up the blackened “grease only” lid. That’s one way to kill a craving for french fries...

2:30 p.m. Noah and Aidan had a basketball game today, the first one they’ve played together. Since Noah’s taller than anyone on either team, he’s a natural rebound guy, and scored the first basket. Aidan didn’t have as promising a start, having been elbowed in the ear and knocked down in the first quarter. He recovered, though, and scored the first three-pointer.

While Noah and Aidan don’t really look alike, there is a palpable connection between them, and it’s fascinating to watch from the bleachers. 

4:00 p.m. After the game we were going to take the kids out for a treat, but David had to go to Wal-Mart to return some light bulbs. The kids were thirsty and so we went in to get a drink, only we couldn’t find a section that would simply sell individual drinks. We walked around the store's periphery and finally ended up finding a six-pack of juice (packed in plastic bottles and plastic wrap). 

As we headed towards checkout, we passed more processed food than I ever knew existed. Did you know that Wal-Mart sells 18 different types of Oreos alone (not including generic brands)? I never even knew that Oreos came in so many flavors and fillings (ranging from white to pink to green to brown, in various thicknesses).

There’s an entire aisle devoted to not just soda, but Coca-Cola brand sodas on one side and chips on the other. Display aisles advertised Kool-Aid in wax bottles, Velveeta cheese shells, beef jerky and Uncle Ben’s instant rice. This is the antithesis of Whole Foods. Perhaps Wal-Mart's grocery section should be named Processed Foods.

Inside this giant Wal-Mart is a McDonald’s, for people who want warmed processed foods. There’s also a phone store, a nail salon and a barber shop inside, as well as a check-cashing place. I imagine some people spend several hours at a time inside that place. I couldn’t leave fast enough.

10:00 p.m. Watched two more episodes of Friday Night Lights. We're completely hooked.

Here’s my favorite quote from tonight’s episode:

“Texas isn’t even technically a state—it’s a republic. It would be nice to live somewhere that’s actually a part of this planet!” —Coach Taylor’s daughter, Julie

Sunday, September 23

Robert Redford wrote to the Houston Chronicle recently, in an article with the headline, “Let’s say no to the pipeline that threatens U.S. heartland.”

Here’s an abbreviated version:

The Keystone XL pipeline would transport the dirtiest oil on the planet from the Canadian province of Alberta to Gulf Coast refineries, wedding our nation's energy future to the destructive ways of the past. 

It would promote one of the most damaging industrial practices ever deployed, the strip mining and drilling of Canada's boreal forest, to coax low-grade crude oil from tar sands. 

And it would put at risk the farmers, ranchers and croplands upon which our nation depends, exposing them to the kind of ruptures and blowouts that in just the past year have brought environmental disaster to the Yellowstone River, the North Sea and the Gulf of Mexico.

Rather than building a conduit to the past, we should invest in a clean-energy future centered on efficiency, sustainable communities and renewable power. That's the way to put Americans back to work, make our country more secure and create a healthier future for our children. (September 12, 2011).

After getting heat for his op-ed piece, Redford wrote a follow-up editorial in The Huffington Post, beginning with this opening sentence:. 

“When you challenge Big Oil in Houston, you can bet the industry is going to punch back...” —Robert Redford, 9/24/11

Now that I'm living in the Greater Houston area, Redford's article and commentary really hit home. It’s impossible not to notice the emphasis on oil and gas here—The Woodlands was built by a wealthy oil tycoon for people who work for the oil industry. If only there was a bit of environmental awareness...

6:00 p.m. I just ordered a pizza for David and the kids from a place called Grimaldi’s. They advertise the following, “The mozzarella for our pizza comes from free-range cows.” I’ve heard of free-range chickens, but never thought about the fact that cows might not be able to roam free. Gosh. Now I have another thing to worry about when I shop for dairy products.

I could really use a haircut, so I looked up “hair salons in The Woodlands" and found a list with names like “Brass & Sassy Hair,” “Got Style,” “Hot Headz Hair,” “Texas Hair Team,” and “Visible Changes.” I'm going wait until I return to San Francisco in December. I should have a foot of hair to donate by then.

Monday, September 26

9:30 a.m. I found myself reading the sports section, specifically an article about a football player who beat cancer and is now a professional football player. Before watching Friday Night Lights, I wouldn’t have even glanced at the sports section. Okay, so it’s an emotional piece. Still, it’s a sports article! Seems I’m beginning to drink the Texas Kool-Aid.

In the mail I received a manila envelope that turned out to be two packets that Aidan filled out on his first day of Sunday school. It was fun to read what Aidan had to say.

Q: Who is your favorite athlete?

A: Fear the Beard (Brian Wilson)

Q: If you could do one thing to change the world, what would it be?

A: Solve peace and make less garbage.

Q: How can you be a better brother/sister?

A: Don’t be boisterous and get in their space. Be kind and generous.

Q: How can you be a better friend:

A: Listen to them and don’t be mean and tell friends jokes they don’t get.

Q Why is it bad to be jealous:

A: Because the world is full of happiness but you won’t get everything.

Q: What Torah story interests you most?

A: Noah and the Ark because it is cool and my brother’s name is Noah and I love animals.

Q: Your question to Mr. Schlossberg:

A: Can you please not be so strict  When I ask a question I am just curious. I don’t mean to offend you. Do you like teaching?

2:00 p.m. Just returned from my first Bikram yoga class. I now understand why people call it “sweaty yoga.” The room is 105 degrees with 40% humidity. A man standing in front of me was drizzling with sweat—it was just pouring out of him. I’ve never seen anything like it.

Before class I spoke to the instructor. While telling me about the class, he took off his shirt to reveal that he was wearing nothing more than a teeny pair of gray stretch shorts. I tried to act casual.

After class he showed me how to protect the lower back by extending the pelvic area, only I couldn’t watch closely for obvious reasons. Once again, nonchalance was key.

After class, I walked into Hubbell & Hudson to meet David for a quick lunch. We sat on the second floor where there’s café seating and I noticed that the ceiling looked like it was covered with gray snow. While I understand the appeal of industrial design, exposed spray-on insulation just isn’t an appetizing sight. The rest of the store is beautiful. Just don’t look up.

Entry #10

Entry #10

Tuesday, September 20

I just spotted the teeniest frog I’ve ever seen. Couldn’t have been larger than my pinky fingernail. I didn’t even know what it was until I saw something hopping like a Mexican jumping bean. Yes, it was a Lilliputian-size frog. Izzie didn’t see it, luckily—she would’ve probably tried to lick it or romp with it.

Our family watched the first episode of Friday Night Lights last night. I’m glad I waited until I was here in Texas for a month so I could have enough time to observe the culture here. What’s remarkable about this show is that it really captures the way Texans feel about football and religion, i.e., football is king and Jesus is Lord.

Now I’m hooked. I can see why it’s such an addictive show, and  I don’t even follow football (though I did a long time ago until the Cleveland Browns’ quarterback, Brian Sipe, crushed our hopes of getting into the Superbowl in the last five seconds of the game, but that’s another story.)

Despite the excitement of Friday Night Lights, neither one of my kids has any interest in playing football beyond the casual “tag-football” that was offered at the kids’ school in California, which would be considered laughable here. Aidan said he “wanted to play football even less” after seeing the quarterback become paralyzed after suffering a spinal injury (fictional, but enough to scare him away from the game). It’s wild to see boys in elementary school here gear up from head to toe in the sizzling Houston heat. Talk about devotion...

3:30 p.m. On the way home, Aidan thought the street “Cochran’s Crossing” was Cockroach Crossing. I think the latter is more apt actually.

Traffic stalled en route due to a three-car accident. I thought about the fact that if I were in the middle of that crash we would’ve crushed like an accordian. All the cars were full-size SUVs. Now I really understand why people drive monster trucks here—they can save your life.

I heard from our sweet ninth-grade neighbor that homecoming was really fun. A bunch of kids (18 in all) rented a bright yellow Hummer limosine. In Berkeley, Hummers are perceived as gas-guzzling army vehicles that should be used by the military, not soccer moms or prom kids, despite the fact that California’s own Governator, Arnold Schwarzenegger, apparently drives one. I could imagine a Prius limosine in Berkeley, but not a Hummer. Ever. It’s not PC, dude.

Wednesday, September 21

I was up late last night watching the second episode of Friday Night Lights, then Bridesmaids (for the second time). Couldn’t fall asleep...

I actually have a writing project right now, thankfully, but it will largely be over by the month’s end, so I thought I’d look on Craigslist and The Woodlands.com to see if there might be any possible jobs for me. I was surprised to find one that looked rather interesting for an “Outdoor Writer.” I love the outdoors. I’m a writer. Good fit, or so I thought. I opened up the ad and this was the description:

“A South Central Texas hunting ranch and whitetail deer breeding operation is looking for an outdoor enthusiast with a flair for writing to assist with an online marketing and promotional campaign. The ideal candidate should enjoy writing about outdoors, including hunting, and is capable of developing informational and promotional content within specified criteria.”

I guess “outdoors” here is equated with “hunting.” I like deer. I just don’t want to hunt and kill them, or eat them and mount their severed heads on my wall. I wouldn’t mind having one as a pet, though.

In the “For Sale” section was this ad for a shotgun:

Mossberg pump action shot gun - $160 (northshore area)

Never been used shotgun gun mossberg pump action for sale. Got a new firearm for my home protection and is wanting 160 for it but is willing to do 150 to 140...

Here’s another For Sale:

Mounted deer heads - $85 cash or best offer fast. Call or text anytime....

So, for the cost of week’s worth of groceries, I can get myself a pump-action shotgun and some deer heads to go. Knowing that someone who writes, “I is wanting...but I is willing...” AND has a firearm just to protect his home makes me very nervous. Door-to-door salesmen beware.

I saw a great ad for a Halloween costume of a woman with antlers. Ironically she, too, is a Texan (from Austin). At least she has a sense of humor, and deer do shed their antlers.

In the Sundance catalog, there’s a t-shirt that says, “This is not my first rodeo.” I assumed it meant what it said and thought, "I've been to a rodeo!" Then I found out it was slang for "I've been doing this for a long time (i.e., have experience)." I can relate all too well to Amelia Bedelia in the "taking things too literally" department.

While shopping at Randall’s yesterday afternoon, the stereo system was playing a country tune, “I built my home from a toolshed...” Only country songs can get away with lyrics like this.

There’s a house in Houston proper that’s made from beer bottles. Talk about a great use of recycling! (More spacious than a toolshed, too.)

9:30 a.m. I took Izzie back to George Mitchell Reserve today. The 1.5 mile walk, while filled with signs about the plants and directions, is the only place I’ve seen that’s even mildly rustic. This is the closest I’ve been to being immersed in nature and it made me realize how much I miss the bounty of natural beauty in the Bay Area. Everything here is calculated, manicured, planned. It’s refreshing to see plants growing in organic shapes. Many trees and shrubs in the neighborhood are shaped like topiaries.

10:30 a.m. While reading the Huffington Post, I happened upon a silly article about Ben & Jerry’s ice cream flavor, Schweddy Balls.

A group called One Million Moms, an offshoot of the conservative organization American Family Association, is campaigning against what it says is Ben & Jerry’s “tasteless” name for its new ice-cream flavor.

One Million Moms happens to be a right-wing religious advocacy group that underwrote Texas Governor Rick Perry's day-long Houston prayer-a-thon last month.

Here’s the article:

The Vermont-based ice-cream maker, a unit of Unilever, unveiled the Schweddy Balls flavor earlier this month. The company based the name on a long-running “Saturday Night Live” sketch that features Alec Baldwin as bakery owner Pete Schweddy, who says of his holiday-themed concoction: “No one can resist my Schweddy balls.”

One Million Moms is organizing an email drive urging Ben & Jerry’s to stop distributing Schweddy Balls and to cancel any future batches of the flavor. If the company refuses, One Million Moms said it would urge consumers to boycott Ben & Jerry’s.

“The vulgar new flavor has turned something as innocent as ice cream into something repulsive. Not exactly what you want a child asking for at the supermarket,” reads a statement on the One Million Moms’ website.

Ben & Jerry’s spokesman Sean Greenwood said Tuesday the flavor has proved wildly popular, and another production run is planned for next week.

Schweddy Balls is vanilla ice cream with “a hint” of rum and fudge-covered malt balls with rum and milk chocolate, according to Ben & Jerry’s website.

Greenwood said the company has received a few hundred emails and some phone calls objecting to Schweddy Balls. However, the ice-cream maker has received many more messages praising the flavor, he said.

“We’ve been hearing from many fans. It appeals to those who love our irreverent sense of humor. If you watch the skit, it’s a lot easier to get the joke,” Greenwood said.

Sales have been stronger than expected. The Burlington Ben & Jerry’s scoop shop ran out of what was to have been a week’s supply of the ice cream in two days, Greenwood said. He could not provide specific figures.

“We’re feeling pretty psyched about Schweddy Balls,” Greenwood said. —Garrett News Service

I love Ben & Jerry’s. Jerry went to my alma mater, Oberlin College, and I fully support them, schweddy balls and all. My kids’ favorites are Imagine Whirled Peace and Chocolate Fudge Brownie. I looked up their list of current flavors and I found Fair Goodness Cake!, What a Cluster and Jamaican Me Crazy particularly clever. Their postcard reads, “What a long, strange dip it’s been.” Classic.

In the past, Ben & Jerry's has released controversial ice creams, like a special edition of Chubby Hubby called Hubby Hubby last year which celebrated gay marriage. It seems that offending customers has become an annual tradition for Ben & Jerry's. —Huffington Post

Also on the subject of food, the Huffington Post listed the “Top 10 New Foods at the 2011 State Fairs.” One third of these foods originated at the State Fair of Texas.

Get your barf bag ready...

Buffalo Chicken in a Flapjack: This monstrosity is a chicken strip, coated in pancake batter and jalapeno bread crumbs, then deep fried and...you guessed it—eaten on a stick.

El Bananarito: This one has fruit in it, so we’re counting it as healthy. For some inexplicable reason, someone in Texas thought to roll a banana in a flour tortilla, deep fry the whole thing, then top it with whipped cream, powdered sugar, and chocolate sauce. Yes, please.

Deep-Fried Salsa: You’ve got to have something to top your bananarito with, don’t you? Just kidding—this one is basically a meal unto itself—jalapenos, roasted garlic, onion, tomato, and pepper rolled together, dipped in masa, covered in crumbled tortilla chips, and fried, with queso dip on the side.

—Huffington Post

Thursday, September 22

Rick Perry was just on the front page of the New York Times Sunday Review. Yesterday afternoon I went to write at the Barnes & Noble Café and noticed that Perry’s now on the cover of Time magazine. I thought I was seeing him everywhere because I’m in Texas, but now I know he’s everywhere, and gaining national momentum at an alarming speed.

You think of Rick Perry, you think of Texas. And more Texas. Perry the cowboy coyote-killer, the lord of the Texas job-creation machine, the g-dropping glad-hander with a “howdy” for every stranger in the room. He barely exists in the national mind outside of the Texas connection...We have had several Texas presidents, but none so deeply, intensely Texas as this guy would be...—Gail Collins, NYTimes

It’s scary enough having him as the governor of Texas, though I can understand it—he epitomizes all things Texan. He even wants Texas to secede. This man believes in creationism, church-and-state, is pro-war, pro-guns, pro-offshore oil drilling, anti-equality for homosexuals, believes global warming doesn’t exist, and allegedly hates the government despite the fact that he’s running for its top position. What scares me more than anything is the fact that he's at once charismatic and ignorant—the most frightening combination of all. Can you imagine if he picks Sarah Palin for his running mate? I think a move to Bhutan will be in order. 

Entry #9

Entry #9

I must be worn out, because I got sick, which I rarely do. I was supposed to meet some nice Mexican ladies I met at the kids’ school yesterday for Bikram yoga, but could hardly walk up the stairs before crashing, let alone stand on my head in a sweaty studio.

On the way home, I actually ducked while driving in my car. Afterwards I wondered, what good would that’ve done? A pickup truck with a huge ladder sticking out of it almost drove into me before swerving and speeding in front. I might be driving an old lady car, but I don’t drive like an old lady. Still, the guy scared the hell out of me.

I’m used to navigating the zany roads and freeways of the San Francisco Bay Area, but I’ve never driven anywhere like this before. Seems the unspoken rule is to speed up as soon as someone wants to come into your lane. Where's the southern hospitality in that? Maybe we’ll ride our bikes to school as soon as the three-digit weather cools. That, or I’ll have to supe-up the granny mobile.

In The Woodlands, mailboxes are set up en masse, with the entire street’s worth of mailboxes all in post office-style cubbies in the middle of the cul-de-sac. While retrieving my mail yesterday, I ran into one of my neighbors. She couldn’t make it to the get-together last Friday night because their family went to the big high school football game—a big deal around here.

Homecoming is around the corner, and my neighbor warned me that there will be a lot of limosines and homecoming-related zaniness this coming weekend, beginning with a parade downtown. If I see throngs of gals teetering in 5” platforms and strapless satin ensembles, I’ll know why. A couple named Chad and Taylor were this year’s queen and king. They look like Ken and Barbie come to life. (I promise I’m not making any of this up.)

I’ve been thinking about going to Houston’s museum district and exploring that area and asked my neighbor if she’s gone to the Rothko Chapel (one place I’d like to see, among others). She grew up in Houston but said she doesn’t really go there much.

She did tell me (knowing that we’re from SF) that she was in San Francisco and participated in the  Alcatraz triathlon. I was mighty impressed. She said, “Yeah, it was fun.” She also said the Houston Ironman she completed (a full-length triathlon) was “fun,” too.

Running a full marathon followed by swimming several miles then getting up an biking across half a state is “fun”? I can't fathom that. A movie with popcorn is “fun.” A triathlon is painful, exhausting, grueling, and ultimately uplifting, I would imagine, but is not a lighthearted good time. Then again, maybe for my neighbor it really was. It's mind-boggling really, but then again, I have no natural endurance, so consider the source.

After hearing various dogs barking, my neighbor told me they used to have dogs until she realized she was allergic and gave her dogs to their cleaning lady. I told her that Izzie discovered a box turtle and dead nutria out back, as well as countless lizards—all new experiences for us living in Texas. She said that one of her dogs was bitten by a copperhead (a venomous snake) in her yard and came inside with a huge, swollen neck (he survived, luckily). Great. So now, in addition to the giant wasps and bees and scorpions, I have to be on the lookout for venomous snakes in my backyard. Knowing Izzie, she'd try to play with one.

My neighbor also told me about Halloween here. She said that rather than going door-to-door, everyone gathers around the cul-de-sac. Half of the adults dress-up, too. The last time I dressed up, David and I went as Hanz and Franz (from Saturday Night Live.) It was before we had kids (and Noah’s almost 14, so it’s been awhile). 

I get emails from Etsy, a site where independent artists/craftspeople from around the globe sell their wares, and happened upon an artist today who makes Halloween costumes. I looked to see where she’s from and of all places, she lives in Houston! Guess this really is a big Halloween town. I particularly liked the candy apple headband and s’mores costume. I can just imagine myself wearing that big, square outfit while my female neighbors dress up as Cat Woman or Princess Leia. It would be interesting to see the alter egos of my neighbors, get to know the "real them." We shall see...

On the way home, after dropping off the kids at school, I saw a couple neighbors out and slowed the car to say hi. David happened to be leaving for work then, drove by and subtlely mentioned that he’s going to trade the granny car in soon. I think he was embarrassed. The man we were greeting talked about his old BMW that his daughter crashed into a tree. He had a Jaguar parked in his garage.

In Berkeley, I didn't think about the car I drove or how people would perceive me in my vehicle. I wasn’t self-conscious about what I wore, or if I was wearing make-up or had my hair just-so. Here I’m much more aware of all this and it’s unsettling. And even though I still won't wear spiked heels or lots of makeup or jewelry, I do feel self-conscious. It’s an odd phenomenon because the social norms are unspoken and yet quite palpable.

When I feel better I definitely need to hit the gym.

Friday, September 16

We’ve been here exactly one month today. Feels like a year, or really more like a time warp, as if we could return to the Bay Area and feel as if this experience was just a very strange dream.

Many people around here seem to think The Woodlands epitomizes The American Dream—big homes, fancy cars, highly rated public schools, manicured lawns, convenient amenities...but somehow none of it seems that meaningful without a sense of belonging or community.

While reading the Woodlands Villager this morning, I found the following ad: “Chi-Weenies for Sale.” Chihuahua Daschund mixes perhaps? The ad was in the pet section.

I have seen the ingredient “Chihuaha cheese” listed at a Tex-Mex restaurant, and quite frankly, it didn’t seem very appealing. David imagined someone milking a tiny Chihuahua to make this rare and unusual cheese, assuming that it is actually a cheese (opposed to foods like “head cheese,” which isn’t actually cheese at all).

Another ad I saw was the following: “50% off! Going out of business sale! Hoots Place in Grandma’s Hand-Me-Downs (By Yo Mama’s).” The thought of hoots (hooters?) inside Grandma's hand-me-downs near yo' mama is altogether unsavory.

Only in Texas: “Liquidating Trophy Room: Hundreds of taxidermy mounts, antique guns, ivory, indian and cowboy collectibles.” Isn't the sale of real ivory illegal? Then again, there might be lot of other borderline stuff there, too (re: taxidermy). I don’t want to know.

A place called Buckaroos and Tutus: A Children’s Boutique, is celebrating its grand opening. The term “gender stereotyping” comes to mind. What if my daughter wanted to be a cowgirl and my son a ballet dancer? Wouldn’t fly in these parts, I imagine. I did see a man in a pink tutu running with his dog near our place in San Francisco once. The dog was wearing a tutu, too.

One featured photo in The Woodlands Villager was “Alden Bridge Yard of the Month.” The photo showed three blond sisters (Taylor, Madison and Olivia) holding a big sign “The Woodlands, Texas...Yard of the Month...Sponsored by Chik-Fil-A and Lowe’s.” I agree that a nice yard is a lovely thing, but #1: I have yet to see one homeowner outside gardening; and #2: People should simply take pride in their homes, not be comparing or competing to see whose is “best.” Besides, there’s a huge drought here, so shouldn't the yard award should go to the one that’s the most dry and crusty?

Entry #8

Entry #8

Sunday, September 11

It’s been ten years since terrorism struck U.S. soil, and our country hasn’t been the same since. I met someone at the get-together last Friday night whose best friend’s husband died that day in one of the towers. Very sad indeed.

At Sunday school today, the teachers had a memorial service for the victims of 9/11 and showed footage of the buildings getting hit and exploding. Aidan said “it was stressful to watch.” I was shocked that the education director deemed it age appropriate for third graders, but apparently it’s already been approved by the CISD (Conroe Independent School District). I'm glad that the kids honored and prayed for those affected by 9/11. I just wish they could be spared the violent imagery.

Perhaps children around here are less sensitive to violence than we are (or shall I say, I am), considering the pervasive culture of hunting and firearms. Aidan told me that his classmates really like to hunt and shoot. One of them described a video game where a person goes hunting, gets his arm blown off, which thwacks into another person and kills him. “But it’s okay [for me to play],” the kid said, “It’s only a cartoon.” So glad Aidan didn't think this was cool.

I am really living outside my comfort zone. 

8:00 p.m. We had our family friend, Josephine, over for dinner. At 85 years old, she has a lot to tell and quite a bit of wisdom to impart. I learned more about her tonight than I ever knew as a kid—she grew up in Arkansas on a 400-acre farm and left after her first husband “got his letters wrong.”  I didn’t know what this meant until I learned that he was seeing another woman. Still don’t quite understand the slang, but I get her drift.

Josephine remembers my dad from when he was just a kid, and his siblings, too. She remembers my younger sister “always being lost in a book,” and the fact that my brother would never clean his room. Some things never change. 

The kids really enjoyed her company and her stories. Aidan was excited to show her the pool and how he can dive, do a flip and swim the length of the pool underwater. Josephine was more concerned about Aidan cracking his skull on the bricks than anything, but she was a fine audience nonetheless. 

After a few hours, we took Josephine home and she showed us her new apartment. The walls are covered with countless photographs of relatives, some of her and her husband when they first met, which was about 60 years ago. I realized that while she came over to our house growing up, we never once went to hers.

Monday, September 12

My social life seems to focus on “golden girls” these days—yesterday with Josephine, last week with the white-haired ladies at the dog park, and this morning with Betty (who’s about my mom’s age) for breakfast. Betty has been our guardian angel since we first visited The Woodlands last April. She’s the wife of a work associate of David’s and is also a realtor. She initially met with us to look at homes for sale, and took us to a variety of schools, neighborhoods, and shopping centers to give us a sense of the area. Even after we decided to lease a home, she spent three days with us to secure one we’d really like. She’s “good people,” as they say in these parts.

12:30 p.m.: I just found out that the rabbi at The Woodlands’ synagogue is not only a relative (a cousin of some sort), but also someone my mother babysat as a kid. Just too bizarre. Guess we really are a small tribe.

I found this out in a rather roundabout way. My interchange with the rabbi came about after submitting a brief email expressing my concern about showing terrorism footage to little kids (i.e., I was miffed).

Via email, the rabbi responded that this footage was approved by the public schools here and that they deemed it age-appropriate, which made me have second thoughts about this rabbi and the temple altogether. My mom said, “What did you say his name was?” I said, “Jan Brahms,” to which she responded, “I used to baby sit for a cousin named Jan Brahms. See if he used to live in Cleveland and if his parents are named Malcolm and Eve.”

Well, it turns out it is, the kid my mom babysat and the rabbi of Beth Shalom’s congregation are one and the same. Had I not called my mom to kvetch about my dubious interchange with this man, I would’ve never found this out. So much for first impressions...

4:00 p.m. After picking up the kids after school, I told them that our new rabbi is actually a cousin and that Grandma Helen had babysat for him. “But he’s an old man!” said Aidan. I think he’s probably balding, which is what makes him look older. My mom still has naturally blond hair (mostly) and looks really young for her 70 years. Still, the thought of babysitting for an old man was pretty funny.

While driving around, Noah and I thought we would rename some of the precious street names. Scented Path became Smelly Path, Frosted Pond was changed to Frosted Flakes, and our street, Ivory Moon devolved into White Butt Place. That’s one way to entertain oneself while driving around this town.

After going to the giant HEB grocery store, Noah said, “This place looks like a movie set.” Everything around The Woodlands does look eerily staged somehow.

We walked in a different entrance this time and found the healthier fare (produce section, etc.) rather than the No Hunting/Trespassing signs and gun toys, so our impression was much better this time around. Still, the place is ginormous.

A woman with a glass eye approached us, asking for book donations. We tried to back up and politely depart, but she walked with us and kept talking.

I felt bad that all the while I tried to look at her real eye, but kept veering toward her fake one, and wondered how she lost it. Noah admitted that he was a little scared that one of her eyes wasn’t moving. We both felt very thankful for having two working eyeballs.

Tuesday, September 13

9:30 a.m. I thought it would be a good idea to give Izzie some exercise by taking her to the dog park. Little did I know she would become not just dirty, but completely encrusted with a combination of grayish sand, wet mud, grass, bark bits and who knows what else. After the longest bath I’ve ever given her, she now looks much cleaner, but her neck is still a pinkish tinge from her red fabric collar. Her fur reminds me of what happens when a white shirt gets washed with a red sock.

Wednesday, September 14

Last night Noah went to his first YMCA basketball practice. It’s pretty much the opposite of Cut the Nets—laid back, few kids, nice coach...and Noah’s by far the tallest and best player on the team. Aidan’s practice the night before was fun, but he thought playing with 10 and 11-year-olds (even though he’s 11 himself) wasn’t challenging. Then again, he’s used to playing with his 6’2” brother (Aidan claims he’s 5’3”).

Since there are some siblings on the team, I asked if I could put Aidan on Noah’s team, and I think it should work out well. For me, the family chauffeur, that means we can actually be home on Monday evenings—hurray!

It was very refreshing to see one mother there with hair dyed like a skunk (black with a white streak across the top), tons of tattoos, head-to-toe tight black clothing, and neon pink tennis shoes. In Berkeley (or even Austin),  I wouldn’t think twice about her look, but here it really stands out. She has four kids, two little ones with white-blond hair, bright blue eyes and big smiles. Adorable. I can’t imagine injecting their beautiful milky skin with ink ever, ever. I’m sure their mom was that way once, too.

Another parent I met is from Nigeria and has two girls on the team. He described everything here as “beautiful” and loves to golf. He said his wife really wants to go back to Dubai, where they lived for nine years prior to their move here. I can’t even imagine what Dubai is like, though it seems like an even more extreme, opulent oasis than this oil company town.

9:00 a.m. Took Izzie for a walk near the kids’ school and worked on her heeling, then let her run around the soccer field. The grass was freshly cut, but not raked, and after chasing a hawk, Izzie decided she wanted to roll in it. So now I have a green dog, at least until the color wears off. So much for yesterday’s scrubbing.

On the way home, I noticed a raccoon lying rigor mortis on its back along the side of the road and realized that I’ve seen more flattened fauna in Texas than I have anywhere else—countless raccoons, squirrels, a coyote, an armadillo, and, yes, a cat and dog, too. I’m the type of person who can’t even watch a movie if I know an animal is going to die in it, so seeing all this in real life is very unnerving. Guess I won’t be making any hunter friends anytime soon.

Noah surmised that the reason for all these dead animals is because the people who planned The Woodlands didn’t leave enough actual woods for them. There are strips of trees everywhere—the appearance of woods, just enough to block the view of homes and shopping areas from the street. If I were an animal, it would be easy to think I was strolling safely through nature until BOOM! I'm knocked out cold on The Woodlands Parkway. Not exactly a bedtime story for Frances (who was a badger, in case you're curious. I just looked it up).