Friday, March 30, 2012

Entry #50


Entry #50

Wednesday, March 21

Noon: A friend of mine from Berkeley called to say she was reading the New York Times and thought of me while reading an article entitled, “In Texas Tradition, Museums That Enshrine the Quirky.” I’ve learned about the array of eclectic museums in Houston (like the National Museum of Funeral History, the Doc Porter Museum of Telephone History and Art Car Museum), but hadn’t heard about the ones listed here.

In McLean, Texas, you can visit the Devil’s Rope Museum, “a sprawling tribute to the history of barbed wire and fencing tools.” There’s the Eight Track Museum in Dallas, the Cockroach Hall of Fame Museum in Plano and Barney Smith’s Toilet Seat Art Museum in San Antonio. Waco has a Dr. Pepper Museum, while Huntsville is host to the Texas Prison Museum. Sounds like a real hoot.



I happened upon an article (while reading the San Francisco Chronicle online) about two kids, a five-year-old boy and 11-year-old girl, who live just 24 miles away from here in a town called Splendora (not to be confused with the artificial sweetener, Splenda). Both their parents are in prison, and the kids were found living in an abandoned school bus. How odd that I didn't see this news in the local paper, but maybe I missed it...

The parents reported back from federal prison, claiming they would be back soon to take care of their kids. “I’m coming home in 30 days to take care of my kids,” the mother said. And in the meanwhile...?


The children seemed to be living like animals. The 11-year-old girl didn’t even know how to sign her name. The father, however, claimed that she was being home schooled through a Texas Tech University program, was highly intelligent, and “can even do tax returns.”


It's tragic that there are two kids living in squalor only 30 minutes away from The Woodlands, a highly privileged community with countless amenities. Where's the justice in that? Sounds like the siblings will get help now, though hopefully not at the cost of being separated.

11:00 p.m. Today’s theme seems to be news, because I was struck by another piece of reporting on the way home from writing class. The show was called “Vegan World” and is based in Houston. Tonight’s show featured a doctor named Linda Carney, which I thought was pretty funny, considering the fact that the Latin root of carn is “flesh,” as in carnivore, chili con carne...


I listened to Dr. Carney discuss the benefits of a vegan diet as I drove on the the 45N freeway towards home, passing billboards for Nolan Ryan’s steak, Red Robin hamburgers, Furr Restaurant (I'm assuming they serve animals that once had fur or rather, furr), and a celebration of crawfish season at HEB.


Only two people called to ask questions, one of whom asked about feeding pets a vegan diet. “I’ll have to defer to veterinarians,” said Dr. Carney, adding, “But I have heard about pets having success with them.” 


Do dogs' and cats' teeth and claws look like they’re meant for plucking berries and legumes? The radio host alluded to a “charming story” about a lion who was fed a vegan diet. I used to watch Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom and not once did I see a lion even sniff at anything resembling a vegetable.

Thursday, March 22

9:30 a.m. I met with the seventh grader who’s writing a comic book about the “unblessed man.” Turns out he’s made some amazing progress. This kid can really illustrate! He decided to call his comic “The Edge” and his superhero Templar (as in temple).

“Templar's from Chicago and there’s an ocean there, right?” he asked. I told him it was actually not an ocean, but one of the Great Lakes, namely Lake Michigan. “That’s a lake?” he said in surprise. “Yeah, it’s really big, but it’s all fresh water,” I explained. 


Sam told me he envisions his superhero walking out of the lake “with big waves” (I didn’t tell him lakes don’t really get huge waves, more like swells) to symbolize a baptism. Templar’s mask is white, with a large red cross. So here I am, a nice Jewish gal, giving feedback about an evangelical Christian comic book. If he only knew...



11:00 a.m. A friend asked if I’d like to accompany her to a yoga class at one of two studios in The Woodlands, so I looked them up. The home page of The Yoga Studio of The Woodlands opens with the following paragraph (including multiple typos and random capitalization):

“Yoga Is the Art & Science of cultivating the Love of God. None of us are responsible for being here on planet earth as human beings. The Laws of Nature have placed us here. This Life is a gift. It is a Golden Opportunity to cultivate the Love of God. Everyday we make choices. The Highest purpose of human life is to cultivate the Love of God.”

On the site, the owner of the studio features a variety of photos of himself in various advanced yoga poses. He’s probably in his early 60s, and with his silver handlebar mustache looks like he should be wearing a cowboy hat and Wranglers instead of the black Speedo-like thing he’s got on. Still, he’s obviously in good health—and yes, he’s mighty flexible, too.

Why can’t I just find a low-key yoga place without allusions to Love of God and photos of tanned old cowboys in Speedos? Could I ignore it and try a class anyhow? Possibly. Would I rather cultivate my Love of Dog and stretch at home instead? Probably, yes.

Friday, March 23

11:30 a.m. David and I went to see Friends with Kids last night. While The Woodlands’ Town Center is bustling on Saturday nights, it’s completely dead on Thursdays. There was only one other couple other than us in the theater.

There was, however, a long line for the new Hunger Games film showing at 12:05 a.m. Kids had been lined up since before six p.m. for an after-midnight showing. Many of the kids (mostly girls) were wearing pajamas, with blankets in tow. Noah really wanted to see that show, but it was already sold out.
Noah’s friend told him that even if tickets were sold out, that they could buy tickets to another movie and just sneak in. Little did he know that the theater hired a really big guy at a second ticket-checking area just to make sure no one snuck in. Guess other kids had the same idea. We’ll try to see the Hunger Games on Saturday morning if we can get in. Let the mania begin...

After the movie, we took a walk around the area, Market Square. This pedestrian-oriented area looks like a stage set, with coordinated window displays, a sprinkling of people dining outside, completely empty sidewalks (except for us—perhaps we're "extras"?). 


David took me into a newly renovated hotel there and it, too, felt as contrived as its neighboring retail store. (I did think the chandelier was cool, though, a waterfall of crystals on clear string.) In the spirit of The Woodlands, there were tree trunks lined in a row, with a forest scene wallpapered in the background.


Just around the corner, we walked through a breezeway where there were three tiled art pieces hanging along the wall: a teenager wearing a Miss Popularity banner, a rugged cowboy and a chic woman with a fur coat draped across her arm. I’d say this pretty much sums up the aspired image of The Woodlands. 


12:30 p.m. Today’s Villager featured a couple of tidbits worth mentioning. The first article, “Stolen deer statues may be replaced” made front-page news. “One leg and a partial hoof were all that remained of the deer...Two deer remain at the intersection, while another entire deer was taken away from its heard.” For one thing, what is someone going to do with a three legged, two-footed bronze deer? For another, how could someone get away with spelling the word herd wrong in the heart of cowboy country?


The second article featured Becky Owen, aka “Becky Booty,” a 45-year-old mother of three and founding member of the Houston Roller Derby.

“It seems as though women all across the region were offered the same words of sage southern advice by well-intended grandmothers: ‘If you want to succeed in life, keep your mouth shut and wear beige,’ we were told...Today thing are an eensy weensy bit different for many southern women, and there may be no better example of that than the women of the Houston Roller Derby...”

Like Becky Owen, her teammates each have “warrior-woman” skater names, including Beverly Kills, Tawdry Hepburn, Patsy Crime and Kelly Rippanippleoff. “While what we wear on the track today might be short-shorts and fishnet hose, make no mistake, we are athletes first,” said Ms. Owen. Seems she’s come a long way from beige coordinates.




Sunday, March 25, 2012

Entry #49


Entry #49
Saturday, March 17

4:20 p.m. We had folks from David’s work here this morning for brunch and yet here it is, nearly 5:00 p.m. and the day’s nearly over. Where’d the day go? Guess time flies when you’re in a carbo-loading coma. (I made way too much food, per usual.)

After inhaling brunch, I took our guests’ two-year-old outside to wade in the water (“Wade in the Water, Children...”—I refrained from singing). Aidan decided to swim, too, despite the fact that we have yet to heat the pool. He is indeed a warm-blooded mammal. The two-year-old was shivering like crazy but kept saying “No!” whenever we asked if he wanted to get out and warm up. His favorite game was walking around the perimeter of the whirlpool, trying to get the soccer ball after pushing it away with a butterfly catcher.

Aidan tried to politely gain the attention of the boy’s dad by saying, “Excuse me, sir?” The dad replied, “I don’t go by Sir. You can either call me Mike or Dude.” Mike, an avid surfer, grew up in Southern California. 

Because I didn’t need David’s work mates to bring anything, I told them just to bring their appetites. I had no idea they would arrive with a jug of Bloody Mary mix, olives, and bottle of Stolichnaya vodka.
My idea of a strong Saturday morning beverage is a large mug of Irish breakfast tea. So, while the other adults sat around chatting, sipping their morning cocktails, Aidan and I played with the kids. The parents didn't seem to mind me tending to their youngsters, despite the fact I was essentially a complete stranger.



7:45 p.m. Community Impact Newspaper is one of the few local publications we receive that’s not overly laden with cosmetic surgery ads. Sure, there are some, but it actually includes articles pertaining to the environment, local businesses, and of course, food. This month’s Dining section discussed the “competitive barbecue culture,” featuring Tommie Battles' Pit Master BBQ Café:

“In Texas, barbecue is more than a food. It is a culture, a way of life, often part of one’s family and history. It is also a cause for heated discussion. The argument of ‘Who makes the best barbecue’ is as old as barbecue itself...”

Isn’t it ironic, then, that the last name of the owner of the Pit Master BBQ is Battles? I kept reading about this Battle and the other Battle before it dawned on me that the owner isn’t arguing about how delicious his pulled pork is, he just happens to have an adversarial surname.


Sunday, March 18

11:00 a.m. I’ve learned my lesson re: using Sunday NYTimes bags to pick up after Izzie without checking for holes. I kept smelling something putrid, long after I asked David to dispose of the bag, since we were headed over to a neighbor’s house so Aidan could retrieve some wayward arrows that landed in their backyard.

I’d never met these folks before, but in retrospect, I’m glad they were staying a healthy distance away, because I could not figure out why I still smelled something vile in my general vicinity. Turns out it was me.


 I’d wiped my hand on the grass, but still couldn’t find the culprit. Turns out there was a hole in the bag, and it had oozed onto my shirt, my pants and even my sunglasses (which I was holding dangerously close to the bag). Not exactly the way to win over friends and neighbors.

4:00 p.m. Noah and I just got home after seeing 21 Jump Street. I couldn’t figure out why it was rated R instead of PG-13 until I saw it. Good thing I didn’t let Aidan accompany us...It wasn’t just the drugs, the raunchy language, the violence or even the multitude of sexual innuendos. Let’s just say there’s a part in the end that crosses a line of no return (the name John Bobbitt comes to mind).
Noah’s definitely on the borderline of seeing R-rated movies, but he’s almost 15 and has been waiting to see this flick, so I figured he was mature enough. Still debating about that in my “parental discretion” department, however. Could the filmmakers have done without the charred body and bullet to the penis? I’d say yes. Otherwise, it was a pretty funny movie.

The reason we saw a movie this afternoon was because one of Noah’s friends here flaked on him today, texting that he couldn’t get together because he wanted to stay home and watch Chuck Norris. I can't imagine he'd lie about something that lame, but still...that's a truly pathetic excuse for ditching a supposed friend.

On the way to the movie, I asked Noah about this kid. “I didn’t even like him when I met him. He doesn’t believe in global warming and he’s homophobic...” I was hoping that one lesson the kids could learn from living in the land of Southern evangelical Republicans was that you can meet good folks wherever you live, even if they’re wildly different from you. Noah's alleged friend isn’t helping support my theory.

After the movie, Noah turned his phone back on and received several texts from the other friend he was supposed to see. He ended up going to the mall after all. Noah asked if we could go there and meet up with him. “Where is he?” I asked. His friend texted, “the lovesac.” “Is that really the name of a place?” I asked incredulously. Turns out it is.

The parking lot was completely filled, despite the fact that there are spaces for literally thousands of vehicles. Seems everyone in The Woodlands and vicinity comes to The Mall on the weekends. Noah and I were instantly overwhelmed. The place was packed. I could tell Noah didn’t want to stay there any longer than I did, but he had to see what his friend wanted to do first.

I offered to have Noah’s friend just come over and hang out, but Noah said that they would just plan to see each other the following weekend. Turns out this kid had plans to see his (alleged) girlfriend later that afternoon, but she had to wait until her parents “got back from the bar.”

Monday, March 19

9:30 a.m. The kids, especially Aidan, were mighty bummed to be going back to school this morning, so I thought I’d whip up some fresh pancakes to lift their spirits. It didn’t really do the trick, but at least they ate a good breakfast.


Aidan really whipped himself into a froth last night, looking ahead to high school, then college, then beyond. “I only get a few weeks off when I’m not at school and if I want to get a good job, then I’ll have to go to school even after college.” Seems he really enjoyed his spring break and really didn't want to go back to school—for another ten+ years. That's a daunting prospect for anyone, especially a worried sixth grader.


There are only eight more weeks until summer vacation, but to kids, eight weeks might as well be three years...Times takes on a completely different dimension when you’re a kid.

11:00 a.m. Much as I enjoy reading the newspaper, we don’t get the Houston Chronicle delivered here. Instead, we just read the Sunday New York Times throughout the week and read other news online. This morning I sifted through the NYTimes Book Review section. The front page reviewed two books with the theme of “Strange Justice.” I veered first towards the one about Texas, of course. 


As of 1973, “it was...legal in Texas to have sex with a farm animal, but not with someone of the same gender.” Not until 2003 was this law overturned—less than ten years ago! (The court case is discussed in the book Flagrant Conduct.)
Coming from the San Francisco Bay Area, this sort of intolerance is shocking. The farm animal law, however, brings a whole new meaning to the phrases “cattle prodding” and “Ride ‘em cowboy!”

Tuesday, March 20

10:00 a.m. I called The Woodlands High School to inquire about registering for next year. Seems there will be at least 1050 kids on the ninth grade campus alone. There are more than 4000 kids in three grades in one of the two high schools—that’s more than where I went to college. At least Noah will get to attend a school with only ninth graders rather than the whole shebang at once. I feel overwhelmed just thinking about this.

2:30 p.m. David pointed out an awful moaning sound coming from between the walls. Seems some creature had gotten stuck there and was crying for help. At first the kids thought David’s office was haunted because the sound was like something out of a Scooby Doo episode: “Aaaaaaooooouuuuwwww!”


David went inside the attic spaces but didn’t find anything, and couldn’t get access between the wall where the sound was most concentrated. I went outside and couldn’t hear anything. When I stepped closer, the sound seemed to subside. What was in there?

Noah was up since 4 a.m., freaked out by the sound, and couldn’t get back to sleep. I was just afraid there was something dying in there. I didn’t know which was worse—having the sound continue or having it suddenly stop.

First thing this morning I called the property manager and said that there was a moaning noise coming from between the walls and that we needed someone to come take a look at it immediately. I didn’t want an animal to die in between the walls, let alone suffer in there.

The sound was loud and clear when a pest inspector named Brandon came over. He said that he’d never heard a sound quite like that before. After going into the attic spaces, he said that there were definite signs of animal activity, most likely a squirrel, so perhaps a baby squirrel was what was making that sound. “Maybe it’s crying out for it’s mother,” he said.
Brandon realized that there was no access whatsoever to anywhere near the space we were trying to reach. He did, however, discover that the front upstairs window leads to an enormous area that’s not only unused and empty, but also completely inaccessible. “You could open up a wall and have another enormous room,” he said.

Until today, I was unaware that the window above the entry of our rental house is, in fact, just a false front. While completely framed in and functional, it’s purely decorative; the area behind it is probably the size of half the downstairs. “I’ve never seen such a huge space without any access,” said Brandon. “And to think that a studio that size would rent for $2000 in San Francisco,” said David.


Since Brandon couldn’t get to the source of the sound, he said that all we could do was call a contractor and have him remove some of the outside bricks, or drill out a part of the dry wall and let the critter run out (though it might escape into our house, which would pose another challenge). I said I’d call the property manager and explain this.

After the inspector left, I had just dialed the property manager and was on hold when the doorbell rang again. It was Brandon. “I went around the side one more time just to take another look and think I might know what it is,” he said. “I turned off the water from the hose outside." Seems there was some pressure build-up from a faulty spigot. 


Brandon walked back inside to see if the moaning noise was still there. We both stood there waiting, listening. No more noise. Seems that awful sound was no more than water pressure coming from an outdoor hose.




“My bad,” David said, fessing up later that day. “I forgot to turn it off when we went to launch [our neighbor] Justin’s rocket yesterday.” After worrying for nearly 16 hours about a poor, suffering critter, we had to report that the culprit was a water hose. I'm sure the property manager now thinks we're a bunch of ding-a-lings. Still, I am relieved.



Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Entry #48

Entry #48
Wednesday, March 14

1:00 p.m. We just returned from a week in Colorado to visit David’s paternal grandmother and my friend of nearly 30 years, Madeleine, and her family. Upon de-boarding the plane in Houston, we were met by a blast of warm, intensely humid air, followed by toxic paint fumes, with “Wet Paint” signs taped haphazardly along the exit ramp carpet. Welcome Home!

David and the kids had the opportunity to ski with Peter and Will (Madeleine's husband and son) the day after we arrived in Colorado, but were completely zonked by the afternoon, since they’re not used to the difference in elevation (I think the mountain was 9500 feet above sea level).

While the boys went skiing, Mads and I went for a hike. Despite the moderate climb, I was breathing hard. No wonder so many athletes train in Colorado—you need a strong set of lungs to oxygenate that thin, dry air. Luckily the scenery is so darned beautiful—helps keep you going while your heart is palpitating.

Noah and Aidan had a great time with Will, who had a blast bowling and hiking and just hanging out with the big dudes. At school, he introduced Aidan at school as “my cousin” and “the son of my mom’s very close friend.” Later that day he compared his spinning tops to "the planets rotating around the sun." Hard to believe he's only six years old.


The drive to see David's grandmother in Delta took us past snowy mountain ranges, open plains, wineries and farms. Grandma "K" (Koretha) now lives with her daughter, Theresa, and her second husband, Leroy, whose father was once the sheriff of this town.
While Boulder seems to be a liberal, environmentally aware and wealthy enclave, Delta appears to fall along the other end of the political/environmental/socioeconomic spectrum. David’s Aunt Theresa, who moved to Colorado about 20 years ago from Los Angeles, explained that there is no recycling whatsoever in the area, so they just throw everything away. The center of town spans along one road, a charming Main Street, though, like many rural areas, now has a Wal-Mart, too.

The first night Grandma K treated us all to Chinese food. The local favorite is House of Chin’s Oriental Restaurant. (Hearing aids are sold there, too, according to a posted sign.) David’s aunt is an avid movie collector, so we had the luxury of watching some newly released flicks, which was fun. More than anything, it was great to see Grandma K, who remains as sparkly as ever, despite her advanced age and limited mobility. She'll be 95 in August.


Thursday, March 15

1:00 p.m. During writing class last night, my cohort "workshopped" the first several pages of this blog. While I know that presenting Faux Real in Texas to a class full of Texans might not be the wisest move, I was curious as to how they’d react (though I did wait until the 10-week session was nearly over, just in case).

To my great relief, the feedback was largely positive, but one person, whose family has been in Texas since the 1800s, wrote “I love this blog...To be honest. I don’t know why I like it. This is the most irritating description I’ve read of Houston and there’s not one sentence that is incorrect or even describes it harshly.” 


She followed this commentary with some fascinating historical information (and agreed that I could share it with you as long as she remained anonymous):

“I think there were several Girl Scout camps in the area of The Woodlands that my brothers and I went to while growing up. I have only heard about The Woodlands being beautiful and safe or being the farthest right-wing, evangelical Republican stronghold in the vicinity of Houston...

I can personally tell you that the ‘gun games’ you hear about are real and have been since the 1950s or earlier. Both of my brothers had to have a BB gun first, followed by a pellet gun, followed by a shotgun. I don’t know a single male or female around my age that grew up in Texas and hasn’t ever shot a gun. Even I have a shot gun and I hate guns.

A lot of people were and are first-generation off a ranch or farm and considered animals as livestock. Any non-working animal that can’t be sold or eaten is a luxury. I can’t stand these people, but I can understand where they come from and why they put little value in pets.

It’s still difficult to understand this redneck, uneducated attitude around Houston, but it’s a little easier when you know that Houston was an overgrown town that people came to from the farms, ranches and oil fields around Texas. The people who ran the farms, ranches, and oil leases were not dumb, backwoods thugs that seem so prevalent today. Houston was a very young city, particularly considering how large it has gotten. It was much, much smaller not so long ago.”

5:00 p.m.  My motivation to go grocery shopping today was lacking, but the empty fridge was beckoning, so I went to the nearby HEB to stock up after being gone for a week. I was greeted by the Oscar Meyer Wiener Mobile parked in front of the lot. Now that's what I call a Welcome (Weiner) Wagon!
 Friday, March 16

7:00 p.m. After dropping off Noah at Fat Ogre, a gaming place that hosts Magic Tournaments (the card game, not visual tricks), I took Izzie for a walk in a neighborhood we had yet to explore. It’s called “The Cove,” which would sound very alluring if not for the association I have with the 2009 documentary (about dolphin hunting in Japan) that shares its name. 

I looked up "The Cove + The Woodlands" via Google, and there's actually a three-minute video that takes you through this upscale neighborhood, complete with piano music and monotone tour guide. Street names include Wayward Cove, Leeward Cove, Pleasure Cove and Treasure Cove. I happened to park on Racing Cloud Court—I figured I could remember that.

On the way home,  I drove past a street called Blue Fox Road. I’ve since learned that this street is located near the following: Lynx Lane, Raccoon Lane, Red Deer Lane, and Woodchuck Lane (as well as Blue Fox Court). Seems the gal who named all roads in this area was in a forest creatures kind of mood that day.




11:00 p.m. I just happened upon some breaking news, another major OOPS by Governor Perry that will adversely affect women on Medicaid: Texas Loses Entire Women’s Health Program Over Planned Parenthood Law:”

The Department of Health and Human Services announced on Thursday that it will cut off all Medicaid funding for family planning to the state of Texas, following Gov. Rick Perry's (R) decision to implement a new law that excludes Planned Parenthood from the state's Medicaid Women's Health Program.
Cindy Mann, director of the Center for Medicaid and State Operations (CMSO), wrote Texas health officials a letter on Thursday explaining that the state broke federal Medicaid rules by discriminating against qualified family planning providers and thus would be losing the entire program, which provides cancer screenings, contraceptives and basic health care to 130,000 low-income women each year.
"We very much regret the state's decision to implement this rule, which will prevent women enrolled in the program from receiving services from the trusted health care providers they have chosen and relied upon for their care," she wrote. "In light of Texas' actions, CMS is not in a position to extend or renew the current [Medicaid contract]."
The federal government pays for nearly 90 percent of Texas' $40 million Women's Health Program, and nearly half of the program's providers in Texas are Planned Parenthood clinics. But the new law that went into effect earlier this month disqualified Planned Parenthood from participating in the program because some of its clinics provide abortions, even though no state or federal money can be used to pay for those abortions...” —Huffington Post








Entry #47


Entry #47

Sunday, March 4

7:00 p.m. After getting some sort of Rip Van Winkle virus (i.e., overwhelming tiredness for no apparent reason), I got a zap of energy today while watching an Alvin Ailey performance in Houston's historic theater district. An incredibly generous woman I met in writing class asked me to accompany her and some friends to the event when her daughters weren't able to go. Yeehaw! The timing was perfect, too, since we go to Houston every Sunday for the kids' art classes.
I was in need of caffeine (still feeling kinda woozy), so David and I found an Italian café nearby, a refreshing change from Starbuck's. The café had an outdoor patio, which gave us the opportunity to relax and look around (we had about an hour to kill before the show began). Judging by the solid, stately architecture, this building looked like there was much more to it than a bunch of condos and a café.


Turns out this site was once the original Capital Building, when Houston was the capital of the Republic of Texas (1837–39). It was razed and later turned into the Rice Hotel, where President Kennedy stayed just before he was assassinated in Dallas. This historic hotel now serves as an apartment building, known as Rice Lofts. Some say spirits still dance on the roof (according to a Houston Chronicle report). Glad I hadn’t read about that while walking through the long, dark corridor to the bathroom.


The barrista was more than hospitable. After chatting for a few minutes, he said, "I want you to try something, just out of the oven." He brought us a piping hot crescent roll filled with melted dark chocolate. Yum. Then he asked us to try something else, a variation on a mimosa. Amazing, eh? While the café didn't accept tips, they did have a donation jar that gave the proceeds to charity. That was the least we could do...Plus, the coffee was great. Izzie was appreciative of the outdoor seating (and leftover crumbs).


Monday, March 5

Noon: I looked up and out of the corner of my eye noticed some movement in the backyard. Turns out the pool cleaning lady was here. The other day an older man made his way out back to check something around the pool, then stopped by again the following day—didn't even bother coming to the door; just let himself in via the gate. Lots of people seem to make themselves at home in our backyard without even letting us know they're coming, let alone already at the house. Good thing I don't swim buck naked in the pool.

3:00 p.m. Rather than have school this week, Noah and his class are participating in internships of their choosing. Noah’s working directly with the founder of the animal rescue nonprofit, Operation Pets Alive, and spent today hauling kitty litter, running dogs, doing temperament testing, and cleaning litter boxes. The life of a volunteer is not a glamourous one, but at least he’s helping animals, if only by making their living environments more tolerable.


When I went to pick up Noah at the Montgomery County Shelter (where Noah was helping with temperament testing), I walked down the corridor, and had to plug my nose. The smell of dog feces was overpowering. I went up to greet a dog that looked desperate for affection. He jumped up, wagged his tail furiously as if to say, “Lovemelovemelovemeloveme!!!!!” then peed all over my leg.

I finally found Noah outside, where the air was much fresher, and I could try not to think of all the sad, homeless animals locked in soiled cells. The shelter apparently houses 500 dogs and cats on any given day.


On the way home, Noah noticed that the dirty window of a truck had been finger painted with the messages “I l[heart] God and I [heart] Megan Fox.” Earlier today I passed a billboard that said “Donuts with Divas” at the Spirit-Filled Celebration Church.

Tuesday, March 6

9:30 a.m. Have you ever met an attack Cocker Spaniel? A vicious Bichon Frisée? I just did. In fact, every dog I passed on my walk with Izzie this morning was not a “dog’s dog.” The woman with the snarling Cocker Spaniel pulled her away, reasoning, “She’s just trying to protect me.” From what? We live in lily-white suburbia, where the crime rate is about the same as Mayberry, USA.


I talked to my mom about this and she reasoned that around here, or at least where there are a lot of ranches, dogs are used for work rather than treated as a part of the family. They’re protectors of livestock, guardians of the farm. I completely understand and honor that. However, this scenario does not apply to pampered dogs in suburban dwellings, especially those whose heads are shaped like fuzzy snow balls.


We’re off to Colorado tomorrow, so Izzie will have a week to romp among the pooches at the Texas Doghouse, all of whom are pre-screened for sociability (phew). Izzie's still confused about Teddy's whereabouts, looking around the house and outside for her missing playmate.

2:45 p.m. I haven’t gotten completely lost in awhile, but today I definitely drove in circles en route to dropping off Noah at his internship with OPA. Visual consistency can be very disorienting. I find that I almost have to play the “What’s different in this picture?” game (“Find five differences between these two places”) when I drive to a new area in The Woodlands, because so many places look virtually the same—tree-lined streets, brownish-stone shopping plazas, largish brick/beige houses...

On the way back, I drove beyond The Woodlands to FM 1488, a farm-to-market road to run some errands. While billboards aren't allowed in The Woodlands, they abound everywhere else, like giant magazine pages lined in a row. The first one I saw featured a tanned, bikini-clad woman with the message: “Don’t Hit A Furry Creature or Be One.” The name of a waxing salon was listed below. 


Just down the road, a church’s billboard read, “Looking for a Lifeguard? We have one who walks on water!” After that was a store that simply said “Meat Market” adjacent to a workout facility called Primal Athletic Performance. 

3:30 p.m. Seems Aidan had a rip roarin’ good time at the rodeo today. “So what did you see?” I asked. “We got to watch pig races and mutton busting,” he said. “I asked my teacher, ‘Is that where you get to watch kids fall off sheep?’ She said ‘Yes.’” Aidan mentioned that two of the pigs were named Justin Bieboar and Christina Hoguleira.



Aidan told me that he also saw a chick hatch. “Did you know that chickens take 17 hours to hatch? They’re not really that cute when they’re born,” he said. “I know. They’re kind of wet and sticky,” I replied. "The older ones are a lot cuter," he said. "Did you know that chickens are most closely related to T-Rexes?" he added. He was pretty pleased to share this piece o' trivia.

Seems the kids really saw quite a bit today, including a thorough milking demonstration. Aidan described how “milk gets splurted out in a tube thing” then separated, “decontaminated...then shipped, all within two hours!” From cow to cereal bowl in less than a day. That’s impressive.

4:30 p.m. Noah’s last internship day was today and we met him at the OPA founder’s house. Noah was busy walking an adorable puppy that looked like a chocolate lab mix with beautiful golden green eyes. There were some tiny Chihuahua puppies, each less than two pounds, two shnauzer-mix pups, and the fuzzy black puppy who's still sick. Hope he pulls through.

Noah said that while walking Tank today, he growled at, then peed on about ten garbage cans, but didn't spray a single recyling bin. Perhaps that’s his way of supporting the environment.


[OFF TO COLORADO...]