Entry #28

Entry #28

Monday, December 12

9:00 a.m. The radio hosts at 93.7 FM segued from bolos (as in bolo ties) to “BOGOs” (buy one get one [free]). Only in Texas...

4:00 p.m. While waiting to get ¢.25 cent bagels at the Brooklyn Café, Aidan and I sat at a table playing Scrabble on my iPhone. I looked up and pointed out that his paternal grandmother would like the assortment of bears decorating the space above the refrigerator (since she collects them). Just below the bears is a banner that reads: “God bless our troops. Please keep them safe. They are great.” The only recognition of Chanukah is in the form of a small cloth embroidered with the words "Happy Hanukah." It rests just to the left of a small Christmas tree. This place might be called The Brooklyn Café, but it's a far cry from Brooklyn. 

Tuesday, December 13

10:00 a.m. After drop-off, I turned on 93.7 to see what the radio hosts were up to today. I tuned into heated discussion about a Levi’s commercial called “Go Forth,” featuring a guy approaching a row of police, obviously challenging them in protest.

The radio hosts were appalled by this ad and said that “those [expletives] need to [respect our policemen] and abide by the U.S. Constitution!” He said some other choice words about liberal Democrats, which I’ll refrain from using, and added, “This makes me want to wear Levi’s even less now... I like to wear Wrangler and Clutch.” The guy who sounds like Minnie Pearl (or Mrs. Doubtfire, according to David), said, “What about Jordache jeans? Remember them?” Minnie Pearl to the rescue. S/he's great at changing the subject.

Talk about the great divide. San Francisco is the founding city of Levi’s. Wrangler is a southern brand, originating in Tennessee and is now based in North Carolina. Out of curiosity, I did a bit of research and finally learned why Wranglers are so popular with cowboys:

• In the 1940s, Blue Bell (the original manufacturer) employed Bernard Lichtenstein (“Rodeo Ben”), a Jewish tailor from Poland who worked closely with cowboys, to help design jeans suitable for rodeo use. This was the origin of Wrangler Jeans.

• In 1946, Blue Bell workers take part in a contest to give the jeans a brand name. The winning name is Wrangler, synonymous with the name for a working cowboy.

• 1947: Wrangler Jeans features several innovations aimed particularly at cowboys: Felled outseams and inseams, rear pockets positioned for comfort in the saddle... 

• 1974: The Pro Cowboys Association of America (PRCA) officially endorses Wrangler Jeans.

—http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wrangler_(jeans)

Isn’t it ironic that both Wrangler and Levi Strauss jeans were designed by European Jews? If the radio hosts of 93.7 were aware of this, they’d have a field day...

Wednesday, December 14

4:00 p.m. I just transported two rather soggy boys from school. They’d gone to the skating rink, a temporary structure created just for the winter holidays. Because it reached a balmy 80 degrees today (very unusual, even for Texas), the rink was covered with puddles of water. Still, Aidan had a blast. Noah, on the other hand, said that he couldn’t even stand up straight because his ankles are so overly flexible (i.e., wobbly), even with the help of an “ice scooter.” Seems he’ll be sticking to land sports.

Thursday, December 15

10:00 a.m. The weather forecast for today is the same as yesterday—a very humid 80 degrees. The trees have suddenly changed color (those that still have leaves), making it look like a beautiful fall day, only it’s the middle of December!

11:00 a.m. I went to pick up a prescription after dropping it off earlier and thought I would try the drive-thru just to see what it was like. There were two entrances, which confused me, because I wondered how the one away from the pick-up window could possibly work. Turns out there’s a mini elevator-type thing that transports credit cards and prescriptions to and fro. It goes up and around, then magically comes back to you with your little goodie bag. Pretty nifty invention, I must say. Still, it was kind of surreal going to a store without having any direct human contact.

Between drive thrus for coffee, food, gas, prescriptions and school car lines, I realized could basically spend the entire day glued to my car seat. Doesn’t really help build a sense of community (or gluteal muscles, for that matter). Honestly, I’d rather walk, interact with people in person, carry my groceries, and walk back home.

11:00 a.m. After running several errands, it was clear that it didn't matter where we were; Izzie needed a walk. While we were technically still in the The Woodlands (albeit the outskirts), it looked like we'd entered an entirely different realm.

The first house we passed had a soggy floral-patterend couch in the middle of the yard and a dresser on the front porch. Several others had abandoned cars, trucks and campers littering their properties. I even saw an empty Budweiser can in a paper bag on the ground. How's that for cliché?

I did pass one interesting place, however, a ranch house-turned-pet bird shop. A man wearing an army fatigue cap was walking out when he saw Izzie and me and asked if we wanted to come in, so I figured I’d be polite and take a look. (He suggested I leave Izzie outside in a large, empty bird cage but I politely declined.)

When we walked into the room where most of the birds were kept, we were met with a cacophony of deafening squawks. As we left, one bird yelled, “Bye! Bye! Bye! Bye!" until we were out of ear shot.

Friday, December 16

2:30 p.m. Over the course of just one day, the kids and I spotted a whopping 20 cars with antlers and a Rudolph nose, including one with bells around the antlers, and another with stocking caps on them. This sort of car adornment seemed festive at first, but now that we’ve seen them all over the place, the novelty has worn off to the point where I wouldn’t be opposed to my sons bringing their Nerf guns out for a ride and taking aim at those felted antlers that are overpopulating the roadways. Bah humbug (or rather, Hummerbug).

Before I bid you adieu, I want to share a photo of something that caught my eye while walking with Izzie and the boys at the reserve. While much of The Woodlands is carefully planned and contrived, this swirly tree branch has diverged from the straight and narrow path of its wooded counterparts. It's completely fo' real, a natural work of art:

Happy Holidays!

Entry #27

Entry #27

Friday, December 9

10:00 a.m. Izzie is sleeping, crashed out on the mattress next to my desk. We ended up hiking with three other dogs (and two other humans)—one an adorable puppy, one ten months, and another around Izzie's age—all about the same color, oddly enough. By the time we finished the walk/romp, Izzie was more gray than cream and completely plumb-tuckered.

One of the humans I ran into was the same person who told me that her neighbors stopped speaking to her after she placed an Obama sign on her lawn during the ’08 election (she grew up in Illinois). Today, she shared another story about when she first moved here. She was invited to participate in a yoga class not knowing that it was a “bible-yoga class.” A passage from the New Testament would be read for each pose, during which time participants were expected to contemplate those holy words. Consider the following parallels: Downward dog—Upward God, Salutation to the Sun—Salutation to the Son, Child's Pose—Holy Child's Posse (okay, that one's stretching it a bit, but after all, yoga is about stretching is it not?).

2:00 p.m. Today’s Huffington Post includes a list of the “Top 8 Most Artery-Clogging Cities in the U.S.” As you may guess, two of those are in Texas (Dallas and Lubbock). Three are in adjacent states (Louisiana and Oklahoma). So that means that 63% of America’s most artery-clogging cities are right around here.

4:00 p.m. Have you ever heard of 1015 onions? Well I hadn’t, until just this afternoon. I was waiting to pick up the kids after school when I heard a fellow parent talking about his son’s birthday being on 10/9. I told him mine was 10/10, and another parent nearby said his birthday was 10/15, to which the first guy said, “Have you heard of 10/15 onions? They’re the best.” He said they get really huge, too, which is no surprise, considering that everything's bigger in Texas.

Developed in the early 1980's by Dr. Leonard Pike, a horticulture professor at Texas A&M University, Texas 1015 Onions are actually named for their optimum planting date, October 15.

Grown only in the Rio Grande Valley of South Texas, this large, prized onion was developed after ten long years of extensive research, endless testing and a million dollars in cost. As a result, Texas achieved a mild, exceptionally sweet onion that lives up to its nickname - the "Million Dollar Baby".

—www.texas1015.com

Saturday, December 10

10:00 a.m. After our morning walk with Izzie, we sat down for breakfast and read the local papers, along with a magazine that came yesterday. The inside ad read, “Wishing you a Happy Holiday season! $1000 off tummy tuck!” Apparently it was a full-page ad for cosmetic surgery, but I had no idea until I read the tummy tuck part. What a bizarre holiday greeting, especially considering the jolly associations with Santa's girth. Can you imagine him with a tummy tuck? It just wouldn't be right.

1:00 p.m. David met a man down the street who was working on someone’s yard. He had a gold and diamond front tooth and a tattoo beneath each eye: one with the word “human” and the other “haters,” along with some small dollar signs below. He was very polite, interjecting many “yes ma’ams” and such, but all I could do was stare at his tattoos, wondering what compelled him to inscribe those words on his face. 

Sunday, December 11

5:30 p.m. We just returned from the Tomball German Christmas Market, otherwise known as “Weihnachtsmarkt, Texas Style.” While there were a few German touches (a biergarten, musicians in lederhosen, freshly baked strudel), the celebration was pretty much along the lines of what we’ve seen at other local open-air markets (lots of junk food, rhinestone-studded wearables and holiday decorations). The kids were pleased that there were some rides to go on, and Izzie went nose-to-nose with a baby pig near the petting zoo.

When we first walked in, we heard a woman singing country music, then spotted a food booth specializing in “Cowboy Cheese Steak,” as well as fried pickles, Frito chili pie (spelled Chile), and Bavarian Cream Puffs.

Like the other fairs we’ve seen in Texas, several booths sold religious items, including a variety of decorative crosses. One booth featured flagstone remnants carved with a single word and a cross. The display below reminded me of the Sesame Street song, "One of these things is not like the other; one of these things just doesn't belong..."

Another booth sold t-shirts painted with your favorite car or truck. Aidan was impressed with the artist’s talent, and of course, the Mustang designs. Nary a Prius to be found...The kids also liked the array of matrushka dolls painted with every sports team imaginable, as well as political figures, and, of course, traditional designs.

The most memorable part of our journey to Tomball, however, was not the festival itself, but a store across the street from it.

The first thing I saw when I walked in to "Bob's Wild West" was a basket filled with kids’ costumes (your choice of Desert Camo or Turkey Hunter). All four walls were covered with taxidermy. The woman working there (Bob’s wife) saw me staring up at a tusked boar head and said their ranch had once been filled with exotic animals. She described the various animals in great detail, complimenting their hides, their beautiful antlers, and coloration. I was tempted to tell her that the strongest, most beautiful animals are the ones meant to survive—not become prize trophies—but it just didn't seem like the best idea bringing up this topic while surrounded by rifles, tomahawks, and mounted heads.

I asked Bob’s wife (I didn’t learn her name) if she, too, had hunted. She said that when she was in seventh grade she went out with a girlfriend and a bunch of guys. She shot a deer, but because it wasn’t a “kill shot,” her grandfather had to go in search of the deer and find it (in order to put it out of its misery). Ah, childhood memories...good times.

I realized that while I was talking to the storekeeper, I was looking straight into the plasticized mouth of a huge elk, so I moved over and looked into the glass displays. One housed a variety of rhinestone belt buckles, each a wearable “medal” for a bull-riding competition. Another display featured a variety of authentic tomahawks—all for sale. Across the aisle, there were cases of pre-Civil War Era guns and knives, as well as Civil War-era rifles. (The store proprietor showed us a rifle with the name scratched out—apparently a gun obtained from a Yankee by a Confederate). The War Between the States lives on at Bob’s Wild West: part history museum, part taxidermy shop, and a true slice o’ Texas.

Entry #26

Entry #26

Wednesday, December 7

11:00 a.m. I understand that every now and then animals get run over, but I’ve seen so many roadside critters that I’m beginning to wonder if Texas drivers are aiming for them. (Why just drive when you can hunt 'n drive? Or for that matter talk 'n text n' hunt n' drive!) On the way to the kids’ school this morning, I drove past a rabbit, two raccoons, and a squirrel, all sprawled and unmoving in the street. On the way back, I saw a deer lying still on the meridian, as well as Huey the armadillo who's been in the same roadside spot since last October. (He's now completely flat.) I can see myself becoming the crazy local who stops her car to pick up dead animals off the road and give them a proper burial. Maybe I should upgrade to a pick-up truck.

After drop-off, I took Izzie to a place called the Texas Doghouse to have the owners meet her and observe her behavior with the other doggie daycare pups. This was Izzie’s “tryout” day. Hopefully all will go well so we can board her there when we visit the Bay Area over winter break.

The Texas Doghouse is located in a small shopping center adjacent to a trucking parts store, so it’s a far cry from the gated ten-acre spread we took Izzie to in Sonoma—same price though, surprisingly. The interior is clean and very dog-friendly, however, so that was reassuring. 

The owner told me that she just moved back to the area after being away for seven years, and even though she grew up in The Woodlands, she’s still experiencing culture shock. She created the Texas Doghouse because there weren’t any doggie daycare options in the area, and she needed one for her three English Laboradors.

“There are lots of Bubbas—redneck types—outside of The Woodlands, and it takes some getting use to,” she said. “I asked one man [who came in] if his dog was neutered or spayed and he said, ‘Uh, yeah, my dog is spatered.’”

4:00 p.m. I’m pleased to note that Izzie received a glowing report card (they really have those). Here’s what it said, “Izzie was a very good girl today! She loves everyone and everyone loves her!” If only my kids could receive report cards like that.

Thursday, December 8

9:30 a.m. David and I went for a walk with Izzie this morning dressed like something out of a L.L. Bean catalog gone awry. I didn’t realize how freezing it was outside (the cars were covered in ice), so I changed from my hiking boots into my duck boots before going outside, despite the fact that I was wearing capri-length exercise pants. On top of my t-shirt and sweater I wore a down jacket and a random knit cap that I think I adopted from my nephew awhile back. To say I looked motley is an understatement.

David was equally splendid in tartan plaid fleece pants, which look more like pajama bottoms, paired with Blunnies and his bright red snow jacket. We were quite the pair.

On the way home from our walk, an SUV with faux reindeer antlers and a big red nose  on the front bumper drove past us. “I’ve seen about a dozen of these,” said David. Apparently people around here don’t just deck the halls—they deck their homes, their yards and their cars, too.

11:00 a.m. Governor Rick Perry’s newest television ad features him “questioning why soldiers can serve openly in the military while children ‘can’t openly celebrate Christmas or pray in school.’” Seems they do, actually, at least around here.

There are apparently weekly prayer circles outside the local public middle school. A friend of mine told me that her son was asked to join by his teacher, so he felt he had no other choice but to be a part of it, despite the fact that he's Jewish. She said that while teachers haven’t participated as much in recent years, there is a dedicated group of students who still have weekly prayer circles in front of the school. Perry would be proud.

Aidan learned about St. Nicholas in school this week, since they're studying international holidays. I looked up St. Nicholas and happened upon these interesting tidbits:

• St. Nicholas is the patron saint of sailors, merchants, archers, thieves, children, and students.
• The modern name for St. Nick comes from the Dutch Sinterklaas, itself from a series of elisions and corruptions of the transliteration of “Saint Nikolaos.”

So, the name Santa Claus is apparently the result of playing the “telephone game” through the years. "Your name is what? Sinterklaas? Santerclaws? I'll just call you Santa Claus!"

Entry #25

Entry #25

Friday, December 2

I have a confession to make: I really like the magazine, Garden & Gun. I got a subscription as a tongue-in-cheek birthday present from my Southern friend, Ali, and just received my second issue.

The name is misleading, though. It’s as much a magazine about southern culture as it is anything else, from the vantage point of educated, creative, and yes, rather privileged folks. It’s fascinating to see a taste of “the true South,” beyond the stereotypes.

Just to set the record straight, I haven’t become an “NRA convert.” I still dislike guns, though the rococo relief carvings and sterling silver inlays of Bobby Denton’s rifles are works of art. And while I don’t plan to ever go on a hunt, I did enjoy gazing at the vintage-style photos of South Carolina’s Middleton Huntington Club. I'm definitely an outsider looking in...a Yankee gazing down the barrel of a Confederate:

Upon receiving my second copy in the mail, I sat down and read two articles about dogs. The first was an editorial about the largely misunderstood pit bull ("Licked to Death by a Pit Bull"), and the other, a profile of a man known for raising “some of the best hunting dogs in the world on a steady diet of patience and praise.” What's not to like?

In a feature on San Antonio architect, Ted Flato, I happened upon this great description of Texas, captured in a nutshell (pecan, of course):

“Texas is the South’s gateway to the West; it’s our bridge state, the territory in which farms give way to ranches, topsoil gives way to rock, the pig gives way to the cow, the wet gives way to the dry. For Texans, Texas is its own sovereign nation. What Texas’s regions have in common is that they’re all blazing hot. Hot-hot. Damn hot.”

—Guy Martin, Garden & Gun, December 2011/January 2012

Monday, December 5

9:00 a.m. I’ve recently added a 93.7 fm to my pre-programmed radio stations, mainly because the morning DJs are so wacky.

There are three hosts, though at first I couldn’t tell if one of them was male or female because his voice is in that amorphous range. He (she?) sounds like Minnie Pearl from Hee Haw! (if you remember that far back). S/he is very funny. All three are Southerners and, of course, staunch Republicans. 

This morning, one of the hosts asked, “Which one of the Republican candidates is ‘the most white?’” They decided upon Newt Gingrich and added, “If you put a white suit and a straw hat on him and gave him a cane, he would look just like a plantation owner.”

11:00 a.m. If it hadn’t poured last night, I would’ve thought Izzie struck oil out back, judging by her appearance when she came to the door. She was covered from muzzle to tail with black, sticky muck.

I did my best to wipe off her feet, but it was an act of futility. Upon realizing that she needed to get in the shower, Izzie ran out of the bathroom, on top of the bed, around the room, and out into the living room. Our house looked like a book illustrated with a dizzying track of paw prints. So much for cleaning the house yesterday...

5:00 p.m. I took Noah for a nutritional consultation, mainly because I wanted to make sure that Noah, our resident vegetarian, was getting ample protein and vitamins to nourish his (still) growing 6'2" frame.

In the waiting room, I sat across from a rather large man with a cropped bowl haircut whose voice and accent sounded remarkably like President Clinton. I wanted to tell him this, but because we’re in Perry country, I refrained from sharing that he sounded like a Democrat, albeit a Southern one.

The man heard me say something about being from Ohio, and he asked me where. “The Cleveland area,” I said, to which he beamed, “We’re from Cleveland, too!” He waited a beat, then said, “Cleveland, Texas!” He said it's about 45 minutes away from here.

When we finally sat down with the nutritionist, we told her that one of the protein sources Noah eats is tofu. This prompted an explanation about the phyto-estrogens in soy and the potential adverse effects on growing males. (Good thing I didn’t mention that Noah basically lived on Vanilla Enriched Soy Dream as a toddler.)

The nutritionist explained that males who eat too much soy might develop “man mounds,” i.e., man boobs. This struck us funny, and Aidan, Noah and I all burst into an uncontrollable giggles.

I tried to act like a respectable parent and be serious, but the more I tried to contain myself, the harder I laughed, especially with two wildly giggling boys nearby. 

Thankfully, we changed the subject and did our best to maintain our composure for the remainder of the meeting. We did learn about some good recipes, food options and supplements, so it was a worthwhile experience overall.

6:00 p.m. While researching holiday gift ideas, I happened upon an array of Texas-themed options. Let me know if you'd like anything...