Entry #37

Entry #37

10:00 a.m. It’s all too easy to adhere to that “halo effect,” where your first impression of a person is the one that sticks. But you never really know someone  until you learn about their family, their history. Case in point: There’s a woman in my writing class who’s from Dallas originally, lived in Chicago for a spell, and now is back in Houston. Nothing that remarkable, or so I thought.

Little did I know until we got into conversation that her first relative to arrive in American (sometime in the 1600s) left Scotland because he didn’t want to wait until someone died for his inheritance and instead decided to become a pirate! His ship’s insignia was a hawk, so the family’s last name became Hawkins. He settled in the mountains of Tennessee, and married a native American, as did many of their relatives, so she has a variety of “tribes” in her ancestry, too.

I then asked her how her family arrived in Texas. Her great-great-great..? grandmother came here in a covered wagon. In fact, she still has her grandmother's hope chest, with her maiden name written on one side (Hawkins) and her married name written on another (also Hawkins, which makes me wonder, but I didn’t ask). Like I said, you really never know a person until you learn from whence they came.

12:00 p.m.: The local HEB (and I assume, most HEBs) have central “stations” where people wearing hands-free microphones jabber on about whatever foods they’re preparing, offering tasting samples and then, of course, let you know where to buy the ingredients. Today, however, was a bit different. Rather than simply explain what she was doing (something involving bacon), the woman started talking about her childhood in Pennsylvania—out loud, to no one in particular.

She just rambled on and on about walking through the woods, hiking around, being a kid there, etc. Somehow she weaved the bacon ingredient back in, but I didn’t quite catch the transition.

A couple minutes later someone did, in fact, accept a sample of something, and she directed that person as to where to purchase the tasty treat. I think I’d start talking to the shelves, too, if I were required to speak into a public microphone for hours on end.

Friday, January 27

10:00 a.m. I thought Izzie might enjoy a good, hearty romp at the Cattail Dog Park today, only she was bullied by two nasty Vislas just minutes after we arrived. I had to hover over Izzie, shoo the dogs away, and yell for the owner to get her dogs, even though she was standing less than two feet away. Humans can be really lame sometimes.

Even though it’s sunny outside, the nearby reserve is still a swamp pit, so that option’s out, at least for the next few days. It’s just not all that exciting for Izzie to walk along the sidewalks without any social interaction...Perhaps it’s a good thing Aidan still acts like a puppy.

We received The Woodlands Villager today. Among the headlines are: “Fat Head Up for Adoption” (the Pet of the Week, a dubiously named black Chow mix) and “Picky Nine-Year-Old Quite Pleased with Hoggs n’ Chicks” (a Missouri City, TX restaurant). 

I was surprised to see a boy wearing a yarmulke under a feature highlighting the “Christian Youth Theater.” Evidently, they’re doing Fiddler on the Roof, a play “about a father trying to parent his daughters and balance traditions with a modern time.” I’ve never heard this play described quite this way.

3:30 p.m. I took a shortcut through the shopping area en route home and saw a woman walking out of the grocery store with an armfull of goods. I was impressed that she chose to carry this pile of groceries instead of using multiple plastic bags. On closer inspection, however, I noticed that she was carrying multiple cartons of cigarettes.

Saturday, January 28

9:00 a.m. David just returned from taking Izzie for a walk to report, “It snowed in The Woodlands!” Upon walking past the construction area where Trader Joe’s is being built, the overhang was being shaped and shaved, creating the appearance of snow flurries. We’ve since learned that the stucco detailing on these buildings is actually made of styrofoam, finished with a thin layer of stucco.

We’re off to San Antonio this morning, continuing our “tour de Texas.” It’ll be good to get out of dodge for a couple days, perhaps see some buildings constructed of natural materials.

11:00 a.m. I’ve been in Texas less than half a year, yet am already conditioned. Upon glancing at a billboard, I assumed it said, “Real Beef,” until registering that it said “Red Roof.” I think I’m going to wear my glasses more often from now on. Beef billboards abound...

4:00 p.m. The drive to San Antonio was less than picturesque, though there were a few ranches here and there throughout our very flat, dusty drive. David spotted the Roadside Quail Farm, offering “live and frozen birds.” An advertisement for the German town of New Braunfels read, “Willkoman Y’all!” A billboard for Bucky’s grocery read “Beaver Nugget Capital of Texas, 61 Miles.” There were also signs for “Joel’s BBQ-Rhinestone Angels,” “Frank’s Hog Stand,” “Grumpy’s Motor Inn,” and “Shiner Beer.”

The town of Flatonia was true to form—very flat. Otherwise, not much to see (as far as we could tell).

5:00 p.m. After parking our stuff at the Drury Hotel (renamed Dreary for its rather drab ambiance), we walked outside and decided to meander along the River Walk, then make our way to the Alamo.

Along the way, we saw a striking canopy of branches, which I thought was very cool, only to discover it was made of concrete. Bah. There were some real ducks, though, which kept Izzie interested. With no guard rails whatsoever, we had to make sure she didn’t fall in. 

We found our way up the stairs and made our way to The Alamo, known as a “shrine of Texas liberty:” “While the facts surrounding the siege of the Alamo continue to be debated, there is no doubt about what the battle has come to symbolize...a place where men made the ultimate sacrifice for freedom.” 

Whether or not Davy Crockett perished during the final bloodbath also remains a source of debate. One thing that's for certain? Kids still love his coonskin cap, available in every imaginable size at the Alamo gift shop. Some things never go out of style...

What’s happened to this place, however, is similar to the fate of other no-zoning territories in Texas—it’s been built up in a hodpodge-kind of way. The Alamo itself is well-preserved, with lovely grounds, expansive trees, and historical integrity. Across the street, however are two tacky tourist museums—Ripley’s Believe It or Not and Ripley’s Haunted Adventure—not exactly a tribute to this monument of Texas.

Upon returning from our brief tour around the Alamo, I started chatting with a man who was petting Izzie. Turns out he lives in Houston, but his daughter and son-in-law live in San Francisco.

When I told them we had lived near Dolores Park, they told me how much they liked Bi-Rite, a family owned market and creamery in that area. Never would I have anticipated I’d be talking about a San Francisco grocery store while sitting in front of the Alamo.

The kids were famished after our historical excursion, having had only munchies en route to San Antonio, so we figured we would go out for an early dinner. We headed back to the hotel to relax for a few minutes and find a place that offered vegetarian options for Noah.

Noah heard there was a Chuy’s in San Antonio, and was very excited to go there. Little did we know until I did a Google search that Chuy’s wasn’t actually in town, but rather 15 miles away in the outskirts of San Antonio, i.e., the suburbs.

“I just drove three and a half hours, only to be back where we started!” moaned David, looking around at the area near Chuy’s. It looked eerily similar to our Anywhere, USA township, the very place we were trying to escape, if only for the weekend. David wasn’t too pleased about this, though the kids were completely psyched to eat their queso-slathered, foot-long burritos. From thereon in, we were determined to stay in San Antonio proper.

Sunday, January 29

9:00 a.m. As we waited for the elevator, two kids, obviously siblings, were bickering over who was going to push the suitcase cart. One was dressed in a doctor’s outfit; the other, in army camouflage. “Do you want to be a doctor when you grow up?” I asked the girl. “No she wants to be a dentist,” answered her brother. “What about you? You want to be in the military?” I asked. “Yeah,” he said, “I want to be a sniper in the Marines or Army.”

3:00 p.m. Seems everywhere we went, we ran into people with some sort of geographic connection. At the Blue Star brewery, the bartender told us his brother lived in Pacific Heights (in San Francisco). Across the way, we stopped in an art gallery and learned that the owner grew up in Houston and attended the Kincaid School, where John Cooper was the head master (the John Cooper school, modeled after the Kincaid School, is walking distance from our house). His parents live about five minutes away. Small, small world.

The place in San Antonio we enjoyed most of all was the historic district. The architecture was impressive, and the kids loved the fact that they could throw a football in the streets, since there was virtually no traffic. Plus, it was fun to imagine living in these gracious homes—built with amazing craftsmanship—no styrofoam anywhere to be found!

On the way home, we stopped at the Gruene (pronounced “Green”) Historic District in New Braunfels, an area originally settled by German immigrants. Turns out the Gruene Hall is “the oldest, continually operating dance hall in the state of Texas...” The walls are plastered with autographed photos of everyone from Bo Didley, The Dixie Chicks, Jerry Lee Lewis, Willie Nelson, and Lyle Lovett (who looks about 15 in his head shot—he apparently got his start here). The place was hopping, even on a Sunday afternoon, with a rollicking country band.

The adjacent restaurant was originally a cotton gin; the pottery studio is a converted barn. In the summer, people come from all over to go “toobin” (i.e., tubing) down the long, lazy river. Now that’s my kind of sport.