Entry #70

Entry #70

Saturday, May 19

1:00 p.m. Today’s the big Ironman competition in The Woodlands, a 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike ride and 26.2 mile run. It's hard to fathom someone completing a single part of this ultramarathon, let alone all three over the span of one day (or, in the case of winner Jordan Rapp, a mere eight hours, ten minutes, and 43 seconds).

I was presented with a different sort of challenge today—finding my way home. I’m glad I know The Woodlands a bit better than when I first arrived here or I would’ve just given up, since the main streets were all blocked off. After driving in circles, I finally asked a policeman who was directing traffic how I could get to Flintridge, the street that leads to our neighborhood. “Just turn right,” he said. “But there’s a no-turn sign here,” I noted. “Just turn right,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’m going to remember you said that,” I remarked, noticing two more cops looking my way as I made an illegal right turn.

4:00 p.m. We needed to pick up some groceries, but didn't want to get back in the car, so David and I decided to walk to the nearby HEB. There's a PetCo along the way, so we stopped in to get Izzie some water. While we were there, a clerk offered Izzie a cookie. She gave her something that looked like a chocolate chip waffle. The clerk then asked if Izzie could have another as she reached into the vanilla creme Oreo bin. I politely declined.

When the folks at PetCo offer to give my dog a cookie, it's really a cookie (as opposed to a dog biscuit or liver treat). Izzie loves going to PetCo.

Since I'm more familiar with our local grocery store than David is, I offered to do a quick shopper while he waited in the shade with Izzie. David wanted to grill a flank steak, so I went to the butcher and said something like, “I’m a vegetarian, so I have no idea what to get. Can I have a flank steak please?” The butcher responded, “A vegetarian?” as though saying, “So what the hell are you doing living in Texas?” 

To my surprise, he told me, “My daughter’s a vegetarian. We thought something was wrong with her when she was a baby. She kept spitting out meat, so we took her to a doctor. We were worried she wasn’t getting enough iron.” He went on to explain that she’s just never liked meat, "but my two boys sure do!"

How ironic is it that a butcher’s child would be a vegetarian? Then again, my dad is a major carnivore, and here I am. Still, he didn’t spend his days chopping up cows, lambs and pigs, only to come home to a daughter who preferred vegetables.

Sunday, May 20

11: 30 a.m. While reading the news on my Google home page, I happened upon an image of a “micro piglet,” from England’s Pennywell Farm, where they’re bred to be extra small (8 oz. at birth) and extra-friendly. They grow to be about the size of a Springer Spaniel and are supposed to be very smart. “Can we get one?” asked Noah.

“If I wasn’t here,” said David, “You’d be in the poor house with all kinds of animals wandering around the house.” He’s right, too. We’d probably have at least two dogs, several cats, rabbits, and Lord knows what else. Good thing David’s around to keep us in line.

7:00 p.m. We finally went blueberry picking today at Moorhead Farms, about a half hour away. The kids did a beeline for the “shave ice” stand, which beckoned them in the sweltering heat. Seems “tiger’s blood” is the most popular flavor these days, a combination of cherry and berries—dark red and sickly sweet. "That's the flavor that always runs out first," said the woman helping us. All I can think of with regards to tiger's blood is its infamous association with Charlie Sheen. The kids loved it though.

Just outside the blueberry picking area, a woman and her daughter were selling canned jams, pickles and pie filling. “My daughter grows it all, and I can it,” said the mom. We promised to patronize her outdoor stand on our way out. (Her dill pickles were so good, they were gone before we got home.)

After picking ten pounds of blueberries among the four of us, I gained a newfound appreciation of how long it takes to fill up just one bucket of blueberries. The kids aren’t big fans of blueberries from the grocery store, but they really enjoyed them freshly picked. I think it’s a texture thing. Mushy blueberries aren’t all that enticing.

Izzie enjoyed romping around the 20-acre blueberry farm, especially after we hosed her down with cold water. Still, she was happiest when she discovered the bathroom’s cement floor and later, the cool fans at the checkout area. I’ve never seen her tongue hang down so far. The hotter she is, the longer her tongue seems to get. I’d say she’d definitely reached her maximum overhang at the blueberry farm. The temperature gauge read 94 degrees.

On the way home, we passed a roadside stand with the advertisement, “Knives and Sunglasses, $3 each!” They also sold giant beach towels illustrated with fierce-looking pit bulls. After all, what more do you need for the beach than some sunglasses, a knife and a guard dog towel? 

Down the road we passed a billboard that read, “Fresh fingers cooked just for you!” It was an advertisement for chicken strips, but didn't bother to mention the word "chicken." The thought of eating "fresh fingers" just doesn't sit well with me. Then again, I still recollect the infamous "Wendy's Chili" incident and don't really care whether or not the found-finger was an urban legend. 

Upon coming home, I froze several bags o’ blueberries, then baked a lemon custard pie (per David’s request) with blueberries on top. Seems I didn’t quite cook the custard long enough, or didn’t let it cool sufficiently, because the “slices” were more like pudding troughs. By the look of the scraped-clean plates, no one seemed to mind all that much.

While my normal inclination would be to deliver some freshly picked fruit to neighbors and friends, I just don't know anyone well enough around here to ring the doorbell and say, "Hi! I brought you some blueberries!" It's too bad, because sharing the wealth seems like an integral part of the fruit-picking adventure.

So, if you’d like to come over and have some blueberries, feel free. We have plenty to go around.