Entry #54

Entry #54

Thursday, April 5

Noon: My chauffeur duties were extended this morning, first to take David to work because he left his keys in a co-worker’s car following an off-site lunch, and then I got a message from Noah at school that he had left his global warming report on the counter. (You think David and Noah are related?) All this driving back and forth has not helped me reduce my carbon footprint.

When I got to the kids’ school for the second time today, Aidan was out in the preschool yard hiding Easter eggs for the little kids. Easter is a big holiday around here, and it’s assumed that everyone celebrates it. “Do we celebrate Easter?” Aidan asked me. “Have we ever celebrated Easter?” I responded. “Um, no,” said Aidan, thinking. I explained very quietly the religious significance of Easter, to which Aidan responded, “Oh. I thought it was just about bunnies and candy and eggs.”

Driving around here is a daunting task, not because the routes are tricky, but because people are so busy doing other things behind the wheel. David noticed that a woman in a Range Rover next to us was smoking a cigarette, texting and applying lipstick while driving. Was she steering with her knees? 

Texas would make a ton of money if they made a no-driving-and-cell phone use law. I, for one, would rather walk or bike. If only I could learn how to balance two kids on a bicycle like they do in Holland.

After dropping off the kids, David took us to an uber-posh section of The Woodlands, where homes are the size of hotels and the lake’s periphery is adorned with dragon sculptures. From the back, David thought the dragon sculptures were squirrels, then realized that they were just dragons with curlicue tails. He suggested they should be called “dragon-squirrels” or just “squagons” for short (“drirrels” might be too hard to pronounce). 

While the sidewalks in this muy exclusivo area aren’t paved with gold, they are inlaid with gilded dragons. The lake itself features a dragon sculpture—a favorite perch for shoreline birds. 

I braved going into a store called “October Gave a Party” today after dropping off Noah’s report because I needed to get a couple of cards. Judging by the over-abundance of get well and sympathy cards, I imagine this store has an older clientele. Noah’s actually scared to go in there—it’s stuffed to the gills with scented candles, chatchkes, sparkly decorations, crystal bracelets and charms—pretty much the antithesis of minimalism, a "maximalism" store, if you will.

When we first happened upon this place, it was October, so I thought that maybe the store's name changed with each passing month. Turns out I was wrong. As the holidays approached, the window displays changed, but the "October" name remained the same. I thought this was very confusing. Then again, I seem to be closely related to Amelia Bedelia, storybook queen of literal interpretations.

While waiting at the checkout, I asked about the origins of the store's name. The clerk proudly retrieved a clipboard and showed me a printed poem on a well-worn sheet of blue paper (I'm obviously not the first person to ask):

October gave a party;
The leaves by hundreds came-
The Chestnuts, Oaks, and Maples,
And leaves of every name.
The Sunshine spread a carpet,
And everything was grand,
Miss Weather led the dancing,
Professor Wind the band....

(—George Cooper)

Friday, April 6

11:00 a.m.: After going outside to get the mail, I ran into my neighbor and her daughter, who’s a freshman in high school. Since it’s Good Friday today, there’s no school. Instead, she was going to spend the day with a male friend and his dad, who were “going hunting at a place with African animals.” “What do you shoot?” I asked. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe zebras?” She showed me an iPhone photo of her friend standing next to a dead zebra and something that looked like a water buffalo.

The daughter was pretty excited about going on this “date” and was dressed for the occasion in teeny white shorts, a t-shirt and flip flops—not exactly hunting gear. I just hope there aren't any endangered animals there.

Out of curiosity (and alarm), I looked up “hunting in Texas” and “African animals” on Google and got several listings for “Exotic Game Hunting.” The place closest to Houston (that I found) is called Circle E. Here’s their homepage advertisement:

“For the discriminating Elk, Exotics or Whitetail enthusiast, the Circle E Hunting Ranch is paradise. Over twenty species of African, European and native big game animals thrive on 3000 acres of prime habitat...Whether it is a specific, elusive trophy or a hunting package with lots of variety, count on fantastic animals and first-class hunting when you come to the Circle E hunting ranch.

The Circle E Hunting Lodge in Texas is the perfect place to bring important clients, reward that successful executive, or enjoy quality outdoor experiences with family and friends...”

Among the animals innocently roaming throughout the ranch are addax, Asian water buffalos, bison, Corsican rams, wildebeest, zebras, kudu, and impala. I do hope the people who shoot these creatures are forced to eat them. Somehow I don’t think many people eat zebra meat.

The extensive photo gallery includes clients of all ages posing next to lifeless animals as if to proudly say, “Hey, Ma! Look what I just killed!” I prefer to think that the beautiful, fuzzy bison in this picture just sleeping.

My sister and I once ran into the middle of a busy street to save a baby sparrow. I rescue spiders and take them outside. I could not dissect a frog, let alone kill one, and I feel bad when I hook a fish. To say that I’m out of my comfort zone here is a massive understatement, especially when I look at the photo below of the “fantastic gold medal Scimitar” (i.e., Asian oryx with a bloody nose) shot by a smiling teenage girl.

Sunday, April 8

4:00 p.m. Happy Easter! Happy Passover! At the checkout line this afternoon, a girl wished me a “Merry Christmas!” “Did I just say that?” she asked me. “Yes!” I said, “And a Merry Christmas and Happy Easter to you!”

We just returned from visiting relatives in Dallas, about three hours away. On the way out, we picked up some sandwiches from Hubbell & Hudson. As we turned in to the store, we saw a woman standing next to a man, only she looked like mannequin with a grayish blue painted face. When the light turned, she walked across the street.

“That was the first weird thing I’ve seen in The Woodlands,” said Aidan. “Weird things just don’t happen here. If you want weird, you go to Austin. If you want really weird, then go to Berkeley.”

After asking Aidan if he wanted a hamburger, Noah said, “I think I’m the only person in Texas who has never eaten a hamburger. That might be some kind of record or something.” Turns out both kids ended up having portobello mushroom sandwiches.

We felt immediately at home at my aunt and uncle’s house, despite never having been there before (they would come to Cleveland while we were growing up, since that’s where the rest of the family lived). David commented that it seemed much more similar to where I grew up in terms of the ranch-style 1970s houses, mature trees and spacious yards.

The first night we enjoyed a delicious Passover seder with my aunt, uncle, and their middle daughter, Micki. Their youngest daughter, who is currently living with them, along with her two daughters, is a devout Orthodox Jew and left to join her religious community for the weekend, kindly allowing us to use their bedrooms. 

Naomi, the younger daughter, left a message for Noah taped to her door: “Dear Noah. I hope you like my room. I hope you fit in the bed.”

We basically had one full day with my relatives, with the main event being a Passover seder on Saturday night. During the day we were going to go to the arboretum following a morning hike, but instead ended at an enormous Bass Pro Shop store to get a backyard target and some new arrows for the boys.

From the moment we walked in the door, we were visually bombarded with taxidermy—heads and antlers and stiff, glass-eyed wildlife trophies. I thought about the mountain lions, antelope, birds, wild boars and other creatures whose lives were taken for the purpose of retail store displays and felt the need to leave as soon as possible.

In order to escape, I had to weave through a crowd of families with kids that I initially thought was a crazy-long checkout line. It turned out to be a queue for a free photo with the Easter Bunny. Noah immediately saw the irony in this and said, “I can’t believe there’s an Easter Bunny with all those hunters in there." 

I passed the kids’ section on my way out, which included countless weapons, firearms, toys for girls (including a pet dog and pink tent) and boys (including a deer—to shoot, I’m guessing—and a camouflage tent). There were plush taxidermy deer heads, one dangling at a strange angle, and camouflage outfits for kids of all ages.

There was also a food section that seemed to specialize in melt-your-innards hot sauces and wacky food gifts. My favorite was the "make your own bubbles" bubble bath (a container of mixed beans with Tabasco sauce).

I found a bench outside the exit, which proved to be an entertaining people-watching zone. I saw a man in a black leather Harley-Davidson jacket with the words “Riding for Jesus” embroidered across his back. There was also a dad pushing a cart with a baby sleeping in a camouflage car seat. “Where’d you manage to find a camouflage baby seat?” said a guy handing out flyers outside. I’m sure the dad was proud of this manly find—one is never too young for camo, apparently.

By the time we got home, all we could do is catch a few zzzs, try to alternately help my aunt and stay out of her way, shower and get ready for the seder. There were about 30 people expected, most of whom we didn’t know.

My relatives still read from the Haggadah published by Maxwell House, the version that we used when I was a kid. According to the New York Times, "the coffee company...hoping to improve sales to an important demographic group in the New York City market, first offered the soft-cover Haggadah as a giveaway for every can of coffee purchased." Last April, the prayer book was updated for the first time since it was originally published in 1932, "with fusty language updated and gender bias removed." Apparently, President Obama uses a Maxwell House Haggadah to conduct seders in the White House.

We ended up sitting near one of my dad’s first cousins, his wife and 15-year-old daughter, which proved to be really fun. Plus, my aunt and uncle’s friends were really nice—and the food was amazing. Still, we managed to embarrass ourselves, as we often do while reading the the Passover prayer book. 

When it was Noah’s turn to read, the paragraph started out with a reference to Rabbi Jose. Noah, having grown up in California, assumed it would be the Spanish pronunciation, Ho-Say. Evidently, the correct pronunciation was Jo-See. That made Aidan start giggling. He continued to giggle when Noah had to read about the “finger of G-d,” as though G-d was giving Rabbi José “the finger.”

Because Aidan was giggling (now uncontrollably, trying to hide his face behind his Hagaddah), Noah started to laugh, as often happens between siblings. Then, to make matters worse, a little girl who had left the table and gone to play down the hall started shouting “Meow! Meow! Meow! Meow! Meow!” which made the boys erupt into major guffaws. This all happened in the span of a single paragraph.

While taking turns reading from the prayer book, I enjoyed listening to the range of accents from Southern twangs to native New Yorker, with some native South Africans and Eastern Europeans, too. I particularly enjoyed the woman with the European accent, because it reminded me of my grandmother. I found that somehow comforting.

The drive home was relatively uneventful, though trying to get food for the kids is always somewhat challenging when it’s Passover and your choices are limited to fast food restaurants and gas station mini marts. We ended up getting off at the Palestine exit (as opposed to Jerusalem—both actual towns in Texas) to tide the kids over with an unhealthy combo of french fries and chocolate frosties. 

We took one more stop in Huntsville so David could stretch his legs. While Huntsville is largely affiliated with Sam Houston State University, as well as the Texas Department of Criminal Justice and Prison Museum, it also is home to a beautiful state park. David wanted to check it out, so we drove into the park. On our way out, David asked a ranger if it was possible to do archery practice there. “Anything that is a projectile is not allowed at Huntsville State Park, sir. So even if you have a rubber band and an acorn, it’s not allowed.”

I think this is a wise idea, considering the park's proximity to nine state prisons, which explains why Huntsville is called "the Prison City of Texas." The Texas State Penitentiary opened in 1849 and houses the State of Texas execution chamber—the most active execution chamber in the United States. The original electric chair was built by inmates and named “Old Sparky.” It’s now on display in the Huntsville Prison Museum. 

I don’t really feel the need to pay homage to Texas’ prisons, nor their trigger-happy approach to the death penalty. Then again, tours for Alcatraz, another former penitentiary, are often sold out, especially for creepy night tours.