Scenery, Part 3

Now for a little something different. We shall call it:

Scenery Designed by Hell

The entire area of Hutto and Round Rock is dotted with these hideous houses. I ask you, if your son or daughter declared their intentions upon entering college to be an architect, would you not expect that they would learn something other than the design of a cardboard box? All of these houses, from the back, look like a square cardboard box. They remind me of the boxes that would be turned over to me when I was a child and the family acquired a new appliance. Square with little square holes cut in for windows. The one level houses look equivalent to the box that might have held a television set, while the two level houses look very reminiscent of the box that brought the washing machine. There are even apartments in these towns that look the same, but have three levels. Think the box that brought the refrigerator.

And don't make the mistake that the fronts of these monstrosities look any better. Boring, bland, cardboard box design. I have to tell you, if it was my kid that designed these blights on the landscape, I would be exploring the possibility of suing the school that gave him or her their degree and implied that they had talent. They are also crammed up next to each other and then surrounded by ugly privacy fences that look like the slightest puff of wind would topple them. The chimneys are little square columns that teeter drunkenly on the rooftops. And the sad part is these are upper middle income housing that are going for ridiculous prices.

Excuse me while I go rinse the bad taste out of my mouth with a little bit of pine tar soap. I don't know which is worse - that the builders keep churning out this dreck or that people actually zoom in and buy them while construction is still in progress. Tasteless builders, tasteless buyers. And when I drove through one of these neighborhoods this afternoon, a sign proudly proclaimed that this was the So-and-So division, "a restricted neighborhood where deed restrictions are enforced". Well, gee, that's comforting. You not only buy an ugly house, you have to keep it that way.

Now back to our original theme, namely:

Scenery Designed by God

This photo does not begin to do justice to the beauty of this field alongside the Sayers Road. Now this is an architect who knows what he's doing.

LSW

Scenery, Part 2, and Other Musings

So, when I'm not looking at corn and checking the progress of the cotton crop, I enjoy the odd stretches like this one where the trees meet over the road and make a canopy.

I must admit the last 10-12 miles of my commute are not so pleasant. Highway 79 between Hutto and Round Rock is under construction. I believe they are widening the road and it's a total mess right now. However, those 1o miles or so are nowhere near as bad as the 42 miles of road construction I used to drive. (I swear the road crews in Austin complete one stretch and then go back to the beginning and rip up what they built and start over.)

Which brings me to the gripe of the day. Every other day or so they block off one lane of the highway, forcing all the commuting traffic to creep through in the one lane left. The odd thing is, they never seem to be actually doing anything in that blocked off lane that would account for the need to make it off limits. I think there are some folks out there that get their jollies by random placement of orange traffic cones to create the most aggravation possible. But then again, if I had to work out in the recent rain and hot Texas sun, I might create some havoc myself.

Good news for the day - I finally am done with May. For two weeks I've been working nights and weekends and it's over. For awhile, anyway. Maybe I can get back to being a human being again.

Good news for the week - I have officially dropped FOUR sizes since the beginning the diet. At least from the waist down. From the waist up, I've dropped 2-3 sizes (depending on the label). I spent part of Memorial Day trying on clothes at Beall's (in an effort to distract myself from the depression that set in with the loss of Xana). I could not find anything that fit me until it occurred to me that maybe it was because I had gone down another size. Sure enough, I have moved into a size 8 where slacks are concerned. A small ray of light in a very dismal day.

LSW

Scenery, Part 1

The corn is as high as an elephant's eye in the Rices Crossing area right now. There are stretches where the road is banked by head-high corn on both sides and you can't see anything else, except the sky above you. I love it. Guess that's my Granddaddy Hodge's blood in me.

The fields are muddy after all the rain, so I wasn't able to get out in the middle of the corn to take a picture like I wanted to do. I wanted to get far enough in that I could see nothing but corn. But I was able to get right up next to the edge of the field and look down toward the end.

The ears are plumping up and I'm sure that means picking is not far behind and thrashing the cornstalks is not far behind that. But for now, I'm enjoying my corny daily drive.

(Why do I hear a dry chuckle in my mind? My grandfather always seemed amused when I was around. He's probably getting a big kick out of the city grandkid's love of the country in her middle years.)

LSW

By Request

Another few photo tributes from the Xana archives. This one, by request from a Xana fan, was snapped one night when she wanted to look up some special dog treats on EBAY .

And this one must have been taken while she was dreaming of those dog treats.

Mmmmm....

LSW

Xana the Great

1995 - May 28, 2007

LSW

Halt, Who Goes There?

Don't expect to get away with anything around our house. The little dogs are watching.

Anything, and I mean the smallest anything, that changes in our yard catches their attention the instant they go through the door. Tuesday mornings are always startling to them, because the neighbor across the street always puts his trash bin out the night before and it looms up out of the morning darkness.

The neighbors down the street kept them rattled for two days during which a huge Mayflower moving van sat on the street and people were moving things out of the house. The dogs did not approve one little bit.

Friday morning I busied myself trimming bushes and cutting sprouts out of the flower beds while my septic serviceman was diagnosing and dealing with our problem in that area. Just as he finished, the heavens opened up and it's been raining off and on ever since. So I have small piles of trimmings scattered around the front yard that I haven't yet been able to pick up and put in the trash can. Every time we go out in the yard, I am told that they don't belong there.

Tonight I am in trouble because I took the Scouts up on a deal to put a small American flag in my yard on patriotic holidays for the next year. A young man installed a flag this evening and forgot to clear it with the dogs. It was thoroughly inspected, growled at, circled and recircled as they evaluated this new instrusion into their environment. They still don't believe there was any necessity for it in our lives.

So, best keep your nose clean around here. Any deviation from the accepted norm will be prosecuted. Mojo and Coco are on the job. Don't say I didn't warn you.

LSW

What a Delightful Mess

My trip to Oak Hill Cemetery yesterday and the purchase of the new history book of the area has already paid off for me in a genealogical sense. I've discovered another tangled web of family that can't really be described in a coherent manner.

I already knew I had a massive family tangle in my Mason and McAfee lines by virtue of the fact that my great-grandfather Mason's daughter by his first marriage married the half-brother of his second wife.

Now it turns out that I have another tangle in my Mason line. Until last night I knew next to nothing about the family of Burl Mason's first wife. I had not really pursued that line since I had no blood connection to it. I thought.

Turns out that the Fariss line intermarried heavily with my Mason kinfolk and the snarl of family connections will entertain me for awhile. I just have to hit the high spots here so you know what I'm dealing with. (This is what we genealogists call "fun".)

Burl's first wife Pinkie Fariss was not, as I had thought, the daughter of the James Fariss who was killed in the train wreck in Smithville. She was the sister of that James Farris and of the Cass Farris who was severely injured in the same wreck. Also killed in that wreck was a William F. Ashley, who was the widower of Burl's sister Hulda Ellen.

Follow the bouncing ball, if you can.

William Ashley, the widower of Hulda Ellen Mason Ashley, remarried to Mary B. Adkins. Mary B. Adkins turns out to be an older sister of Pinkie Fariss (first wife of Burl Mason). Mary Fariss had married first to L. C. Adkins and one of their daughters, Mary E. "Bettie" Adkins, married John William Mason, the brother of Burl and Hulda. With me so far?

But wait, there's more.

Another Fariss sister, Jane, married five times and one of those husbands was a James C. Byrum. Jane's daughter Nora, by another husband named Crockett (I think), had a son named James. This James ends up being raised by his grandmother Jane and takes the name Byrum. (It is not made clear whether he assumes this name or if his mother took the name of Jane's husband and this James was illegitimate or just what happened here. But the book specifically notes that the grandson James Byrum moved to Rusk. I may just have to look up the contributor for this bit of family story and get a clearer explanation.)

James Byrum of Rusk, Texas, was married to Annie Mae Mason, daughter of Burl and his second wife Nettie McAfee Rose Mason.

At this point I am willing to bet that my Aunt Sallie Mobley who married a Thomas Fariss is going to end up being connected to this same Fariss bunch. I've never pursued him either, but now I may just have to do a little digging around and see.

{Rubbing my hands together in satisfaction.}

LSW

Pre-Memorial Day

I waited a little too long to snag this picture, but better late than never. Last week my commute was dressed up by field after field of yellow coreopsis. Truly gorgeous and I kept forgetting my camera. The color is beginning to fade, but I managed to get a shot from the highpoint in Fairview Cemetery of this field.

At the top of the hill were several clumps of the same bright yellow, so I also snagged a close up.

The main focus of my day was the annual picnic at Oak Hill Cemetery, close to McDade. It was the 100th anniversary of the formation of the cemetery association and they were celebrating with the publication of a history of the families who founded the now vanished community of Oak Hill. The community fell victim to the formation of Camp Swift during the second World War.

Some of the founders of Oak Hill were relatives of mine in the Mobley and Dunkin lines. I've visited this outstanding example of a "scraped grave" cemetery many times, but I had never before attended the picnic. This year, with the need to add a book to my Bastrop County history collection, and with the possibility of getting a rare visit with my cousin Maxine Alcorn, I headed for the cemetery.

Sure enough Maxine and her sister Mary were there and so were some other cousins I had known of but never had the opportunity to meet. Dorothy Edwards and Dan Louis and his wife Joyce were all very enjoyable to talk to and welcomed me like they had known me all my life. Maxine, Joyce and I talked genealogy shop and Dan was interviewed by the local news folks by virtue of his participation in the history book project. A representative of the Texas Senate presented a proclamation in honor of the Cemetery Association's anniversary. And there were about four tables of food to choose from. In addition to the history book, a small community cookbook was for sale. A couple on guitar and autoharp played softly in the background. The turn out was a good one, despite the earlier rain, and we all had a great time visiting and eating.

These folks may not have known me to begin with, but many of them knew my grandparents and that was all the introduction I needed. I was accepted as a member of their group without question. I could not help but compare it to the chilly reception I received a couple of years back when I went to the Ridgeway Cemetery picnic. Today was an example of how these associations should behave in order to attract folks to support their cause. This was a good experience and I will probably be back.

On my way back home, I stopped at Fairview Cemetery and took the flower photos. The flags for Memorial Day had already been put on the veteran graves and several workers were trimming hedges and preparing for Monday. It always makes me feel good to see people taking time and making the effort to show respect for those who have gone on.

LSW

Really, I'm Fine, Go Away

I spent yesterday morning out at the Ford dealership getting an oil change and 60K maintenance. I've spent many such mornings at this dealer and have learned to go prepared. I've sometimes spread my genealogy all over the floor of the waiting room and worked on getting organized. I've done crossword puzzles, read books and knitted. A couple of years ago I hit upon the perfect way to pass the time. I take my personal DVD-player.

This is truly the perfect solution for the waiting room. A simple oil change takes almost an hour - just the right time to watch an episode from one of my boxed sets of vintage television shows. An oil change and additional maintenance will take 2-3 hours, perfect for a movie. Yesterday I made myself comfortable in the corner of the waiting room with The Pirates of the Caribbean 2, a movie I received for Christmas and had never had the opportunity to sit down and watch closely enough to be able to figure out what was going on. I had my travel mug loaded with Starbuck's coffee and settled down, perfectly content.

I usually don't have company in the waiting room, but yesterday there was a crowd. Two older gentlemen were having a lively conversation about something completely forgettable, another even older man happened in awhile later, and another woman joined us a little later after that. Everyone seemed to be fascinated at what I was up to. Mind you, I was sitting quietly in the corner minding my own business.

At some point, all of the men seemed to need to get up and walk around the room and happen close enough to me to check out what had my attention. Of course each one of them had to comment "that's neat" or some such remark that required me to unplug my earphone and inquire "Pardon?". One offered to bring me a cup of coffee and seemed disappointed when I indicated that I had already taken care of that matter.

The first two men eventually departed and the remaining fellow couldn't resist. He had to come over and start talking to me. So I put the movie on pause and unplugged and listened to him regale me with how rough his life was as a school bus driver and how he doesn't even own a vcr or dvd player. He finally ran down and I went back to my movie.

Things went fine from there except when along came a spot in the movie where Johnny Depp did something that hit my funny bone and I reflexively snorted. Everyone in the room turned my direction. I said "excuse me" and ducked down lower in my chair, trying to look invisible.

The nice thing is that I was still engrossed in my movie when they came to tell me they were done with my car. Fastest way I know to pass the time when you're stuck without wheels. Sure beats watching the hideous talk show they had going on the waiting room tv. I may start dragging the thing along with me for those interminable hours in the doctor's waiting room. And the bonus is that it drives everybody else crazy with envy that they didn't think of it, too.

LSW

Mojo Has a Bad Morning

My little boy woke up okay this morning, but then an hour or so later I realized something was wrong. He was huddled beside my chair, shivering and looking miserable. He shrank from being touched. His little stub was tucked as tight against his bottom as was possible. I couldn't figure out what had happened in such a short period of time. He had only had a few bites of bacon and had barely been outside.

So I picked him up and tucked him in the chair beside me. For another hour he hid his face and flinched any time I put my hand on him. He was a miserable little boy. At long last I heard a gurgle in his tummy and the sound of a little bit of gas escaping. My little boy had a bad tummy ache.

I think part of his problem was how long it took me to realize he didn't feel well. When he knew I had finally caught on, he wanted me to sit and hold him. So I got a book and sat down and let him take a nap in my lap. When he woke up, his tummy ache was gone and he was himself again. Nothing like a nap in Mommy's lap to cure what ails you.

It was too bad that when he woke up and we went outside for a little potty break, he picked up two stickers in his foot. Mommy took care of that, too, but he didn't think it was at all fair that they hurt just as badly coming out as going in.

And it's really not fair that a Mojo should have to hurt in any way at any time. But if it should happen, it's good that Mommy can fix. He's kept close beside me all day, just in case.

LSW

Oatmeal

That's what my brain feels like these days. Pure glutenous oatmeal. I've been working nights and weekends, trying to get the necessary programming and processing done to keep the gears moving for the 250,000+ letters we send out in May. When I'm in the office I'm answering questions, unpuzzling peculiarities of the new operating environment, keeping folks on track so the work doesn't derail, answering emails and returning phone calls. In short, when I'm in the office I don't get a darned thing accomplished that creates revenue.

I've long since come to grips with the reality that I do not have a personal life in May. I do not get to read my new miniatures magazine or watch my new DVD or go on a wild-goose genealogical chase on the Internet. I do get to listen to some fictional distraction via my collection of audiobooks while I drive to and fro, but that's about it for entertainment between May 1st and May 31st.

I said all of that to say this. I occasionally grab a minute to dash off a quick blog entry and then two days later realize that it is riddled with misspellings and redundant wording. Normally I spend a little more time editing before hitting that post button. I ask that you judge me not too harshly for the moment. My brains have been pummeled into oatmeal and I'm doing well to be stringing more than two words together without it turning into complete gibberish.

Mush, mush, mush.....

LSW

Disturbing

On the way back from the doctor's office today, I made a quick stop at the main Half-Price Books branch to check on their supply of books on CD. Before I left, I made a quick sweep down the mystery book aisle because they sometimes display audiobooks on the tops of the shelves that they don't have in their audiobook section.

I happened across an interesting book atop the mystery aisle called The Nutshell Studies of Unexplained Death . The word "nutshell" sometimes refers to the miniatures hobby, so I stopped to take a look. Sure enough, it was about dollhouse miniatures. But it was more than that. It was a study of a series of miniature scenes that were constructed by a lady named Frances Glessner Lee to be used as teaching tools for criminal forensics. Each scene contains at least one body and multiple clues that the investigators should gather and evaluate. Each chapter of the book contains numerous photos of the crime scene and a diagram of the scene with point by point notes of things that should be of interest to the investigation.

Very strange this book. There are bodies hanging from rafters, drowned in bathubs and shot at close range with blood spatters all over the wall. Mrs. Lee based her work on actual case histories and included such minute details as sugar spilled on the kitchen floor and imbedded bullets in the ceiling. On the one hand, I admire the detail of her work. On the other hand, yuck.

Naturally I had to have the book for my comprehensive collection of dollhouse related books. It may be macabre, but also unique and irresistible for an old mystery fan like me.

LSW

Gone to the Dogs

When you hear the phrase "dog's life" what do you see in your mind's eye? I see the three lazy ones sleeping on the pillows of my, excuse me, their bed. Coco, with her fat belly positioned for the odd tummy pat. Mojo and Xana curled up in a hand-knit shawl. The only thing that disturbs them this morning is if I make a move to eat something. Then they are alert and on the prowl for handouts.

Work continues to press down on me oppressively. Hence the scarcity of posts. Two and a half more weeks until it's over. Unless I make a break for the Canadian border before then.

Hey, I have my passport. It could happen.

LSW

Everyone Needs a Teenaged Son

Who ya gonna call when you need the lawn mowed? Boo Cat, of course.

LSW

In Passing

Me & Aunt Nell

At the reunion last weekend my aunt and I discussed various memories of the past. Along the way she told me how she has started a notebook detailing the history of some of the family heirlooms that will someday pass on to her daughter and granddaughters. It reminded me of one of those embarrassing moments of my childhood.

My grandmother collected two full sets of china through weekly purchases of grocery store specials with the intention that each of her granddaughters (she had just two at the time) would inherit a complete set of china from her. I was probably about 8 or so when she told me that I would receive the pretty set with the pink roses when she "passed on". I was suitably impressed.

So I naturally had to share the news at the first opportunity. We were visiting my other grandparents in Elgin not long afterwards. I was overheard telling my aunt Linda all about the china I would someday get when my grandmother "passed out".

Grandma ended up giving me the set of china years before she did pass on. Its pretty pink roses always remind me of her. Which was the true inheritance.

LSW

Finest Kind

I don't know whether it is a colloquialism of Maine or if it was just Richard Hooker's invention in the novel M*A*S*H, but one of the characters in the book would say "finest kind" to describe the ultimate of something.

Well, here is the finest kind as pertains to dogs. They are not only great assistants, but they are great stress relievers. For me, anyway. You will notice that Xana is playing her keep away game. She likes to guard a milkbone from the other two. Drives Mojo crazy that she won't eat it and she won't let him have it.

They love the days I work at home. They've been my constant companions today. We've watered plants and had water hose fights and we've run big circles in the yard. We've taken naps and stolen part of Mom's lunch. We've had a good day.

And Mom made a big dent in the back log of work.

LSW

Overloaded

How I wish for a boring day. It would be nice to be able to pile up on the couch with a book and a nest of dogs and just zone out for the day.

I finally got past the newsletter project and it was very well received. Seeing everyone at the reunion was great. A brief break on Sunday, between loads of laundry and cleaning up after some dog that has a serious gastric disturbance, and then it was dive into the usual May havoc at the office. This year is bad because we are also still in the infancy of the new computer system and the pressure of production has caused some weak spots to make their presence felt. We are 8 days into the month and already running seriously behind. Not so behind that we can't make it - just behind enough to be very frustrated.

The cats are in rampage mode. I caved in and bought another Siamese Beta and thought I had him in a safe place, but the cats proved me wrong. He now resides in the guest room behind a closed door. Xana had a sinking spell for several days and worried me that we were facing the end with her. She has rallied somewhat, but is a shadow of her former self. My car needs an oil change and a 60K maintenance, the lawn needs mowing, and the wind storm last week toppled an oak tree that needs to be cut up and hauled off. There are at least a half-dozen home maintenance chores that need to be taken care of, we are scraping the back of the pantry shelves because I haven't had a chance to go grocery shopping, and I still haven't managed to get that #*%*(&@ insurance policy canceled.

What happened to those long summers when I was a kid and spent days on end reading, practicing the piano and day dreaming? I would kill for a summer like that again, with nothing to do but indulge my whims. Who knew becoming a responsible adult would turn out to be such a drag?

First things first. I'm focusing on the May rush and then I may just decide to take a week off in June and be a slacker. Something tells me there are three little dogs who would love the concept.

LSW

A Sign of the Times

There's a trend that is giving me a few chuckles lately. There is nothing more irritating than the incessant cell phone ringtones that erupt all around you and the folks within the office who get constant calls have generally switched to vibrate mode while at work.

Which has led to all the men in the office periodically clutching their pants pockets when the things go off. Looks like they are having some kind of spasm. What's really funny is to be in a group of them and have this semi-constant clutching making the rounds of the group. Makes it look like a big mosquito is flitting from one to another and they are slapping at it.

How did we live before those cell phones came into our lives? It was quieter and our men only made spectacles of themselves when they had an itch or were checking to make sure everything was still there.

LSW

Familiar Names in the News

Another middle-aged habit I've developed, though I plead the needs of genealogy rather than old age, is reading the obituaries. In addition to keeping track of the losses of distant relatives, I occasionally see a familiar name from the past. This morning is was James C. Fidler.

Old-timers will remember that Jimmy Fidler was the predominant meteorologist in Austin for a couple hundred years. He passed away on April 28th.

Another icon gone.

LSW

Middle-Aged Woman vs. Teenage Animals

I was ironing my work outfit this morning when a thought hit me. It seemed like a great idea until I realized that it meant I had officially hit middle age. Then I went {{gag}}.

The thing is that I need a light robe to go out and get the paper in the morning and wait while the puppies find the perfect blade of grass to drench. I have one, but it tends to get dingy in one or two wearings (what with cat and dog hair and slobbers). And I don't like to wash clothes mid-week. So this thought zinged out of left field that I should invest in a few house coats - the kind you remember your grandmother wearing. Snaps down the front. Hideous prints. One side of my brain went "perfect", the other side went into convulsions.

So I think my better sense has kicked in and I won't be shopping in the matronly loungewear department just yet. I may, however, invest in a second spring robe.

The animals are having their own little identity crisis this week. My stereo has been disconnected for months. Possibly even a year or more. I finally got the broken pieces fixed and David reassembled everything for me while I was in Salt Lake City. Last night I finally had a chance to try it out and to play a few 45 rpm records. The animals flipped out.

There were VOICES coming out of those boxes that have just been sitting there all this time! There were weird pops when the needle hit a faint scratch. Mojo scrambled up the stairs and sat on the landing until I shut everything down. Boo and Scout were spooked and scrabbling out of the room. I couldn't figure out what was so different from the sounds coming out of the television set that they've all heard run for hours every day of their lives. But they were very happy when I went back to the television for entertainment and turned off those disembodied VOICES.

So I guess we have a generation gap here. Middle-aged lady on one side and hep cats and hot dogs on the other. Nothing like being looked on with pity by your pets.

LSW

I Am a Daisy

How appropriate, since the Daisy is the flower for April births. (Also the forget-me-not.)

I am a Daisy What Flower Are You?

LSW

A Glimmer of Light

In the far distance, I think I'm finally catching a glimpse of the end of the tunnel. It seems like I've been on a giant hamster wheel for months.

In preparation for the trip to Salt Lake City, I spent a good part of my free time between Christmas and the flight out getting my genealogy files up to date and data changes put into the computer data base so I would not have to pack along a wad of paper. As soon as I got back I was facing a deadline to get the annual family newsletter put together for next Saturday's reunion.

Now, at 10PM on Sunday night, I'm down to the proofing and revision stage of the newsletter, which means I may actually have it done on time. After the reunion, I'm not facing another deadline for awhile.

This afternoon I indulged in a rare nap after I had the newsletter writing pretty much behind me. Mojo and Xana cuddled up next to me and we all slept about two hours. The house is a wreck, but the nap turned out to be a much better use of my time than house-cleaning would have been. Mojo thought it was an outstanding idea.

That little light at the end of the tunnel is looking mighty good.

LSW

B'days

This morning I read where Judy Carne is 68 today. Bizarre to think of her as the Laugh-In go-go dancer of the sixties and now she's in her sixties.

But today we really celebrate the 2-year mark for Mr. Mojo. He woke up flirty today, so I think he may know. In people years I have a teenager. Explains a lot.

Coco hit the 2-year mark back on March 24th. Two teenagers. Ouch.

However, they now tend to mind me when I tell them to come in. They are beginning to understand the concept at least. Now if they ignore me, it's not so much "duh" as "in your ear, lady". I think that's an improvement. Maybe.

My two babies are growing up.

LSW

Xana and Me

Last evening I had to get a prescription filled for Mother. When I went back to the pharmacy to pick it up, I let Xana ride along with me. That did not make the two little ones at all happy, but the old girl likes a little special treatment now and then.

Poor Xana is beginning to fear that every trip in the car means a trip to the vet and a jab with a needle. When she realized that we were headed to a drive-through, she got all happy. Nothing she likes better than a chance to lean out the window and look inside a drive through window. She was a bit disappointed that it wasn't a hamburger joint, but she enjoyed watching the birds that nest in the rafters of the HEB pharmacy canopy.

After we completed our business, I drove her slowly through our old neighborhood with the windows open and she sniffed and sniffed and sniffed with utter satisfaction.

She was a happy little dog when she got back to the house and got herself thoroughly inspected by the ones who were left behind. She thinks it's right and proper that they should be reminded who is top dog around here.

LSW

How Do I Spell Relief?

After all the diet cheats and feeling guilty as hell this morning when I stepped on the scales, I weighed the same as I did when I left. Whew. I can only attribute it to the fact that I just can't eat as much as I used to. It's nice to know that I can treat myself occasionally and not have it hit me in the waistline.

Welcome back to Texas. Humidity and heat after several days of shivering. Nice to get back into my bucolic commute after several days of big city noise and negotiating the DFW airport. This morning I followed big combines down the highway, spied a bull and cow having an amorous encounter and enjoyed the remnants of bluebonnet season.

And I slept well last night for the first time in a week. I usually sleep well on vacation, but I could not turn my mind off this time. Too many things on my to-do list that needed to be handled when I returned. It was quite a relief to curl up against the little dog bodies and get a decent night's sleep. The to-do list is still long, but it's easier to cope when I'm not doing it long-distance. And I have Mojo and Coco and Xana and Boo and Scout ready to assist with the slightest encouragement.

And I have a pile of paper that shows my research time was profitable.

And I didn't gain any weight. Relief.

LSW

Being Bad is Good

And what I mean by that is that I have thrown the diet out the window for the duration of my visit in Salt Lake City. On the positive side, we are getting by on two meals and one snack each day. On the negative side, one of the two meals is generally pig out time.

It's such a hassle to get yourself all set up at a work space in the library that you don't want to move once you are settled. By the time you have set up the laptop and gotten the wires all arranged and wound your security cable around two sets of table legs and through the handle of your briefcase, and dragged your files out and spread them around you, and draped your jacket on the back of the chair - well, believe me you think long and hard about whether you want to repack everything in the interest of lunch. You're allowed to leave your work area for an hour, but I have a hard time walking out of the library with my laptop sitting there unwatched. So we grab a quick 15 minute snack in the library's lunch room and resume our work until we can't ignore the hunger pains any longer.

Yesterday we took advantage of the hotel's shuttle service and went to a new place for us, the Market Street Grill. We indulged in seafood and margaritas. When we first visited Salt Lake City, it was hard to find a place to get a mixed drink. Now they can actually serve a pretty darned good margarita. I ignored my conscience and ate a plateful of fried shrimp and french fries. Umm, umm, good.

Today we decided we needed a play break, so we shut down research operations at 2 o'clock and went for a walkabout. Salt Lake City is in the process of reconstructing a big hunk of its downtown area and a lot of the places we used to prowl are no longer there. We did get to explore the Deseret Book Store, the LDS Museum Store and Edinburg Castle and eat at another new restaurant. Then we returned to the library for a few hours. Finally, we stopped for dessert and coffee before collapsing in our room.

Tomorrow I plan a long siege on the microfilm reader. Every time I come here I spend one day plowing through books and feeling frustrated. Then the second day I start with the microfilm and I remember what I enjoy the most - seeing the original records and finding my ancestors' names in ancient, spidery writing. I've already accumulated a few marriage records and wills and I expect to get a lot more tomorrow.

Tomorrow's main meal is planned for Cafe Martine, a little place we spotted on our walk this afternoon. It's French food, so I expect I will continue to be bad. But, then what's a vacation for anyway?

Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we diet.

LSW

SLC, FHL and Me

Today we flew to Salt Lake City for the fourth time. Amazing how much shorter the trip has become. I'm getting used to the flying, I guess. Almost fell asleep at one point.

The flight to Dallas was uneventful, except that we had 40 minutes between planes and we were stepping lively to reach the SkyLink that took us clear across the airport to the other terminal. Have you noticed it seems to be a rule that wherever you land in Dallas, your connecting flight will be on the opposite side of the airport? Anyway, we had just enough time to make a restroom stop before boarding.

Since I flew American in November, they've stopped serving free snacks. You can still have complimentary sodas and coffee, but if you want to eat you have to cough up $3. Fortunately we both thought to bring along snack bars, so we managed to keep from caving in from hunger.

About 45 minutes out of Salt Lake City we were informed that it was snowing there. We flew above the clouds most of the way and during that last leg we were in the clouds. And it was a bumpy ride. And I was calm and cool through the whole thing. Actually the scariest part of the whole trip was the 2o minute cab ride to the hotel. I think the guy was trying to break some kind of speed record.

We ate and hit the library for a few hours. We quickly got back into the groove there, but our long day began to catch up with us and I was beginning to nod off in the middle of the stacks. We decided it would be a good idea to get a good night's sleep and start in earnest tomorrow. Besides Lost was about to come on.

Right now I'm sitting here looking out over the city and a snowy mountain and hail is hitting the patio door. Far cry from Texas.

LSW

Teachers, Part 3

Meanwhile back in the schoolroom.

When we hit High School, those of us who would probably attend college ended up with fewer choices than those who might or might not choose to further their education. If you were on the college plan you took both Algebra I & II, Geometry and Trig, Physics and Chemistry. I was the only girl in my class who was definitely on the college plan. This had some benefits and some disappointment attached. On the positive side I managed to avoid a year of P.E. because the only way Physics could be worked out for all was to schedule it opposite the girls' P.E. class. On the downside, the science teacher and I nearly came to blows that year because he was an arrogant ass who plainly did not think a girl should make the top grade in his class.

Mr. S was one of only two teachers who ever caused my parents to request an audience with the administration over unfair grading practices. I'm not sure what exactly was said in that meeting but the bottom line was that I was excused from taking Chemistry the next year because neither the administration or my parents or me or Mr. S wanted to go down that road again. (The irony is that two years later I garnered 4 hours of Chemistry credit on my college entrance exams. Go figure.) The man was impossible and continued to be for many years. Sad to say, he did not come to a happy end, which goes to show that you reap what you sow.

The other teacher who earned my parents' wrath taught English for part of one year. Mr. P was undoubtedly the worse excuse for a teacher I ever encountered. (Well, there was that Economics professor in college who might tie him for that position.) Anyway, Mr. P's idea of teaching English was to have us copy articles from magazines, day after day. The boys in the class learned to get him talking about one of his pet topics and while they shot the breeze, the rest of us were laboriously copying article after article. His idea seemed to be that we would learn sentence construction by osmosis. His Waterloo came when he began to dole out grades based on who kissed up the best. It did not take long for the administration to realize that something was wrong when below average students began making As and normally A-students were making below standard grades. He departed before the year was half-over and was replaced with Mrs. Bird, the superintendent's wife and one heck of an English teacher. I, for one, was relieved and delighted to see her. The brown-nosers were not.

Mrs. Bird appreciated the fact that I could write a coherent sentence and studied hard. At the end of the year she awarded the English medal to me, a mere Freshman. I suspect this shocked the older students. I know it floored me.

Mr. Stewart took over English for the rest of our High School years. He was a genial soul who had known most of us for years. He came from a nearby town and had dated one of the popular high school girls when we were in elementary school. Under normal circumstances he would probably have been eaten alive, but due to his pre-existing popularity and the fact that he was a competent teacher, he had a long and successful career. I was very fond of Mr. Stewart, who also attended our church and for a short while lived across the street from us. There was one time, however, when I couldn't keep quiet about a misstep he was making. We were studying the Greek play Antigone, and he persisted in pronouncing it Anti-gone. This went on for several days, until he asked me to either read a passage or answer a question, and I pronounced it An-tig-o-nee. He remarked later to my parents that he realized in that moment that I had known more about the lesson than the teacher.

One of the all-time best teachers I ever had was Mrs. Harral, who taught math. She was also in charge of the school library and several of my study halls and ended up as our class sponsor, so we saw a lot of each other. She tolerated no nonsense, but she had a good sense of humor and she knew just about everything there was to know about math. I remember during the long, excruciating experience that was Algebra II, I began to flounder for awhile. My straight A average dropped to a B in her class. My father, ever the helpful soul, teased me unmercifully until she stepped in and told him there was nothing wrong with a B and to leave me alone. (Considering his track record in college math, he really had no right to criticize.)

We're about half-way through the High School years at this point. Stay tuned for part 4.

LSW

Some Things are Meant to Be

Friday was one of those days when I should have left the check book and credit cards at home. I spent a couple of hours on Main Street in Smithville checking out some favorite antique stores. I found something at every store and only managed to talk myself out of a couple of things.

About two years ago I had come across an antique photo album I was tempted to purchase. Part of my ongoing habit of rescuing other people's ancestor photos. It was priced a little out of my range, however, so I passed it by regretfully. Every time I would go in there, I would look at it again and again come to the conclusion that it was too much. And pass it by.

There are two stores side by side on Main Street that are managed by a husband and wife team. The wife's store is one of my favorites. Just cluttered enough to be interesting. The husband's store, while containing some fine antiques, is more reminscent of a jumble sale. Disorganized, haphazardly arranged. But if you have time, worth investigating. It is the husband's store where the antique photo album has sat for the last couple of years.

I found an old Texas history book at the wife's store and while she rang me up, we chattered about different subjects. I've been in there enough that we recognize each other and she knows I'm a local. I mentioned that I was headed next door and the way my luck was running I would probably find something else I had to have. I'm not sure how it came up, but I mentioned the photo album. She thought a moment and then told me I should check out a certain table where a half-price sale was in progress. She was sure she had seen an old photo album in the sale group. Maybe I would get lucky and it would be the one.

I saw it the minute I stepped into the store. It was the old album I've had my eye on and it was indeed marked down to half the original asking price. It's an unusual old album, standing upright, with a double cover, each side of which has a beveled mirror. Its dusty rose velvet is torn and scuffed and the hinges of the covers are almost gone. Inside is a collection of 49 antique photos. Babies, men and women, and several wedding photos. Most are imprinted with photographers in Round Rock, Georgetown, Hutto and Fort Worth. Some genealogist would probably give their eye-teeth for this little treasure, but I've yet to find any scrap of identification.

At half-price I could no longer resist the call. When I took it up to the counter, the man was surprised to see that it was marked down. He said he would have snatched it up himself if he had noticed the booth owner had included it in the sale. He was too late and the album has moved into its new home.

Where I think it was meant to have been all along.

LSW

The Proof

Still playing with the old slides. Here is the proof that I've never known life without a little dog in my lap.

Sissy was the first of the great dogs in my life. Half chihuahua and half toy manchester. She was a gift from my Grandmother Wilcoxen. She had first obtained a black full chihuahua that she named Sissy. Before she was able to give her to me, she realized that Sissy the first had the snappish chihuahua temperament that would not mix well with a child and decided to keep her for herself. Sissy the first ultimately became known as Black Sissy and my little dog as White Sissy. Both were in my life for several years. Black Sissy was loyal to a fault to my grandmother, but she never did warm up to me. White Sissy, on the other hand, was the perfect child's companion.

White Sissy was a terrific watch dog. She was with the family through the San Gabriel and Oak Hill years and even lived a year or two in Smiley. She had one peculiar trait. She was always vigilant in alerting the family to any stranger, except if that stranger were a Baptist preacher. How she knew the difference we never knew. But all Baptist preachers were welcomed to the house without fanfare.

One day an insurance salesman came to call and Sissy failed to sound the alert. After he and Mother had visited, she commented that he was the first stranger to gain entrance without argument from Sissy and she only did that for Baptist preachers. The man gave an odd look and confessed that he had formerly been a Baptist preacher.

My fondest memory of Sissy was playing in the church yard in Oak Hill. She would run huge circles around me, running so fast she was a white blur. Every so often, she would dip in close to me, just close enough for my fingers to graze her fur, and off she ran again.

I guess Sissy is the reason I never feel complete without a little dog in my life.

LSW

Once Upon a Time

Easter of long ago (about 1958) involved a new dress, a new hat, and an Easter Egg hunt in the side yard of the church. This particular day we were living in San Gabriel and I was still an only child.

A few years later, I was a big sister. Easter still meant a new dress, new shoes, a new hat and an Easter Egg hunt. This photo was taken in Smiley. You'd think the parents would have picked a more photogenic spot than in front of the beat up garage door.

But don't we look fine? Dig those spiffy glasses!

(Just for the record, when I got to thinking about Easter photos I realized that they were on slides. These are my first slide scans on the new scanner. Not bad, huh?)

LSW

A 98% Good Day

How to spend a birthday:

1) Take the day off. Preferrably on a day when it's not raining for a change.

2) Cash in a completed frequent drinker card for a free sugar-free vanilla latte on your way to the outlet mall.

3) Hit Hobby Lobby and find several good bargains that are all on clearance or on sale. Use your 40% off coupon on the one item you found to buy that was not already marked down.

4) Mosey on down to the outlet mall and start your day at Border's, where you use your 30% off coupon to acquire a Sherlock Holmes audiobook for next week's commute.

5) On impulse, visit the Calvin Klein outlet and buy a pair of size 10 jeans. The ability to get into size 10 jeans is a new development that should not be ignored.

6) Next go to Coldwater Creek and finally locate a pair of brown slacks that you've been seeking for several weeks.

7) Head on to the other outlet mall and spend a pleasant hour trying on clothes at Chico's and find yourself having to send the clerk back for smaller sizes. Repeatedly. Find another pair of heretofore elusive brown slacks. And several other pieces you didn't realize that you desperately needed. Use a 15% off entire purchase coupon in addition to the normal frequent buyer discount to save $73 on the whole lot.

8) Start drifting home, stop for a quick meal at Luby's, then a brief stop at Half-Price Books where you pick up two great books on crafting dollhouses, 2 books of collected FoxTrot cartoons that have been on your Amazon wishlist for awhile at quadruple the price, and the last of Dan Brown's books that I did not yet have on audio.

9) Get home and collect puppy kisses.

10) Now comes the 2% bad. A check of today's mail and Mother's idiot insurance company finally responds to my fax to disenroll and claims that I can't do that under the rules established by Medicare. Wanna bet? The feud resumes Monday morning. I refuse to spoil my birthday weekend getting mad at those morons.

11) Check your email and discover birthday greetings from 1 aunt, 1 old friend, 3 cousins, 1 co-worker and a sister-in-law. Soon thereafter get a phone call and a half-hour's pleasant conversation with another aunt I don't get to talk to very often.

12) Collect some kitten snuggles.

13) Head to bed and contemplate that tomorrow is a holiday. Plan an assault on the local antique shops and an enchilada plate at La Cabana.

Just as you decide your life sucks canal water, it will surprise you with a really good day.

LSW

Forgive Me, For I Have Sinned

Happy Birthday to me. In honor of the day, I am taking my annual "personal day" and tootling off for a day of shopping.

Since I would not be at the office on my birthday, my old friend and boss treated me to lunch yesterday at Main Street Grille in Round Rock. Another old friend and co-worker joined us and we had a good visit and an excellent meal. In my case, Shrimp Diablo (large shrimp stuffed with jalepeno pepper, wrapped in bacon, laced with some kind of honey sweetened sauce and served with a chipotle dipping sauce--Lord, it was good). My first sin was to eat the risotto that I had intended to take one bite of and then stop. I really intended to be good after that. But my friend was having none of it. He insisted we order dessert and he would eat half of mine so I would not break my diet too much. I opted for the least offensive of the offerings, a New York cheesecake with fresh strawberries.

You guessed it. I ate the whole thing. This has been only the second time I have eaten a real dessert since the onset of the diet. I guess if you have to cheat, your birthday is the best excuse you can have.

So this morning I really expected to see the scales pay me back with an increased pound or two. It always does when I splurge on a Mexican plate, and then I'm good for the rest of the week and return back to my target weight.

Back when I was on the strictest portion of the diet, I was using an analog scale. The amount of weight I lost was right at 30 pounds, which on the analog scale showed me just under that magic 140 pound mark that was my original target. One day I decided to replace those old scales with a new digital scale and was chagrined to discover that my weight was actually a couple of pounds over 140. Even though the weight loss was the same, I felt like I had not hit my goal, so I had to knuckle down and get back to dieting until the digital scale hit that magic number.

Since then, I've bounced between 140 and 142, but maintaining without too much effort. I knew that I would be at the high mark when I stepped on the scales this morning. But...

Even with all my sins, the reading was 139.5.

Happy Birthday to me!

LSW

P.S. I have also been blessed with sweet puppy and kitten kisses this morning. So far, so good.

Invasion

We pause to consider. We knew it was inevitable, but we thought it would be awhile longer before the invaders made it to Bastrop.

As of Thursday, the infection took root in my own backyard.

Starbucks.

They're heeeere....

LSW

Teachers, Part 2

Along about 6th grade, we all hit puberty. The boys' collective mind ended up in the gutter for the year and any comment that could be remotely construed sexual in nature sent them into gales of laughter. The girls, hormones all atwitter, were delighted to discover we had a young male teacher not too many years out of school. He pretended not to know we all had a crush on him and managed to teach us a few things that year. There was one day I remember that he pushed my temper to the limit. We were scheduled to have a quiz that day, and I had spent the previous night in feverish study for it. Instead of our customary quiz sheet, he announced that the quiz would have only one question. He wrote on the blackboard, "Why?". The compulsive students, of which I was one, were lost and could only panic over the thought of a blight on our academic record. Of course the results of the quiz did not become a matter of record. What it taught me was not to be blinded to the obvious by sheer panic.

Seventh grade was a major disappointment. We acquired a teacher who was having some kind of personal problem and was ultimately unable to cope with our little band of hellions. The boys were quick to spot and exploit her weaknesses. She failed to understand that we were not sweet little kids, but devious little teenagers. To make things worse, she was prickly, sensitive to perceived slights, and generally irritable. Needless to say, she did not endear herself to us and only incited us to harass her at every opportunity. She ended up taking medical leave and we finished out the year with "Miss Mittie" Bundick. Miss Mittie was another born teacher who didn't take any crap from her students. We had run amuck for much of the year, but she planted her thumb firmly on our little psyches and we kept to the straight and narrow until the term was over.

Now, what I learned from Mrs. H was never to underestimate my opponent. What I learned from Miss Mittie is that it's better to be in a class that is under control. You actually learn something.

In eighth grade we began to change classrooms and teachers for each subject. Life became more interesting when our world began to expand beyond the competence or incompetence of one person. Many of the teachers we encountered in the eighth grade would be the same teachers we had through high school and will be remembered in the next installment. There is, however, one thing that stands out about the eighth grade.

This was the year we were introduced to the concept of home economics and shop classes. These were new subjects for the Smiley school and it was the first time the girls and boys were split up for a period each day. Miss Thomas attempted to teach us to cook and sew. Mr. M took the boys in hand.

I thorougly enjoyed my year in home economics. I learned two things in particular that year. One was the art of making bread. The whole process fascinated me and I still like to make a loaf of bread from time to time. But more importantly, it was Miss Thomas who taught me to knit and crochet. We didn't learn any fancy stitches, but we did make some slippers and in the process I caught the knitting bug for life. From those basic knitting lessons I learned enough to be able to teach myself the fancy work later on. If not for Miss Thomas, I would probably never have learned to knit and I would have missed a lot of pleasurable moments clicking those needles together.

During the last six weeks of that spring semester, the administration in their infinite wisdom decided to send the boys to home ec and the girls to shop. I'm sure they thought it would be a good trans-gender experience, but Lord we girls were completely lost in that strange world of band saws and planes and various hard woods. In later years when I developed my fondness for dollhouse construction, I've thought back to that semester and wished that I had realized at the time what an opportunity I had been given. Instead, I spent six weeks pretty much immobilized from sheer terror of this strange world I had landed in. I did my best to just survive. Now I wish I had spent that time learning how to use a router. Hindsight.

I did get one other thing (other than panic attacks) from Mr. M that year. We acquired our first small dog from him when their dog had a litter of puppies. She was a little thing we named Dobie because she was half toy doberman. We adored that little dog and we've kept little dogs in the house ever since.

It was also in 1968 that I encountered the Mr. B who assigned us the task of compiling a family tree. He was our science teacher, so I'm not sure how he managed to work genealogy into his curriculum, but he did. I was generally bored out of my skull in his classes (the man seemed to always be talking about caliche). But one day he decided to talk about family history and I've not stopped talking family history since. He also let us knit in class, so I really should be more charitable toward him. But I sure got tired of talking about rocks.

I just recalled that it was in eighth grade that I decided to go out for the basketball team, so I also had Coach H for PE. I really should look that man up and apologize.

LSW

Teachers, Part 1

Some teachers are remembered fondly, others not so much. I was reminded this week how one of my favorite pasttimes has its roots in an assignment made by a teacher that I despised. Much as I hate to admit that the man has had a lasting influence on me, it is unfortunately a fact that such is the case. Maybe I would have gravitated to the hobby naturally on my own; however, it was Mr. B who initially focused my attention on the addiction that is genealogy. I got to thinking about other teachers in my past and their lasting presence (or absence) in my life today. So, permit me a few digressions on my educational past.

First the rules. Those I remember fondly will get credit. Those I remember with less enthusiasm will be identified by initials only.

Mrs. Gertrude Tillman taught me to read. Definitely on my plus list. She was a sweet woman and a great start to my educational years. She seemed ancient to me at the time, but she was a middle-aged 61 when we met. She was a born teacher. My clearest memories of first grade, back in 1960, was reading. I can remember her sitting with a small circle of us, patiently guiding us through the forest of words. I can remember her setting up a chart with our names and putting a little cut-out book beside our name every time we completed reading a book on our own. I had a very long line of little books beside my name at the end of the year. Everything I've accomplished in my life has its roots in learning to read with Mrs. Tillman.

Mrs. B, my second grade teacher, I remember hardly at all. I'm surprised I even remember her name. The year I entered second grade, the third grade was bursting at the seams. The solution was to split the third grade and move half of them in with us, since the second grade was small. Mrs. B ended up devoting most of the year to working with the third graders and pretty much left us second graders adrift. I can't remember anything about that year that matters, except I spent two weeks at home with the mumps and I played a dancing doll in the Christmas pagent. I can't remember doing any school work, but I do remember a lot of chatter among the students and a lot of art work. I have one dim memory of Mrs. B showing me how to put a pretty edge on a picture I was cutting out from a magazine. Aside from that, I can't remember any relationship with the woman at all.

Third grade occurred in a different school. Mrs. P spent the first six weeks we were together mispronouncing my name. I never quite forgave her for that. Her teaching methods left something to be desired, but I do remember learning a few things. An improvement over the previous year, though not by much. Mrs. P divided the class in groups according to the row you sat in. She would post work to be done on the blackboard first thing in the morning and then would work with each group of students in turn in their reading, while the remaining students worked on the posted assignments. We actually made friends toward the end of the year, but she was not an easy woman to warm to and she just couldn't seem to get it straight how to say my name. One lasting influence she had on me was not really her fault. The Victoria schools taught cursive writing in fourth grade. When we left Victoria and moved to Smiley at the end of the year, I learned that cursive writing was taught in third grade in Smiley. So, having slipped into an educational crack, I basically taught myself cursive writing.

"Miss Reba" Bundick was a good teacher. She had taught nearly everyone that lived in Smiley and knew what she was doing. I can remember lessons about Ecuador, long division, and being groomed for the U.I.L. Picture Memory contest. And, of course, that was the year I became proficient in Roman Numerals, though it was Coach M who taught me that and not Miss Reba. Miss Reba was another born teacher and not only taught us well, but also encouraged our creative sides. I can remember being mortified that I just could not seem to grasp the concept of long division and being kept in at recess as a result. But the extra individual attention she was able to give during that time finally got me over the hurdle. Miss Reba was a force and a character that caused grown men to tremble in her wake. Her college ring was a large ring intended for male graduates and she would rap it against her desk to get our attention. She retired not too many years after my sojourn in her kingdom, but her influence was felt for several generations of Smiley citizens.

Fifth grade came along and I had my first male teacher, Mr. K. The thing that sticks out in my mind about fifth grade is that my focus took a holiday. I had a hard time remembering assignments and I seemed to be moving in my own little orbit that year. I maintained my grades, so I can only surmise that for some reason I was either bored or unchallenged and creating my own mental exercises that kept me distracted from what was going on in the classroom. Weird year. Can't remember too much about Mr. K. Can't remember much of anything about that year. I do recall that he threatened to give licks to a group of girls at one point, which scandalized the entire class. He was pretty attached to that paddle board and used it frequently on the boys.

Thus ended my elementary years. Two winners, one loser and a couple of draws.

LSW

Happy Dog

Mojo is in bliss today. This morning I went out and hosed off the deck and it's the first time since last summer he has been able to fight the water hose. Thorougly wet, but utterly satisfied, he stuck by my side while I disassembled the "greenhouse" on the other deck. He barked at squirrels, fought the broom while I swept the debris of 3 months of plant droppings off the deck, and again got to attack the water hose when we watered down the liberated plants.

Mom, thoroughly exhausted, sat down for a second cup of coffee and an episode of I Love Lucy. Mojo jumped up in the chair beside me and snuggled down beside me. Then he turned toward me and gave me a look of complete satisfaction. For an instant his eyes took on the triangular shape that was Bebop's unique way of showing his total happiness. It was almost as if Mojo was channeling my former best helper. Caught me off guard. For a split second it was Bebop sitting beside me.

I would not be at all surprised if I had two helpers with my work this morning.

LSW

Ken and Barbie and Xana and Scout

Way, way back in about 1963, I acquired one of the very first Ken dolls. Those first Kens sported fuzzy hair that did not hold up well to play. My Ken became pretty much bald in a very short period of time. Mother remedied the situation with a black marker and Mattel, realizing they had a design problem, moved to a Ken with a molded head of hair.

Skip ahead 45 years. Mattel has been reissuing anniversary dolls and Ken turned 45 this past year. So they issued an anniversary edition of the very doll I had, complete with flocked hair. I couldn't resist. Today my old Ken (on the left) met the new/old Ken (on the right). My old Ken lost his swim trunks somewhere over the last 45 years, but you'll notice his sandals are still in pretty good shape. The new Ken is a fraction taller and his head is a bit rounder, but he's not far from the original.

Also in the shipment I received today was the latest in the Barbie and Ken Wizard of Oz dolls. When I get a chance, I will get them all out and take a photo. I have Barbie as Dorothy, Glenda the Good Witch and now as the Wicked Witch of the West. I have Ken as the Scarecrow, the Tin Man and the Cowardly Lion. I also have a few Kelly/Tommy dolls portraying some of the Munchkins. The cool thing about my new Barbie Wicked Witch is that she's green, right down to her legs. It's a weird collection, but we all have to collect something, right?

I worked at home today so I could run Xana over to the vet in Elgin for a follow up visit. We were pleased that her weight has held, her blood work came back improved and the doctor felt she was responding well to her fluid treatments and new drug. There's no escaping we have an elderly dog, but she's stabilized somewhat and that's good news.

Sometime during the afternoon I glanced over at the window seat and saw that Scout was still for a change. Not only still, but being incredibly lazy.

What a hard life.

LSW

Wide, Wonderful World

Yesterday I went to the Bass Concert Hall on the UT Campus to see The Lion King. It was an extraordinary experience. The story of the stage production is the same as that of the animated movie, with music by Elton John and Tim Rice. There the resemblance ends. The costumes and stage sets have to be seen to be believed. The actors portraying the various animals are seen and heard in their own costumed personas, but each works with a mask or puppet that take over and you stop seeing the actors and start seeing the characters almost immediately. The casting was superb, the singing lively and energetic, the dancing outstanding and the staging awesome.

In the first few minutes of Act 1, various animals come down the aisles of the theater. This included antelopes, zebras, and a humongous elephant. In the first few minutes of Act 2, colorful birds flew over the heads of the audience, with the puppeteers sprinkled throughout the auditorium and the balconies. The heavily child-populated audience was spellbound.

Whatever else you say about Disney, they know how to put on a good show. The Disney of today may be more concerned with making a buck than the one I grew up with, but they still know how to entertain.

The one I grew up with gave me many enjoyable moments when my parents took me to see Sleeping Beauty, 101 Dalmatians, The Absent Minded Professor, Pollyanna, and hundreds of Mickey Mouse, Goofy and Donald Duck cartoons. I went to see Old Yeller, too, but I can't say I enjoyed it. It may be a good movie, but my little heart was broken at the end. Terrible thing to show a child. I still won't watch that movie.

I can remember being completely taken with Sleeping Beauty. I was treated to a charm bracelet promotional item that was sold at the screening. I wish I still had that bracelet. For my fifth birthday, one of the few where I actually had a real party with kids, I received a set of paper dolls and I played Sleeping Beauty happily for a long time, until the dolls fell apart from use.

I have another clear memory of a Saturday afternoon long ago. I was preparing to watch the Disney show and my father was preparing to hand-crank a freezer of home-made ice cream. We set up shop in front of the television and I sat on the freezer to hold it down while he cranked. I remember distinctly watching a Goofy cartoon with a cold rear end. Funny how things connect in your mind. I seldom think of the Disney show without thinking about ice cream.

I've had a lot of enjoyment watching Disney movies. I have quite a few in my DVD collection today. I would much rather watch The Sword in the Stone than some bloody, gory adult movie any day. Good entertainment is good entertainment whether you are six or sixty and Disney can usually be counted on for good entertainment.

Those were the days of Hakuna Matata.

LSW

Tea and Art

About 15 years ago, I bought a set of black oriental miniature furniture in an antique store. It's been a long time in finding a place in a room setting, but today I finally created a vignette that I've named "Tea and Art".

The box is a display case usually employed for displaying collectible footballs. The sides are glass and highly reflective, which makes taking photos difficult. Hopefully you can tell what's going on here.


The focal point for the room was purchased a couple of weeks ago in San Antonio. The red chair is by Bespaq, a high-end line of miniatures. This is the one and only piece I own, primarily because I can't usually afford it. I happened across a 30% discount that allowed this chair to come home with me.

On the floor is a red Persian-style rug. There are two cork miniature scenes, one purchased in an antique store and the other from World Market. On the round table at left are three porcelain vases with white and blue designs. Mini-Ming. A black screen stretches around the chair and is flanked by two small display tables that each hold a mini "ivory" Buddha. At the far side of the box is a red, carved trunk that I found at an antique store some time back. Above it is a painting of a lovely oriental lady dressed in red. To the right of the painting is a tall display unit holding an "ivory" pagoda that was unearthed on a junking tour of Georgetown. In the far corner is a black chest that holds a red Buddha statue purchased at the outlet mall in San Marcos.

In front of the chair is a table holding a teapot, teacup and jar of Oolong tea. The owner of this room collects Chinese art and likes to sit and have a cup of tea while enjoying his surroundings.

See what trouble I can get into when I'm not having to worry about house cleaning?

LSW

Top of the Morning

And a happy St. Patty's day to all!

Today I celebrate my Irish ancestry through the Dunavan and Hughes lines. These two are Irish for sure and I believe I have Irish blood coming down through some of my other lines as well. My Hughes kinfolk were weavers and may account for my affinity for knitting and crocheting.

Today I also celebrate having a clean house for a change. I ran into my former cleaning lady a couple of weeks ago and she's back in business. Yesterday she cleaned the house from top to bottom and it was quite a job. I did not inherit a love of housecleaning from any of my ancestors and the best I can normally manage is a lick and a promise. (Those promises seldom get fulfilled.) It's just too hard to work up any energy for housecleaning after a week of aggravating work and that two hour commute every day. I plan to sit back and enjoy my clean surroundings today, since I know they won't last very long.

My Irish blood doesn't mind a little dirt in the corners and animals on the furniture, but my English blood thinks it would be nice if we had these clean up sessions a little more often. Which, if my cleaning lady's health holds up for awhile, I hope will happen.

So in honor of St. Patrick's Day and my clean house, I leave you with a traditional Irish blessing:

May you live to be a hundred years,

With one extra year to repent!

LSW

Seeing Through the Eyes of a Little Dog

When it rains a long, sustained rain like we had earlier this week, our little dry creek behind the house becomes a little babbling brook. Yesterday afternoon the dogs and I took a walk down our gravel road and I could hear our little brook cheerfully gurgling its way down the hill. Mojo could hear it, too, and he wasn't at all sure what he thought about it.

Just the day before he had peered down the deep (to him, anyway) chasm and thought about making his way down to the bottom. As he approached the same vantage point after the rain, he couldn't quite figure out what had happened. He cautiously peered over and then looked back to me as if to say, "That wasn't there yesterday!". He was quite bemused.

A little later on, we headed up into the woods behind the house to make our way home and he unexpectedly plunged into a puddle that was disguised by a mat of pine needles. Again he looked up at me in puzzlement. "That wasn't there yesterday!", he seemed to say again. It put him on guard and a few minutes later he sounded an alarmed bark when he spotted a trash can that had been blown out into the yard. He knows where things are supposed to be in his world and he doesn't like it at all if his environment gets shaken up a bit.

He's still upset by that strange dog that keeps watching him in the mirror.

What fun to watch a little boy grow up.

LSW

Forensics

You may recall a post awhile back regarding the demise of a little stuffed bear. I thought then that it couldn't get any worse. Poor, naive me.

This morning I was greeted by the delinquents when I opened my door and a pair of more cherubic souls you could not ask for. And then I turned on the bathroom light and saw the carnage. A thorough examination of the premises has revealed the following.

In the early hours of Saturday morning, a dalmatian Beanie Baby was savagely attacked in the family room. His life blood of white plastic discs, each about the size of a small lentil, had been spilled across the family room floor. There was also a considerable amount of tissue, in this case polyfiberfil, strewn about. The trail of blood and tissue continued up the stair case and into the bathroom, where he was left cold and lifeless in the bathtub as his life force drained away from him.

You would be surprised how many of those little plastic discs there are in one average Beanie Baby. I was tempted to call one of those crime clean up companies to deal with the hideous aftermath. Thank goodness for my two Oreck vacuums. It was quite a job to remove the evidence.

My two little murderers are strolling around, looking quite pleased with themselves for having created such an entertaining activity for their mommy at 5:30 in the morning.

Anybody know of a good reform school for cats?

LSW

Music Appreciation 101

I received a free CD of classical music in the mail this week with an offer to sign up for regular shipments of additional CDs. I immediately toss any kind of offer like this in the trash, but the free CD was worth keeping since it was basically a greatest hits collection of Mozart. I listened to it on the way to work this morning and enjoyed it thoroughly. Especially one of the pieces. It's an old friend of mine.

Back in my Mary Hardin-Baylor days everyone was required to take 3 hours of fine arts. It was an easy choice for me and I embarked on a semester of Music Appreciation. We met in an upstairs classroom of the old Presser Fine Arts building. It was an evening class that began at 6PM. And it was springtime. Perfect atmosphere for the appreciation of classical compositions.

My old friends Beethoven and Chopin were well represented. And, in my early years, Daddy had purchased a 12-record collection of the greatest classical pieces performed by the Longines Symphonette which had included many of the pieces we were to study. There were some surprises, like Stravinsky. At the time I thought Rite of Spring was bizarre, but I've come to appreciate it over the years. It may be that many of those in the class were suffering through the semester because it was a requirement, but I was at home with Bach, Brahms, and the other old boys and enjoyed my rare departure from the no-nonsense business department.

One evening stands out in my mind and it was brought back to me this morning as the first notes of Mozart's Symphony No. 40 in G Minor began to play. For some reason I had missed learning any Mozart pieces during my years of piano lessons. I was familiar with some of his work by virtue of the Longines Symphonette and wide study of the works of Bugs Bunny, but I had never before encountered Symphony No. 40.

It was a perfect spring evening and the windows of the classroom had been opened wide. The trees outside the windows held birds who provided interesting harmonic complement to the music playing inside. I have no memory of what specific element of composition was supposed to be represented by Symphony No. 40, but I can remember when I first heard that first bar of music.

I was struck dumb by the beauty of the thing. Perhaps it was the setting. To be wrapped in the arms of a gentle spring breeze and to be exposed to a particularly beautiful piece of music was something I was unprepared for that evening. I found myself almost moved to tears without warning. I've never listened to that piece since and felt quite the same intense emotional reaction, but it always fills me with contentment.

That Texas spring evening I knew music appreciation in its purest sense.

LSW

Living Ala Carte

I'm about ready to tackle dinner this evening. It seems that tonight I will be cooking 4 separate meals.

First of all, I plan to play hooky tomorrow, so I'm going to make chili beans out of the pot of beans I cooked yesterday and have them ready for tomorrow night.

Second, much to the frowning disapproval of the vet, I cook for my dogs. I don't like the words that appear in the ingredients portion of dog food labels. Like "by-products". Who wants to eat by-products of anything? My babies deserve to be fed decent food that could be ingested by humans. So, I shall be frying up some ground turkey to be mixed with a can of unsalted veggies for the dogs.

Third, I've suffered from sinus congestion all day. I slept very little last night, finally moving downstairs to the couch in a fit of desperation. By morning I had been joined by two of the dogs and had had to get up once to lock the cats in the utility room because they wanted to play with my feet. I had no choice but to work most of the day so that I could afford to play hooky tomorrow and I sat here at the desk oozing vile things from my nose and trying to focus on the CRT while my head was vibrating. I finally began to feel better about 4PM, took a hot shower, dressed in comfy clothing and decided I should whip up a batch of Chicken Tortilla Soup. That should make me feel all better.

But Mother doesn't like Chicken Tortilla Soup, so I'm also preparing a steak and salad for her.

That's four separate meals I'm cooking tonight. I think I may have missed my calling. I should really be a short order cook.

LSW

Spring Green and the Land of Oz

I am going to love my country commute even more when spring arrives. There are already signs that its arrival is just around the corner:

Tractors are tilling up the cotton fields
Horses are frolicking in the green grassy pastures
New calves are playing little calf games
Brahman bulls are bucking the authority of the rancher (he settled down with a touch of the cattle prod, but there for a minute I thought he was going to make a break for it)
Tender buds are forming on the trees
Dead skunks are littering the pavement

That last one makes for a fragrant ride to work. I'm going to wear out the button on the electric windows lowering them an inch to let the stink out.

And, of course, this is the season for unstable weather patterns. Last night a tornado tore through a school in Alabama and the news this morning was full of photos of the aftermath. I thought to myself that there is one experience I hope I never have. I have no desire to see a tornado up close and personal. I can't fathom what drives the storm chasers.

I've actually had a distant encounter with a tornado, but I have very little memory of it. In fact I hesitate to mention it at all because I don't know how much I actually remember and how much is memories of others that I've adopted as my own. I do have several very clear flashes of the day that are all mine.

I was probably 3 or 4 at the time. We were visiting the kinfolk in Elgin and I've been told that Mother and I were napping in the back bedroom. One of those clear flashes is looking through the screen window in that room, so I fully believe that I was lying on the bed close to the window. The next thing I think I know is being hustled to the truck and becoming aware that the grownups had decided to drive out from under the threat of a tornado that had formed and looked to be heading our way. I don't think I knew what all the fuss was about, but I remember the sense of urgency and I can remember looking up through the pickup window.

I've been told that we were driving away and came to a crossroads where it was unclear which direction would be the best escape route. About that time the tail of the tornado took a little jig in one of the directions and we turned in the opposite.

I'm not sure what happened next. I guess the storm passed over and the fear went with it. I can remember that we encountered my father on the road, driving back from whereever he had been and we stopped. I have a clear memory of looking out the driver's window at my father in the other car.

I'm hoping that was my brush with the Land of Oz and that I never get another experience with it. After all, there's no place like home.

LSW