Entry #41

Entry #41

Sunday, February 12

10:00 a.m. Aidan’s really gotten into archery—not for hunting, as you’d suspect here in Texas—but merely for target practice. He saved up for his very own bow, and learned quite a bit about different kinds, including those used for fishing.

“How do you even see where the fish is?” he wondered, looking at an online photo of a man taking aim in murky, shallow waters. Seems bow fishing is big in Texas, where catfish and gar are heavily populated. The Big Fish Bowfishing Texas site proudly offers alligator and hog hunts, too:

 “Interested in an exciting gator hunt with either a bow and arrow or a hook and baited line?..I will be happy to go after this BIG reptile for you...Now if you want hogs, well, then, Texas is the number one state with the most wild hogs. So if you want loads of fun, then hunting hogs with dogs and knives is the answer. Come to Texas to hunt for Alligators and Hogs...you’ll love it!”



Another popular method of fishing around here (mostly for flathead catfish and other bottom feeders) is noodling, also known as hogging, tickling, grabbling, stumping, or  “hillbilly handfishing.” There’s even a new show on Animal Planet about this bizarre sport.

To begin, a noodler goes underwater to depths ranging from only a few feet to up to twenty feet and places his hand inside a discovered catfish hole. If all goes as planned, the catfish will swim forward and latch onto the fisherman’s hand, usually as a defensive maneuver, in order to try to escape the hole. —Wikipedia

Personally, I can’t imagine sticking my hand in a swamp hole, not knowing if a beaver or a poisonous snake or a huge catfish is clamping down on my bare hand. Besides, it often results in mama catfish abandoning her eggs, so thousands of catfish die. Conservationists are not exactly pals with noodling enthusiasts for this reason.

1:00 p.m. In an attempt to see a new and different part of Houston, David and I ventured to the Bellaire/Chinatown section of the city today while the kids were at their weekly art classes. I imagined something akin to the San Francisco Chinatown—a self-contained area you could simply park, walk around, take in the sights, sounds, smells...

When we arrived, we quickly discovered that Houston's Chinatown is little more than a series of beige-colored strip malls. Sure, it's brimming with Asian restaurants, cafés, bakeries, markets, and the like, but is far from charming.

We’d just driven 20 minutes to get there, so we figured we might as well get out and explore. Most people kept a safe distance from Izzie. One man actually screamed when she got within two feet of him. David said, “Chill out, man,” but the poor guy was petrified.

We’ve seen this happen in other Chinatowns—people are generally scared of dogs, no matter how harmless they appear. “It’s because they eat dogs in China,” said Aidan.

The first store we passed was a bustling bakery with a colorful display of layered cakes, cookies and baked goods, each individually wrapped in shiny plastic. The blue cat cake was especially festive.

We passed a vegetarian restaurant offering plates of differently shaped “vegetarian meats,” (spelled vege) from kidneys and fish to duck and beef. I believe they make these “shaped meats” out of some sort of wheat gluten. None of it looked remotely appetizing. Why not just serve more vegetables and call it a day? Noah, for one, said he’d never eat anything that even looks like meat, especially kidneys.

There was one place that we would’ve assumed was closed if not for the parade of people carrying out stacks of styrofoam to-go containers. The front was completely blacked-out with nary a sign of humans working inside. Four neglected palms lined the front, and there was no menu indicating what was sold, except for the overhead store sign alerting us that it was a dumpling house. Seemed more like a drug smuggling establishment than a restaurant, with its unwelcoming, darkened façade. The food must be incredible, though, because the decor was second only to a haunted house.

The supermarket proved to be the most interesting experience, although I left feeling pretty nauseated. As I walked in, an overpowering smell of seafood attacked my nasal passages. This, however, didn’t surprise me, having been in large open-air markets before.

The place had offerings I’ve never seen before—buckets of live frogs and crawfish, cartons of fresh pork blood, pig snouts, duck tongues, headless duck, “bovine pizzle” (i.e., penises), and some unidentifiable pieces-parts like “cowhells” and “osmanthus bowels.”

There were also some interesting beverage choices, like Milk Drink (not milk, exactly, but some unrefrigerated version with added sugar, etc.), Chrysanthemum Tea Drink, Grass Jelly Drink and Job’s Tears Mung Bean drink.

Want a snack? How about some “hot fruit flavored pork jerky”? I’ve never seen so many variations (or parts) of pig in my entire life. (I’d better stop now...getting seriously queasy.)

I did leave with a great selection of fresh mushrooms (much cheaper than other markets), assorted produce, rice,  tea and Pocky (note: not Porky, but Pocky, a chocolate-covered cookie stick), but couldn’t get my mind off those pints of ruby-red pig’s blood. Needless to say, we didn’t stop for a bite anywhere after shopping.

Entry #40

Entry #40

Thursday, February 9

1:00 p.m. Five vials of my blood are now resting on a tray in the local Quest clinic. That's kind of a lot, don't you think? The “vein technician” (blood drawer?) was really good, though. Ordinarily my dinky veins are poked and prodded until I'm black and blue. Today involved one gentle poke before striking it rich. I was impressed.

The technician wasn't wearing a name tag, so I asked her what her name was. She said it was “Kiska.” All I could think of with regard to this name was the word kishke, an Eastern European dish my grandparents used to serve. It's made of cow’s intenstine filled with some sort of paprika-colored stuffing. According to Wikipedia, “The name itself is Slavic in origin and literally means ‘gut’ or ‘intenstine.’”

There was no way I could tell Kiska what her name meant in Yiddish, but instead asked her how her mother arrived at this name (anything to get my mind off the blood spritzing out of my arm). She said that when her mother was younger, she wrote a paper on Alaska and the neighboring island, Kiska.

According to my Google source, Kiska is a part of the Rat Islands group of the Aleutian Islands near Alaska. The Rat group? Doesn't make the name Kiska sound any more enticing. On the bright side, she told me that she was happy to learn that her name means “kitten” in Russian, adding “No wonder I’ve always liked cats.”

Sadly, this feline-loving gal was misled. I just looked up the meaning of her name and in Russian it does not mean kitten or even cat, but pure, which isn’t bad. ("I've always felt pure," she might say.) It’s also a nickname for Katerina. So, while Kiska might be named for Alaska, it's no surprise that it's also of Russian origin, considering the proximity of Russia to Alaska (at least from Sarah Palin's house).

4:30 p.m. After school, I figured I’d come a few minutes earlier so the kindergarten kids could greet Izzie. Today they were especially excited to see her. Some of them said they’ve made Valentine’s cards for her, though I mentioned she might be tempted to eat them (she loves paper). At one point she stretched herself as long as possible so all the kids could pet her and rested on her side. One girl, whose native language is Spanish, said “I know why her name is Easy—because she’s so easy!” So far Izzie’s been called Itchy and Easy. Wonder what they’ll come up with next. 

Friday, February 10

9:00 a.m. Noah’s doing a science project and he wanted to do something involving baking. Last year, he baked four zillion cupcakes to see which brands rose the highest. Needless to say, Noah never wants to eat another vanilla cupcake in his life ever again. This year, he wants to do a similar experiment, only with baking bread.

After picking up a few varieties of yeast, he began the experiment yesterday afternoon. The timing wasn’t great, since the cleaning lady had just finished her twice-monthly scouring, but what’s a little flour here and there, right?

Baking bread is far more time consuming and complicated (if you’ve never done it before) than following a Duncan Hines’ recipe, but I had Noah follow the directions and proceed, with a little supervision from me. The results? Delizioso!

Both breads are almost gone already (the kids inhaled the first one fresh out of the oven, proclaiming it “the best thing I’ve ever eaten in my life!”), so it’s not such a bad thing that Noah has two more rounds to bake.

If you’re interested in the recipe, I’ll send it your way. It’s called “Mountain White Bread” and has a touch of milk and honey in it. This is the Land of Milk and Honey, after all. Nothing like fresh bread, hot out of the oven.

At the breakfast table this morning, I opened up the HereHouston paper, to learn about the following Valentine’s Day events, some more repellent than others:

The Downtown Aquarium is having a special event, “Romance Under the Sea,” while the Junior League is holding a ‘new spring fashion event’ called "Giving Goes Glam: A Gorgeous Excuse to Do something Good.” Moody Gardens is offering several “romantic getaway packages,” including the Love Spell Spa Package and Couples' Champagne & Caviar Pedicure. (Can you imagine getting black fish eggs wedged between your toes? I don’t see the romance in this.)

We’ll likely be cooking dinner at home with the kids. Romantic, eh? The kids still enjoy this Hallmark holiday. For them, Valentine’s Day isn’t so much about love and romance as Sweet Tarts and chocolate.

Saturday, February 11

5:00 p.m. Noah and I volunteered for Operation Pets Alive! this afternoon, a non-profit animal rescue organization in The Woodlands. The event, held in front of Urban Outfitters at The Woodlands Mall, was a fundraiser of sorts, and there were only two puppies there for adoption, but they generated quite a bit of attention. One of them was named Pumpkin, the other, Kissy (you’d immediately find out why if you held her).

The first question passersby asked was “What kind of dogs are they?” I wanted to say “your guess is as good as mine,” though people really wanted a definitive answer. Part miniature pinscher, part chihuahua-dachsund with a little lab thrown in? Who knows? After awhile, I just said stuff like, “really sweet” or “very cute.”

Seeing how people treat dogs, especially puppies, is rather telling. The most gentle kids happened to be a group of middle school-age boys, who came up, sat down, and held the pups quite gingerly. A three-year-old girl, on the other hand, reenacted the role of Veruca Salt (from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory), whining and crying until she was freed from her stroller. “I want a puppy. I want a puppy NOW!” Okay, not exactly, but pretty darn close. She did swipe the donation money from the basket before leaving, saying, "I'll take this!" The mom took the money out of the girl's hand and sheepishly placed it back in the basket.

After finding out that the pups were (allegedly) part miniature pinscher, one man asked if we were going to “cut off” its tail. “Hell no,” answered the volunteer who’s fostered the pups. “We’re not cutting off any tails.” The man’s daughter attempted to hold the puppy, grabbing it upside-down. Noah politely asked the girl not to pick up the puppy any more.

By the time we left, we were crisp-fried from sitting out in the sun and talking to countless strangers. The pups were crashed out, too. They’d had enough for one day and so did we. Still, as volunteer efforts go, holding puppies was definitely up there.

Entry #39

Entry #39

Monday, February 6

10:00 a.m. I caused an avalanche at the market today. A small one, but there was definitely some downhill rolling involved. This isn’t the first time I’ve picked up a piece of fruit, only to have the entire display begin collapsing on itself, but this time the apples were barely stacked. I can well understand if there’s a huge mountain of fruit and a person wants one from the bottom, but all I did was pick up an apple from a small groundswell (not even a hill), and yet they came a rollin’. Luckily I stopped them before they plunked to the ground. Didn’t quite look as cool as Robert Pattinson’s Twilight scoop-up-the-apple-on-the-shoe trick, but truth be told, that thing was on a wire.

Shortly following my apple fiasco, I went to get some almond butter from the grinding machine and pulled out the drawer holding the flimsy plastic containers, causing them to fly out of their compartment. What’s with me today? I could be the Butterfinger poster girl...Definitely not a good day to take up sword fighting or brain surgery.

I finally found the whereabouts of the public library and got an official card, as well as a book for Aidan (which, to my amazement, was actually on the shelves!). The main floor has a huge room comprised entirely of children’s books, which I love. I wandered aimlessly there for a few minutes realizing both my kids are now too old to spend time in the children’s area of the library. Feels like we were just there, reading piles of picture books aloud. I really miss that. Guess I'll just have to pull up a bean bag chair and read to myself, or borrow a preschooler every now and then.

Aidan's rarin' and ready to wrangle those preschoolers, too, in the role of babysitter. Now that he's taken his Red Cross course, he wants to start working! I made him a business card, about which he's pretty stoked. Perhaps he'll need to begin as a "mother's helper," since he's only 11 (remember that term?). For his card, I used this photo of Aidan and his cousin, Abby, taken many moons ago.

Noah saw Daniel Radcliffe’s newest film last weekend, The Woman in Black. He was supposed to see Chronicle with his friends, but it was sold out, so he felt obligated to follow suit and see this PG-13-rated horror film, much to his dismay.

We’d watched the trailer the day before, which scared the bejeebers out of all of us. Noah decided he definitely did NOT want to see this movie. Little did he know he would be watching it the following day. He did not sleep by himself that night, needless to say. I don't imagine he will ever look at cymbal-clapping monkeys or porcelain dolls every the same way again.

Tuesday, February 7

9:00 a.m. David went running early this morning, then picked up some freshly roasted coffee at the Dosey Doe, a coffee house/restaurant/local music venue, along with their breakfast menu and list of upcoming events.

Here you can enjoy chicken fried steak, Scotch egg empanadas, honey-cured “pit” ham, or Bulgarian buttermilk pancakes in the a.m., then return after dark for some live country music! Good thing they give patrons several hours to digest their food. Ever try swinging your partner 'round and 'round on a belly full of sausage and gravy biscuits?

Wednesday, February 8

10:00 a.m. En route to school today I saw a bumper sticker that said “got bagpipes?” That’s a new one. Lots of folks from the U.K. around here.

The federal appeals court declared California’s same-sex marriage ban unconstitutional, warranting some dubious protests and counter protests, like the image featured below. All in all, there was plenty of celebrating in the San Francisco Bay area. Not quite the same sentiment is shared in The Woodlands, however.

On the radio this morning, the hosts discussed the fact that this winter has been the warmest on record in the USA, yet they still deny the existence of what they call “man-made” global warming. “You’re gonna blame global warming on my SUV?” one said. I’ve seen enough cars idling here to burst the ozone layer single-handedly, and yet they assert that “college professors and politicians” are feeding us a pile of hooey.

 Thursday, February 9

9:00 a.m. Before school today, I met with a classmate of Noah’s who’s working on a comic book project. I said I’d help him with the writing part, since each student is paired with a potentially helpful parent.

What took me by surprise was not this student's impressive illustration skills, or even how animated he was while chatting with me, but rather his description of the comic book’s super hero. The protagonist is invincible, yet he dwells in darkness because he is “not blessed.” 

"What do you mean, 'not blessed'?" I asked. "Well, he doesn't go to church," he said. "He's not blessed because he doesn't go to church?" "Well, no," he said, “He's not blessed because he wasn’t baptized by Jesus.” 

It's rather ironic that I, the only Jewish parent in the class, happen to be the person selected to work with this devout young man. Should be an interesting ride...

I’m working with another student as well. Her goal is to be a vegetarian until the end of the school year. We’ve had one brief meeting so far, during which time I learned that she’s craving meat. The only vegetables she likes to eat are cucumbers and tomatoes. So far, not exactly an expansive repetoire. 

I sent her a list of vegetables and fruit, asking her to let me know which ones she really likes, which ones she’s willing to try, and which ones she won't. It'll be interesting to see how she reacts to sampling "vegetarian foods from around the globe." I wonder if she'll let me take photos of her expressions as she tastes foods she's never eaten before.