Taste of Texas

Real Tree Versus Fake Tree

2011-11-27T23:06:00.000-06:00

I've had real. I've had fake. Both have their merits, and I am flummoxed at which to choose for this year's tree. I have the fake one I bought a couple of years ago to save me money from buying the real tree. But low and behold, fake trees with lights already installed have a tendency to have a bulb go out and now the bottom third of the tree is dark. Trying to find the broken bulb, with the lights being on a green string is darn near impossible. I don't want to have to throw out the whole tree, but I don't want to have to add working lights to a tree that's already wrapped with lights. Ackkkk

Okay, time to take a deep breath. I don't want to spend money I don't need to, but I want a normal, well lit Christmas tree. Is that asking too much?

I see so many trees where the decorations are perfect. I look at my sad ornaments and I'm not sure what to do. I will always have the ones my boys made when they were kids. Those will hang on any tree until they fall apart, and even then I'd probably repair them.

But the majority of my stuff is tossable. I am so not a designer type of person. But I want a pretty tree. Ughh.

I have no idea what I'm going to do. Any suggestions will be more than welcome. I refuse to be a "Bah Humbug."

A Souper Kind of Gal

2011-07-26T20:35:00.002-05:00

I love soup anytime of the year. Yes, it was 103 degrees on Sunday and I still made a pot of homemade soup. It was probably the most popular soup I've made in a long time. Located on page 36 in the cookbook, "Soup Suppers," by Arthur Schwartz, this recipe made a big pot and it was gone within three days. I tweaked it a little bit and added my own touches. Yummy.

Ingredients

2 pounds of potatoes, peeled and cut into chunks
1 35 oz can of plum tomatoes, with juice, coarsely chopped
1 qt water
1/2 tsp sea salt
1/4 tsp pepper
3 T extra virgin olive oil
4 medium onions, thinly sliced

My Addition:
1 package Hot Jimmy Dean sausage, crumbled.
2 tsp minced garlic

How I made it:

In a Dutch oven, crumble sausage with minced garlic and brown, once browned add chopped potatoes, tomatoes, and water. Season with salt and pepper. Bring to a boil, reduce heat, and simmer gently, partially covered, stirring occasionally, for 1 1/2 hours, until potatoes are very tender.

In another pan, add olive oil and add the onions. Cook until the onions wilt, about 5 minutes, then lower the heat and let them fry slowly, until they turn a golden color. Don't let them burn. Let them cook about an hour. It really adds a nice flavor by cooking them this way.

Add the onions to the soup, and partially mash the potatoes. Let it simmer 10 minutes or so, and then it's ready to eat. We had butter bread with the soup and I'm not kidding I ate three bowls of it by the end of the day.

I love this cookbook and recommend to anyone who loves soup.

From Library Journal
Schwartz, author of What To Cook When You Think There's Nothing in the House To Eat ( LJ 12/91), is a New York City food critic and radio host. Here he offers 100 hearty, satisfying soups and stews, along with 50 or so recipes for accompaniments from breads and appetizers to desserts. James Peterson's impressive Splendid Soups ( LJ 9/15/93) with some 400 recipes is the undisputed first choice, but Schwartz's more homey compendium is recommended for most collections. BOMC selection.
Copyright 1994 Reed Business Information, Inc.

Product Details
Paperback: 224 pages
Publisher: William Morrow Cookbooks; 1 edition (January 1, 1900)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0060969482
ISBN-13: 978-0060969486

http://www.amazon.com/Soup-Suppers-Main-Course-Soups-Accompaniments/dp/0060969482

You've Come A Long Way, Baby.

2011-07-11T20:57:00.001-05:00

I am a woman who can count the pairs of shoes she owns on one hand. I know. I'm a freak of nature. I go against everything that being a girlie-girl stands for -- oh wait, I'm not a girlie-girl. I'm not exactly a tom-boy either. For the most part, that is.

I went through the phase of short black skirts, low cut silk shirts, high heels, sheer nylons and bold lipstick. Then I got smart. I still remember the day I decided I wasn't going to try to conform to someone else's standards of what I should look like. What finally did me in were the nylons. I hated struggling to squeeze my body into something that cut off my circulation just to meet a standard someone else set. I asked myself why I am doing this. Who came up with the idea that waist-cutting nylons that tore so fricking easy were the standard of beauty for a woman? Not a woman, for damn sure.

Of course, once I stopped wearing nylons I had to stop wearing dresses. There's no way I could wear a dress or skirt without nylons. I'm so flipping pale I swear I glow in the dark.

In Texas, the gals here do it all the time. I've never been to a place where more women wear really nice dresses (I'm not talking sundresses) and no nylons. Of course, most of them have nice tans or naturally look great with naked legs.

And don't get me started on high heels. Now, it could be argued that I haven't been a fan of high heels because I happen to have wide feet which I inherited from my mama. My feet never really stood delicately in high heels. My feet always hurt because I could never find shoes wide enough that were feminine enough. It's as if shoe manufacturers didn't believe women actually had feet wider than a B width.

Just like they think all women should be a size zero and that a size six is considered fat. Forget those of us who are size 14 and up. We are lost causes. I was a size 12 from high school up until I a few years after I had my second son, and for many I was considered fat. Give me a break.

In the last 15 years I've also minimized the amount of makeup I wear. Again, I got tired of jumping through the hoops. Good make up is expensive and I always felt like such a fake person when I put it on. I'm now more into the natural style of makeup. And it's refreshing and actually quite liberating.

Now, just because I don't do the whole girlie-girl thing, and have a closet full of shoes, dresses and makeup doesn't mean I can't be sexy anymore. I can when I want--and when I need.

Man, I have so hit middle age.

Justice is Done

2011-05-02T21:27:00.002-05:00

I was happy when I heard bin laden was dead. He wouldn't order anymore innocent Americans to be murdered. But I wasn't quite ready to run out into the streets and dance a jig. It’s just not who I am. But that possibility changed when I heard a piece on NPR about a Texas lawmaker.

State Senator, and former Army lieutenant colonel, Brian Birdwell, was working in the Pentagon on Sept. 11, when it was hit by a hijacked plane. The routine chore of going to bathroom actually saved his life. He was returning to his office when the plane hit. From the explosion, Birdwell was blown of his feet and was seriously injured--burned over 60 percent of his body. When rescuers tried to pull him from the building, they pulled the skin right off his body. The heat was so intense part of his clothing had melted into his body. Somehow he survived. Some of his co-workers and friends didn’t make it. He went through 30 surgeries and skin grafts to repair and rebuild his body.

Today, in the Texas state legislature, he received sympathetic pats on the back from his fellow legislators. Birdwell also talked about a fellow Pentagon burn patient who lived for three years before dying while on his way to one of more than 100 reconstructive operations.

I can’t even fathom it—100 hundred reconstructive operations. Good God Almighty. I've had two skin grafts for my burned hand and thankfully I can't remember any of it. I can't even imagine being an adult and going through more than 100 surgeries.

Birdwell’s voice cracked as he talked of his fellow burn unit patient. I felt as if I wanted to cry myself as I drove and listened to the story.

I think I’m ready to dance that jig for bin laden’s death.

Justice is done.

And The Winner is .....

2011-04-26T21:14:00.001-05:00

Coming back from our recent trip in Bakersfield, I realized how varied our landscaping is in Texas versus California. Yeah, green is green, but one plant that Texas does much better than California is the Crape Myrtle. In fact, Crape Myrtle is the official state shrub. It's a hardy plant that handles a wide range of weather--and in Texas that can be anything from 18 to 100 degrees.

We had Crape Myrtles in California; in fact, we had two in our yard in Bakersfield. But they didn't grow anything like the ones we have in our yard here in San Antonio. Here, they are lush, green and the when they blossom, they take your breath away. Beautiful purples, blues, reds, pinks and whites abound in the Crape Myrtles around here.

You can't go into any plant nursery in Texas without seeing Crapes lining fences and sizes ranging from one gallon and up. I've even seen huge multiple gallon containers that would take a backhoe to plant.

I think I'm partial to San Antonio and its plants. San Antonio residents tend to do more natural landscaping than California. And between the multi-colored Crape Myrtles and limestone, you toss in a rose bush or two and it's beautiful.

They bloom from about June through October and they are a breeze to take care of--give them some full sun, water and fertilizer every now and then and they will do you proud.

Calling Babe Ruth

2011-04-10T17:26:00.001-05:00

When the earthquake/tsunami disasters first hit Sendai, Japan I found myself trying to research the area that had been hit. I wanted to know what type of area it was--the land, the people and the history. It just made it more "real" to me to understand the loss. My question, what happened to Babe Ruth?

Of the many things I came across while reading about Sendai, was the story behind a statue in the Yagiyama Zoo. Babe Ruth, along with other famous athletes including Lou Gehrig, visited Japan in 1934 as part of an American goodwill team. They played against Japanese players from six prominent universities. This Big 6 League was established in 1925 and sported some of the best baseball players in Japan, many who have gone on to the Japan Baseball Hall of Fame.

There were 18 games played all together and the United States won all of them. On that day in November, 1934, Babe Ruth hit his first homerun in the country, with a final tally of two homeruns for the game. The Japanese people loved seeing the baseball team in action and many view to this day, that Babe Ruth is the reason baseball became so popular in Japanese culture.

In 2002, a statue, created by Kanji Okina, was erected on the exact site where Babe Ruth hit his homerun. The inscription read, “This bronze statue stands as a witness, to future generations, of Sendai’s part in Japanese-American baseball history”.

The tsunami hit Sendai hard. It wiped away lives, homes and structures from the town. As far as the zoo, from what I've learned none of the staff were killed and all of the animals are okay, but they are running short of food. There is a web site for anyone who wants to donate to help Japan's zoos. http://www.waza.org/en/site/home

I know I'm offbeat, but I also wonder how and if Babe's statue survived. It's not going to be on any headlines anywhere. I mean it's just artwork, but I have a soft spot for art. Especially for the emotions for everyday Japanese citizens donating their own hard earned money to have the statue created in the first place.

The decision makers of the Major League Baseball Association should think about helping the Japanese people rebuild its zoo and recover or replace its historical baseball artwork. The United States has a bond with Japan over many things and one of the major ones is baseball. Pure and simple.

If anyone knows what has happened to Babe Ruth's statue in the zoo, please let me know.

Sweet or Not To Sweet

2011-04-06T21:47:00.001-05:00

There are two types of people--dessert eaters and non-dessert eaters. It's easy to guess which category I fit in. After a delicious dinner, a finishing touch is a nice dessert. It doesn't have to be a sweet overload, either. It can be a small, delicate sweet that comforts the palate and ends the meal on a high note.

I don't get these people who don't eat desserts at all. What's wrong with them? Are they space aliens? How can you not enjoy a dessert? There are a myriad of choices out there for people to choose from--chocolates, fruits, cakes, ice cream and pies. Choices for every taste range and dietary restrictions abound.

Don't want to go too heavy? Have some blended fruit over angel food cake. Want something really decadent? Bite into a dark, creamy double chocolate cheesecake so rich it would hit top the Forbes billionaire list.

You don't have to have a huge portion. My favorite desserts are those I share with my husband. We order one dessert and split it. That way neither one of us eats too much.

There's nothing more delicious than a homemade berry cobbler, topped with vanilla ice cream after eating a barbecue dinner.

I love desserts and I respect the chefs who make them. Most are like little works of art as they are presented on the table. I know what it takes to make those things. It's hard work and it belongs as the pièce de résistance to any meal.

I prefer to regard a dessert as I would imagine the perfect woman: subtle, a little bittersweet, not blowsy and extrovert. Delicately made up, not highly rouged. Holding back, not exposing everything and, of course, with a flavor that lasts. ~Graham Kerr

Ahh Haaaaa

2011-03-28T21:05:00.001-05:00

I had an epiphany the other day in regards to my fear of heights. In one brief, abstract moment I realized where my fear originated from--and it all can be blamed on Karl Wallenda and his high wire act.

On March 22, 1978, Karl Wallenda was in Puerto Rico doing what he had done since he was six years old--performing. As cameras were recording his sauntering on a high wire, 120 some odd feet in the air with no net, the 73-year-old slipped and fell to his death.

I was watching it. I can still see him swaying in the wind. Apparently, the video is still out in the Internet for those who've never seen it. I can't rewatch it. Once was enough.

From that point on, I feared heights. When I was a kid I would climb onto things and not be afraid at all. From 1978 on, that wasn't the case. Just the thought of it even now gives me the willies.

I'm thinking that was the first video I've seen that showed a real person dying. I had blocked that out all these years and boom, out it slips when I least expected it.

Funny how the mind works.

Over the years, I've tried to face my fear of heights. I even went up in a hot air balloon for a newspaper story I was writing. Somehow, I survived. Don't ask me how. The first 100 feet were okay, but after that I froze up. At one point, I had take photos and I had the hardest time removing my hands from the sides of the basket to focus the camera. My mind said move, but my body said, "Hell, no."

I've had panic attacks at two specific landmarks--Moro Rock in the Sequoia National Park and the Grand Canyon.

Moro Rock is a landmark where can you can hike up to and actually walk around the rock. We visited the park in 1990, and my sons were young enough to freak me out as they ran ahead us wherever we walked. I held Jared's hand as we climbed the stairs. Just looking around at the view I started hyperventalating. I held onto my son and tried not to picture my oldest son, Jason, running ahead with his Father, and accidentally falling off the rock. The safety bars surrounding the walkway were a joke. I am amazed more kids don't fall off that mountain.

We visited the Grand Canyon in 2006, during our move to Texas. My husband, two sons, and one dog stopped long enough to check out the view. Me, I got dizzy as we walked toward the edge of the viewing area. Jerry, the boys and even the dog were having a good, old time. Me? My head began to swim and my knees began knocking. I just couldn't handle walking to the edge.

The vastness of the Grand Canyon scared the living heck out of me. It's so, so big!

Now, I can barely hang Christmas lights on the house. I don't think there is any cure for this.

I blame Karl.

To the Beet of a Different Drummer

2011-03-25T21:49:00.002-05:00

I was in elementary school, having to stay at my aunt's house when I had my first and only experience with beets. I went to a year-round school and we had "mini vacations." My parents had to work during this one break and for some reason there was no one to watch me. Except Aunt Lorraine.

Aunt Lorraine was one tough old bird. Even when I was kid she was old. And mean. Married to my Dad's twin brother, Jack, Lorraine never minced words. She wasn't afraid of anyone and I would have put money on her to kick anyone's ass--man or woman.

My mom never forced us kids to eat certain foods. If we decided we didn't want to eat something, we didn't eat it. Mama wouldn't make something else. Either you ate it or you went hungry. My aunt was cut from a different cloth. Whatever she set in front of you, you had to eat. All of it. No arguments.

When she set that dinner plate in front of me and it sported boiled beets that looked like they were cooked in blood, there was no way I was eating it. She told me I had to eat it. I said I didn't want to. In a voice that was made gravely from smoking too many menthol Kools, she stated I had no choice. I'd eat it or stay all night at that dining table.

I sat there for hours crying and refusing to eat them. I ate everything else on my plate, but those beets. I had never been so miserable in my entire life. I wanted to go home. I didn't tell her I hated her. You didn't say that to Aunt Lorraine. Even at that young age, I knew better. But I just couldn't make myself open my mouth and eat those beets.

As time went by, the beets became room temperature and even less appealing. And there I still sat. She wasn't giving in and I wasn't either. I played with the beets, cutting them up to look as if I ate them, but she wasn't fooled. Four hours later she finally let me go to bed. I begged my mom to let me come home the next day.

This episode in my life, which I can close my eyes and still see the way the beets looked on the plate, altered the way I fed my own sons. I never forced them to eat anything. If they said they didn't like something, I might have suggested to try it, but if they said no, I'd let it go.

I refused to do to them what my aunt did to me. You should never force someone to eat something. Yes, you might like it, but what right do you have to make someone else eat it? It's not being a good parent. It's being abusive.

I consider myself pretty adventurous when it comes to food. Heck, I've eaten alligator, shark, frog, tongue, ox tail, buffalo, ostrich, chocolate covered ants and even lamb fries.

But I always have a saying when it comes to trying new food--I don't eat anything still moving and I don't do blood. I know those beets weren't cooked in blood, but that's what it looked like to me.

I bet most people have a food story in their lives where someone tried to get them to eat something they didn't want to--what was it for you?

Burn Baby Burn

2011-03-05T16:09:00.005-06:00

A benefit of living in Texas, compared to California, is my use of our fireplace. We didn't have one in our house in Bakersfield. It seemed silly when the house was being built to have a fireplace included. Not only were my boys still at the age that I was worried that they would try to burn things in it that they shouldn't, but the strict air controls laws made it almost impossible to have a fire.

The house we bought in San Antonio had a fireplace in it and I was completely thrilled. We had no little kids around so I didn't have to freak out about any fires. Plus, San Antonio weather is more conducive to burning a roaring fire.

Starting off with a Duraflame log, we added split oak, cedar and other firewood either bought or collected ourselves. The smell of burning wood is addicting. It's a homey smell that makes me feel we are in cabin in the woods. Texas has a wide selection of wood to choose from--mesquite, oak, cherry, apple, cedar and other hardwoods.

Different from the norm I usually don't keep the stored wood inside the house. I keep it outside and bring it in as we burn it. I have the worry that spiders and other critters are still in the wood and I don't want to bring them in to explore my home.

In my wood holder by the side of the fireplace I have my homemade fleece blankets. They are the backup when it’s cold. You wrap up in a blanket, start a fire and relax. You don't fall into the trap of always turning on the heater. A good fire and can warm up the room and your heart. The crackling wood, the spiced scent and some hot cocoa and I'm a happy gal. Our cats really appreciate stretching out in front of a roaring fire and taking naps.

We don't have a government agency telling us when and when we cannot burn our fireplace. We don't have to worry about fines or jail time for doing what's normal in a fireplace. I appreciate it.

I'd like to get one of those fake fireplaces for upstairs in the library. My books, a fire and a comfy chair. Ah...now, that's something to work toward.

Toilet Water

2011-03-03T20:12:00.000-06:00

Random thoughts are always flowing through my brain and one of the most whackadoodle of all flittered into my skull the other day--toilet water. There is probably one, if not two, generations of kids who do not know when one says, "What is the toilet water you are wearing?" that's it's not an insult. Do you know what toilet water is? And I don't mean the stuff the Tidy Bowl man hangs out in.

Toilet water is a type of perfume. It's not as strong as regular perfume. Some call it a poor woman's perfume because the oils are cut down with water to dilute it. I used to think it was a 1950s kind of thing, but I've learned it's been around since ancient times. Women, and even men, have relied on it to smell alluring.

I can understand using it in ancient times. Come on, we know the bathing habits of many left a lot to be desired. I'd be throwing that lavender water all over me if I felt it could hide some of the unwashed smell.

I remember sniffing a bottle of "eau de toilette" in an aunt's bathroom that smelled of roses. I thought it was all hoity toity. That is until I learned the translation of the French words. Toilet water. It lost a bit of its allure, but the smell was still lovely.

I think I need to buy a bottle of toilet water and keep it in my guest bathroom. I need to educate the younger generation to the beauty that is eau de toilette.

What's In A Name?

2011-03-01T20:22:00.002-06:00

I came from a part of California that had some wacky town names--Weedpatch, Buttonwillow, Greenacres, Fruitvale and Oildale. But I moved to a place that has town names that don't sound like they should either. One example is the little town of Boerne, Texas. Its north of San Antonio. Most people would look at the name and pronounce it "born," but that would be wrong. It's pronounced "birney."

Another town outside of San Antonio is called Gruene. Now, most of us would pronounce it "Gruune." Nope, they pronounce it, "Green." Say what? How do you get "Green" out of Gruene? Apparently, it's the German influence. Germans settled in the Hill County, as the area around here is called, years ago. Their presence affected the food, the economy and what towns were called and pronounced.

I do keep the locals entertained with my ability to mispronounce most all names. It's not just towns, but sometimes people's last names. I get razzed for my lack of talent of pronouncing Hispanic names. I can't roll my r's and I put emphasis on parts of the name you shouldn't.

I keep trying to tell people I'm hearing impaired. It's not just being a silly white gal who has no clue. I speak what I hear and I don't hear so well.

That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

Everything is bigger in Texas

2011-02-18T22:26:00.001-06:00

I've been in the middle of a "Man vs. Food," marathon on the weekends as I can fit it in between chores. I've had friends ask me if I've been to the couple of places, host Adam Richman, had visited while in San Antonio. I had missed the original airing of the show, but thanks to Netflix, I have been able to catch up on the San Antonio show, plus the other shows I haven't watched.

I hadn't been to the three places highlighted on the San Antonio show--Lulu's Bakery and Cafe, Chunky's Burgers and Big Lou's Pizza. After seeing the show, I just had to try them.

The first place we have been able to check out was Lulu's Bakery and Cafe near the RiverWalk and north of the Alamo. It's a typical, older hole-in-the-wall diner that sports almost a '50s retro/Texas theme. We decided to have breakfast first and it was nice. They promote their chicken fried steak that's as large as a plate, but that early in the morning eggs and biscuits sounded more like a breakfast. We also ordered the cinnamon roll so we could experience it first hand.

After our meal, our pink cowboy-hatted waitress brought out the humongous cinnamon roll to our table. Three and a half pounds of cinnamon goodness arrived with a steak knife stabbed in the middle of it. This was not a roll you just pick up with one hand take a bite of--you have to cut pieces off it, just to be able to get your mouth around it.

I sliced out a small slice of it and began eating. It is not just all looks. Lulu's cinnamon rolls are very tasty. They are perfectly cooked in the middle for being something so big. It wasn't doughy at all. It had the perfect amount of cinnamon and lots and lots of sugar. I think if I tried to eat the whole thing I'd die of sugar overdose.

The waitress told us that Adam finished off not only the Sheriff's platter, a huge plate of food featuring a chicken fried steak, but he also ate a whole cinnamon roll by himself. Looking at the roll in person, I have no flipping idea how he did it. It's like eating a two layer cake in one sitting.

I would have been majorly ill if I had even attempted it. It's got a LOT of sugar on it. Texas does like to do things bigger and better and Lulu's has a three and a half pound example.

Next place we have to check out is Big Lou's Pizza. Forty-two inches of pizza! There's no way I could eat that much. I will have to try a slice of it—a sliver or two. lol

Texas Doesn't Know Squat About Tri-Tip

2011-01-27T21:00:00.000-06:00

Texans needs to bone up on their barbecue. Because it isn't a true barbecue unless you are cooking tri-tip. And you can't find tri-tip on most menus in the restaurants around San Antonio. Heck, most people here don't even know what it is, let alone how to cook it. Man, they are so missing out on some of the most tender, tasty meat available.

Well, I'm from California and I KNOW my tri-tip. In fact, I make some of the most tender, tasty trip east of California. First thing when we came to Texas we explored all the barbecue joints in and around San Antonio. I love barbecue. But, to my surprise, there was no tri-tip to be found. What they push here is brisket. I'm sorry, but brisket is a poor step-brother to tri-tip.

The only way I get my tri-tip fix is to make it myself. I smoke it low and slow. It's the only way to grill it. My biggest challenge is finding it in the local grocery stores. It's technically called the bottom sirloin and that's the way I mostly have to request it. Although, Texas butchers are starting to get used to people asking for tri-tip as more ex-Californians move into the state.

You can season tri-tip just as you would any other barbecue meat, but before we left California I bought a big jar of Santa Maria Style Seasoning. It's the perfect mixture of spices that compliment the tender meat.

You see, there is a golden triangle in California for those in the know about this secret meat. It starts in the Central Californian Coast in Santa Maria. It flows from there to Bakersfield and then to Fresno. In this triangle, flavorful meat is cooked and eaten.

I carry that special knowledge with me. I have my personal routine with tri-tip. I put a dry rub on it, cook it low and slow for a couple of hours, then I bring it into the house, smother it with sauce and wrap it up with tinfoil. I then put it in the oven for about 30 to 40 minutes. Oh, my--so tender, and so delicious.

Try it for yourself and tell me if you don't think it's the best barbecue you've ever had.

Crush on Columbo

2011-01-23T17:54:00.001-06:00

I can't remember the first time I watched an episode of Columbo, but it had to be in the early '70s. It was Sunday night and each week it would rotate between Columbo, McMillan and Wife and McCloud. Of all three, I enjoyed Columbo the most. It was different than most mystery shows because you knew right away who did it. You spent the rest of the hour seeing how Columbo solved the mystery and watch the bad guy or gal, squirm while being tracked.

I loved it. Columbo wasn't a pretty boy detective. Nor was he a rude, arrogant guy with a gun (he never carried one). He was perceived by many who came across him as a "schmo." But we avid watchers knew better. He was brilliant, doggedly dedicated and at times, completely compassionate to the victims and even villains.

His character was a devoted married man who loved his wife and his Bassett hound named "Dog." He noticed details that most of his coworkers and villains overlooked—from a stuffed light bulb and Ruth Gordon, dust on the shelf in the airplane locker of bad girl Lee Grant to picture frames with Ross Martin and incriminating fingerprints. Classic Columbo!

I own a complete collection of DVDs of Columbo and I watch them again and again. It's like visiting a favorite uncle. Peter Falk is an amazing actor. I guess I should honestly say "was," since Falk doesn't act anymore. He's alive, but suffering from dementia. What a waste of a great acting talent. No more Columbos. It would have been amazing to see a new Columbo, with him as a grandpa, detecting away in his retirement. It’s too sad.

But I lift my glass to Peter Falk. You gave us a memorable and brilliant performance of a great detective. Your fans still adore you, Mr. Falk. Thank you.

Smaller is Better

2011-01-05T20:00:00.001-06:00

I have been slowly downsizing myself when it comes to sodas. I now buy the mini versions and am quite happy with them. I usually just need enough of the soda to get the craving out the way. Once I have it, I'm okay. I don't need to drink a full-size can. I'm not sure it would work for some people, but it's working for me.

I don't feel cheated. If I'm still thirsty after drinking one of the mini sodas I will either drink a glass of milk or water.

When I see people drinking 44-plus ounces of soda I cringe. They sport too many calories, and too much sugar. Even it's diet soda all I think about are the chemicals. lol

I'm far from perfect and I'm not counting all my calories, but I do make myself think twice about some things I eat. I still have chocolate, but I buy it pieces. I have one, maybe two pieces and that's it. Again, just enough to get the urge out of the way without over doing it.

I don't cheat myself out of anything. I will eat what I want, but I do try to watch how much of it I eat. Sometimes I do a give and take. If I have a really bad for me lunch, I will eat a small serving of dinner or just a salad.

I know I can't fast. I get too shaky if I don't eat and there are times I need that serving of starchy food--whether it be bread, potatoes or pasta. I just watch how much of it I eat. I have learned to "listen" to my body. If I am craving something I firmly believe it's my body's way of telling me I need some nutrient from it.

I just need to figure out my exercise routine and stick to it. That's my 2011 focus. How about you?

The High Road

2011-01-03T20:39:00.002-06:00

I just don't get it. Okay, I admit I'm a bit of tomboy. I always have been. Girlie girl is not a compliment from me. I just don't get the pointy high heels women wear today. Not only are they silly looking, they are not functional and incredibly painful looking. Yeah, that's what I want -- a pair of Wicked Witch of the East shoes.

I saw a pair the other day that made me bite my lip and shake my head. I hate to break it to you ladies, but they don't look good. They look stupid. I will probably make some people mad, but I have to express my feelings.

Wear shoes that don't make you look like you can step on a bug in a corner. Rounded toes are okay and better for your feet. If I've heard it once, I've heard it a hundred times--my feet hurt. They wear the tippy toe high heels to work in and wonder why their feet hurt. "But they look so good." Please! High heels are not meant for work. If you are worrying more about how your feet feel, than focusing on your job something is wrong.

I have to fight the urge to tell the gals about the butchers who used to wear high heels to step above the dead animals. Is that what they are doing? "Oh, they make me look sleeker/taller/slimmer," what they really do is give you hammertoes and bunions the size of a sixth toe.

I crack up every time I see the "Jen Shoes" episode of the IT Crowd. It so classic when it comes to high heels and the ramifications of wearing them at work.

You can watch it on youtube and it will make you belly laugh.

Making Memories

2010-12-30T20:25:00.003-06:00

I'm a big fan of making memories. In fact, for a birthday present I'd much rather make a memory doing or visiting something unique or cool than receiving a gift wrapped present.

One of my many memories is my attempt to climb Mt. Whitney. I was working at the newspaper and 26 coworkers and significant others (Jerry didn't want to climb so he stayed home with the boys) decided we wanted to climb Mt. Whitney. Towering at 14,505 feet, this beast of a mountain is scary to look as it is to climb.

We started climbing in the pitch dark at 4:30 in the morning. We were advised no matter where we were at 2:30 in the afternoon to turn around and start back to base camp. This was in June--warm weather abounded except for the top of Mt. Whitney. There, snow covered the rocks and it was icy cold. You carried your only drinking water and food. We weren't staying the night. Climb up as far as you could and climb down in one day.

What memories I have of that day. I learned even though I lived for many years in Reno at 4,500 feet and could handle hiking--I couldn't handle the high altitude sickness that hit me. I found a hiking buddy in Robert. He had a bad knee, but a wonderful attitude. Me, I could only walk six feet of the infamous switchbacks without stopping to catch my breath. It wasn't an in-shape/out-of-shape situation--I just couldn't breathe normally. I've never gone through something like that before and haven't since that day.

Practically everyone passed us up that day. We wound up being the second to last pair of hikers. Even though we knew we probably weren't going to reach the summit in the time allowed, we kept on trying. We kept up a running commentary of nothing and everything. At the height we were at the weather was still beautiful. Clear blue skies and cool without being cold. We stopped and took photos, ate crackers, drank our water whether we needed it or not. (We were told to do that because if you drank only when you were thirsty, it was already too late for you).

We reached a little over the 5,000 foot level when 2:30 pm arrived and we turned around and started back down the hill. It was tons easier momentum wise going downhill, but man, the impact on the legs and hips was worse. Somehow we laughed, moaned and thrilled in the journey. It didn't matter that we didn't reach the top. We had a great day, made new friends and did something we never knew we could--climb Mt. Whitney.

Back at base camp we learned that only a handful of our group actually made it to the summit. It was windy, cold and they didn't linger for long. Robert and I missed the snow covered field at the upper base camp. It might have been nice to get there (we weren't that far away from it when we turned around). But we were told again and again that you didn't want to be caught up on that mountain when night fell--the weather could change quickly and hypothermia could set in.

By dinner, my body was reacting to the exercise. My muscles began locking up. By the time I crashed in bed I had bummed some medicine from my roommate so I could try to find sleep through my pain. The next morning, as we loaded up to head home, found a very sore group of people packing up. All of the pain was worth it. I can close my eyes and still see the view from the mountain, feel the warm sun on my arms and hear the sounds of the birds chattering away.

I love making memories.

My Little Nook of the World

2010-11-27T09:58:00.004-06:00

My name is Robin, and I'm a bookaholic. I've had a "problem," with books since the 5th grade. I blame it on Mrs. White. My teacher decided to have a reading contest and the winner would win a hard bound copy of "The Prince and the Pauper," by Mark Twain. I never realized how competitive I was until that contest. I wanted to win. I had to win. I dreamed of winning. I went to the school library and really began reading. In a short amount of time, and 26 books later, I won that contest and that book. I also developed a love of reading that is still with me to this day.

So, I can blame Mrs. White. She opened up a world to me that changed my life forever. Even though I lived in a small valley outside of Reno, Nevada (Sun Valley), I could travel through time and around the world. I would take my book outside and in-between the dust of the desert and the heat of the sun, I was transported. My life was never dull or boring again. I went places and I did things my siblings couldn't even begin to understand.

I ran from the Morlocks and sat next to Nancy Drew as she drove her sweet, little blue convertible. Hercule Poirot never had a better audience than me as he waxed his moustache and utilized his little grey cells. My tastes were diversified, but I tended to drift towards mysteries. I loved the challenge of trying to figure out "who did it." Agatha always kept me guessing. I was usually disappointed by an author when I had it figured out by Chapter 4 who did it. I still finished reading their book, but rarely checked out their next offering.

In high school I was reading seven books and two plays a week. As my reading pace picked up, so did my need to visit the local library. I was an aide in the library from sixth grade through my senior year of high school. It was the best way to get my "fix."

I often thought of becoming a librarian, but I couldn't afford to pay my way through Berkeley or UCLA, the nearest colleges that offered a degree in the field. But my love of reading has remained. I have thousands of books at home. I've given away a thousand. You think I joke? Trust me, I'm not. I counted them. Many libraries, children centers and domestic violence centers have benefitted from me weeding through my books.

Now, I have a Barnes & Noble nook. I have found a little piece of heaven right here on earth. My nook has 2 gig of memory in it and I was able to purchase a memory card for another 2 gig. What does this mean? I can hold 1,500 books on this nook at one time. That's enough books to keep me quite happy.

I read all the time. When some face down time waiting in line at the grocery store, car wash or a lunch hour, they just twiddle their fingers doing their best not to stress out. Me? I'm reading. I'm relaxed and happy chilling out with my latest read. I swear it's lowered my blood pressure. I don't care about how long I have to wait at a restaurant. I have a book.

More people should try it out. Maybe they wouldn't be so damned cranky. When nook owners see others reading theirs they just quietly share a smile. They know the secret of a happy life. Reading.

Are you wondering what Christmas present to buy a loved one who enjoys reading? Get them a nook. It will be the best present in the world. Make sure to buy one for a child. It can open up a world as big as their imagination and take them places completely unforgettable.

My grandson is merely two years old, so a nook isn't for him quite yet. But wait until his 5th birthday.

Tie It Up

2010-11-17T20:34:00.001-06:00

I make blankets. Not your everyday blankets, but fleece tied blankets. A former co-worker shared her knowledge and taught me the ways of blanketology. Ever since then I've been a lost cause. I make them every Christmas, sometimes for birthday presents and always for a baby shower gift. They are easy, affordable and one way I can be amazingly creative without stressing out.

I find myself not only making tied blankets for family, friends and co-workers, but also teaching others how to make them. It's not quite a mission, but pretty darn close. I am proud that practically none of my blanket's waste material goes to waste. I recycle all parts of my blanket so that very little is tossed.

I trim the sides of the fleece material for the reinforced edging to make a smoother tie trim. I reuse those clipped sides and braid them, tying knots at each end, into cat toys.

The four or five inch material four corners that I cut out, I save and use to make a crazy quilt. It shows a touch of the fabric for every blanket I've ever made. It's a fabric trip down memory lane. I love it.

Making the blankets is incredibly easy. I use 1/2 yard in length for wheelchair blankets and car seat blankets, 1 yard for baby blankets or short humans and 2 yards and up for adults. That measurement is doubled. For example, for a 1 yard blanket, you need two separately cut 1 yard pieces of fabric. One yard is for the top and one yard is for the bottom.

You can use patterns on one side and a complimentary solid color on the other side. Or you can use the same pattern on both sides, or a different pattern on each side. There are no limits to your creativity.

You lay down one piece of material on the floor. (It's easier to pin it up with lots of room. If you have cats, remove them from the area, they always want to sit in the middle of your material because they LOVE fleece and bugging the heck out of you.) Lay the second piece of material over the top of the first. Match them up on all angles. If you have overage, trim the material edges to match. You basically want two pieces of materials that mirror each other in width and length.

Get out your straight pins and ruler. Measure in four or five inches (whatever measurement you want, just be consistent) and start pinning the pins to be your guide. Edge the whole blanket, four or five inches in with pins. Your corners should be either four by four or five by five, again whatever you decide. You will cut out the each of the corners first, set aside to sew together later for your crazy quilt blanket.

At this point, your blanket is evenly trimmed, completely pinned and corners cut. You then can take the blanket and set it across your lap. Get your scissors and begin cutting the fringe that you will double knot (this makes the tied part of the blanket). You cut about one inch apart, to the four or five inch pinned mark. Then you tie the top and bottom cut material into a double knot, going along the all sides of the blanket. Before you know it, viola, you are done and have a finished blanket.

There are a multitude of step-by-step videos out there for those who don't quite understand my instructions. It won't hurt my feelings for you to check them out. But remember, there are many ways to do this blanket, but the underlying theme---no sewing involved.

I think once you make one, you, too, will be hooked on it. If you make one, send me a photo. I'd love to see them.

Knowing My Place

2010-09-28T21:03:00.002-05:00

I've never been a person who knows their "place." It's always gone against my grain to have someone tell me where I belong--held to someone else's standards. I set the standards in my life. I control what I do and to what level I do it.

Tell me I can't do something and I will do it just to prove you wrong. Maybe this comes from being the youngest of five kids and always being told I couldn't do something because I was too small or too young. Man, I got so tired of hearing that from my siblings.

I was working at the newspaper and when an opportunity to write opened up and I took it. I dealt with a surprising amount of negativity from the newsroom reporters. I was a mere news clerk. Didn't I know my "place" was to answer their phones and not have the audacity to think I could do something their college educated behinds did every day?

But I did it. I had my little niche in special sections and I wrote my fingers off. I always took pride in whatever I did and gave it 100 percent. I never aimed for the newsroom. It takes a certain type of personality to work in a newsroom and I just didn't have the shark mentality. I covered the automotive field. I was told women don't cover cars--what do they know about them? Well, I knew a few things. And I wrote about them for 13 years. For goodness' sake, I'm a writer, not a flipping mechanic. I had fun doing it--driving cars and oh, yeah, winning county, state, national and international writing awards while doing it. I’m not perfect, but I apply heart and soul to everything I do.

When it comes to my personal life, I wasn't going to let anyone tell me what I should or shouldn't do. Instead of waiting for my husband to ask me to marry him, I asked him to marry me. Before he knew it, I had him to Las Vegas and officially made him mine. Why did I have to know my "place" and let him ask me? I knew what I wanted and I went after it.

Places, places, places---I don't give a fig about titles. You want me to respect you? Don't go flaunting a title at me. Show me how hard you work, and then I will respect you. Show me how committed you are to doing the best job possible no matter what it is you do, and I will respect you. But don't expect me to know my "place" and respect you just because you have a flipping title. It doesn't mean diddly squat in my world.

I can and will do whatever I set my mind to--no matter what it is. I know my "place" is wherever I put it.

Fear

2010-09-13T21:44:00.001-05:00

It was my junior year of high school when I decided I wasn't going to let fear stop me from having fun. So many times I wanted to do things--everything from dating to joining a club--but I didn't because I was afraid. I was so shy and I was so worried about looking stupid and not fitting in. So I did nothing. What a waste it was.

In my junior year I was tired of being alone. I had acquaintances, but no real close friends in high school. It wasn't until the summer before my junior year that I felt enough was enough. When school started I joined every club I could--Ghost Towners, Skating, and Wrestlerettes. I socialized even though it was literally painful for me to do it. I'm hearing impaired so social situations have always been hard for me. Having to wear hearing aids made my life easier in some ways, but way harder in other ways. I've always felt I was an outsider, never fitting in because I was different.

I went to meetings, I talked to people and, yes, I became a cheerleader for the wrestling team. lol For an extremely shy person like myself that was the hardest thing I have ever done. We had to perform in front of people. In front of teenagers. Ughhh. I would get physically ill beforehand. But I made myself do it. I was also around guys more and I really tried to get over my fears of interacting with them, but it was hard. I could talk to them, but I did more daydreaming about relationships than actually having any.

In my junior year, I had a major crush on one particular boy--John. He was so handsome, so intelligent; he was on the wrestling and football team. He was always sweet to me if we interacted. But I let my shyness stop me from trying to get to know him better. He was out of my league. Man, if I only knew then what I know now. :)

In my senior year, I would go to soccer games to watch a guy who I thought was really cute. I kept to myself, until one game I met another girl doing the same thing I was--watching the guys play. We starting talking and once we realized we weren't panting over the same guy we became friends. Ellen was one year behind me in high school, but light-years ahead of me with her confidence.

I was still on my kick to face my fears, sometimes succeeding (I went on a date with a classmate) and sometimes failing (never went to any school dances, not even the prom). I drug poor Ellen to the movies with me--I was afraid of horror movies so I was determined to make myself watch them. (She walked out of a movie that had something to do with the devil). I joined her in the lobby soon after. Yes, I chickened out.

Ellen was and is good for me. Yes, after all these years we are still best friends and even live in the same town. She double-dog dared me so many times and made me do things. Of course, I double-dog dared her, too. She NEVER backed down from a dare. What did I expect from a natural redhead of an Episcopalian minister? We did some wild things that only we know about.

We haven't even told our husbands about most of the escapades we experienced. I know a few had to have been slightly illegal. lol Our Virginia City saloon gal photos was one of our trips. I alway had and have fun with Ellen. And I won't mention anything about Lake Tahoe, her parent's condo and some vodka. To this day, I still can't drink Screwdrivers.

I wish I would have met her sooner in high school. My high school years would have been more memorable than they were.

Face those fears, people. Even if they scare the hell out of you, it's worth facing them. Too bad we don't get do-overs.

Believe or Not to Believe

2010-08-19T20:13:00.001-05:00

While walking into a restaurant recently one of my companions made a comment about setting purses down on the floor. I've always hung my purse either off my knee under the table or on the back of my chair. My reasoning has always been dirty floors, but she told me of the superstition of setting purses on the floor and how you would always be broke. In fact, she said at one local Mexican restaurant they would bring a little stool to set your purse on--just to keep it off the floor.

I took a class in high school entitled "Ancient Beliefs Modern Man." Yes, I still remember it. We talked about myriad superstitions and myths and the logic and often illogic of them. Why do we knock on wood after we say something we don't want jinxed? Why do we say "God Bless You," after sneezing? Why should you not step on a crack? Or break a mirror?

I hadn't heard about the purse superstition until I came to Texas. I had two separate females talk about it. I tried to wrap my head around it and the only thing I can think of is if you set it on the ground, maybe it makes it easier for someone distract you while a companion steals your money?

Some people take this superstition so seriously they have made a product-a portable hook--that allows a woman to hang her purse practically wherever she goes.

I give them credit for seeing a need and selling a product. lol

Texas has many of its own superstitions--I'm learning as I go what many of them are and I have say they are a bit entertaining. One involved holding your breath while passing a cemetery. Apparently this was so you wouldn't breathe in the spirit of someone recently buried.

Most of the superstitions I don't believe in--some I do. I still say "God Bless You," to someone who sneezes and, yes, I still throw spilt salt over my left shoulder. You see, evil always lurks over your left shoulder so throwing spilled salt into its eyes distracts it from hurting me.

Hey, that's my belief and I'm sticking to it.

Scottish to the Bone

2010-08-12T20:34:00.004-05:00

(http://www.tasteofhome.com/recipes/Scotch-Broth-Soup)

I'm a bit of this and a bit of that and quite proudly to say I'm part Scottish. During my ancestral research phase I learned about my European roots. I'm Scottish/Irish/German/English and a few percents of supposedly Native American (haven't proven it yet). Since I'm a foodie, part of my research has been the recipes of my foremothers.

I have a handful of cookbooks featuring the recipes old and new from the aforementioned countries. I have a recipe I'm going to try soon that looks so good I can't wait to taste it. It's a version of Scotch Broth for the crockpot. The crockpot will allow me to do the long-time cooking the recipe needs in my hectic, everyday life. I adore soups and this one should be delicious and a bit healthy.

I plan on tweaking the ingredients a bit. Instead of lamb, I'm going to use beef shanks. I will add some beef broth, water, pearl barley, carrots, onion, potatoes (instead of traditional turnip), celery and various seasonings.

I will throw it in the crockpot to cook all day and serve it with some buttered French bread. I might try the recipe with some lamb, if I can find some in the local store and it doesn't cost an arm and leg. lol

I've made many of the traditional Scottish recipes true to form--Cock-a-Leekie, Shortbread and Stovies. In fact, many of the recipes from my southern ancestors reflect the traces of their European roots. Stovies, for example, are merely fried taters with onions and meat.

Cock-a-Leekie is a chicken soup that is tummy filling. It's worth a try at least once in a lifetime. Give it a whirl. Good soup doesn't have to come from a can.

Cock-a-Leekie Soup

This traditional soup, with prunes included in the ingredients, is mentioned as early as the 16th century. It is often served at Burns Suppers or St Andrew's Night Dinner (30 November) as well as an every-day soup in winter. Some people omit the prunes though!

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ingredients:
1 boiling fowl, about 4lb, including legs and wings
1lb leeks (about 12) cleaned and cut into 1-inch pieces
4 pints stock or water
1oz long grained rice
4oz cooked, stoned prunes
One teaspoon brown sugar
Salt and pepper
Garni of bay leaf, parsley, thyme
Some recipes also have 3 chopped rashers of streaky bacon

Method:
Put the fowl and bacon in a large saucepan and cover with water. Bring to the boil and remove any scum. Add three-quarters of the leeks, (green as well as white sections), herbs (tied together in a bundle), salt and pepper and return to the boil. Simmer gently for 2-3 hours, adding more water if necessary.

Remove the bird. Some thrifty chefs use the bird as another course, others cut the meat into small pieces and add them back to the soup (certainly it should have some pieces of chicken in it when served). Add the rice and drained prunes and the remaining leeks and simmer for another 30 minutes. Check for flavor and serve with a little chopped parsley.

Serves 6/8 people.
(http://www.rampantscotland.com/recipes/blrecipe_leekie.htm)

Some hae meat and canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it,
But we hae meat and we can eat,
And sae the Lord be thankit.
Robert Burns
This Scottish dinner toast known as The Selkirk Grace is attributed to Burns. But the words were said to be in use long before his time.

A Walk on the Wild Side

2010-07-23T21:33:00.001-05:00

I have come to accept over the 3 1/2 years that we've lived in Texas that everything is bigger here. Last weekend, I came practically face-to-face with an example of that belief--a Megaphasma dentricus was hanging out by our garden hose reel.

Silly me was reaching over to unwind the hose when I noticed something not quite right on the wall in front of me. A six-inch bug was hanging out, just enjoying the shade in the summer heat. After a squeal or two, I hollered for Jerry to come over to take a photo of the unbelievably big bug with his IPhone. I have seen walking stick bugs before, but nothing like this baby.

It was HUGE. Okay, not Godzilla-type huge, but big enough to freak me out. I am not afraid of bugs; I just don't appreciate them the way they probably want to be appreciated. I know they don't bite. They aren't poisonous and probably don’t want to deal with me as much as I don't want to deal with him. Or her. I wasn't quite sure how to tell the sex of a Megaphasma dentricus or otherwise known as a Walking Stick.

This particular bug is a Texas version that gets up to seven inches long. Ours was pretty darn close. I wasn't going to get a tape measure to find out for sure. I respectfully left it alone to continue on its journey.

I've mentioned before about the bugs here--the freaky big centipedes here are disgusting. Sorry, but those really freak me out. The ones we saw were Texas Redheaded Centipedes. I kid you not.

Texas redheaded centipedes, or Scolopendra heros castaneiceps, are a subspecies of Scolopendra heros. They are one of the world's largest centipede species and can grow to be as long as 12 inches. Their heads are red, with segmented dark blue, purple or black bodies. Each segment bears a pair of yellow legs.

The Texas redheaded centipede can be found throughout much of the Southwestern United States, as well as in Northern Mexico. Texas redheaded centipedes prefer dark, moist environments and will take cover during the day. Rock crevices, leaf litter and rocks provide shelter, although the Texas redheaded centipede can also burrow into the ground. After dark, Texas redheaded centipedes hunt for prey; insects are their chief food source.

The tails of these centipedes resemble their heads. This characteristic serves to confuse predators. In addition, they are equipped with a painful, venomous bite, which can incapacitate and kill small prey and predators.

While the Texas redheaded centipede's bite will not kill humans, it may be extremely painful for up to two days. Individuals with known insect allergies may experience more severe reactions and should contact a medical professional.
http://www.orkin.com/other/centipedes/texas-redheaded-centipede

My son Jared said he saw a huge centipede when he was working at a Home Depot here in San Antonio. He said he heard it before he saw it. If it made him nervous, I can't imagine what I'd do.

I have a healthy respect. And a weekend doesn't go by when I see a critter I've never seen before. Creeping, crawling, slithering and scuttling around my yard--it's rarely dull.

I always wear shoes when outside. I learned my lesson the past Halloween when I stepped on a scorpion out on the driveway. Not an episode I'd like to repeat anytime soon.

Texas is only for the brave--bug wussies need not apply.

Real Stew

2010-07-22T21:45:00.002-05:00

Over the years, I have spent hours and hours calmly sitting by myself reading cookbooks. For those of us who are foodies, this is not uncommon. A cookbook to me is like a fashion catalog to a girlie-girl. As you can tell, I'm not a girlie-girl. Not that there's anything wrong with that--but it's not me.

I'm a nurturer. I love to feed people (especially on the weekends when I have more time to cook from scratch). I also love history and when the two loves come together I am ecstatic. It comes together in a cookbook entitled, "Real Stew," by Clifford A. Wright. I am big into soups and stews. I could easily eat soup every day of my life and be happy about it.

I bought this book a handful of years ago at first for the stew/soup recipes. But as I sat down to read it, I fell in love with the history Wright throws in with the recipes. It's a combination of travelogue, history and really good food. I loved it.

Ever wonder how to make Waterzooi? It's a snap. This Flemish stew is a delicious chicken stew filled with vegetables, eggs and a rich broth.

Instead of making Hamburger Helper for your family, how about whipping up a pot of Córdoban Farmer's Wife's Stew? This mélange is a cabbage and chickpea stew that has the taste and smell of cumin. Wright shares that this "is from the hilly farmlands around Cordoba, in Andalusia. It is called an olla cortijera de Cordoba, meaning 'the way the farmer's wife makes it.' and is an example of the simplest of preparations from cocina pobre, the 'cuisine of the poor.' " You can make it on the weekend when you have more time, freeze it and thaw it later in the week and it's still delicious. Toss in some buttered French bread and you are set.

The Córdoban Farmer's Wife's Stew

5 quarts water
2 cups dried chickpeas (about 1 pound), picked over and rinsed, soaked overnight in cold water to cover, and drained
1 large onion, chopped
3 large garlic cloves, peeled
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
Salt to taste
1 teaspoon freshly ground cumin seeds
1/2 pound Irish or Canadian bacon, diced
1 small head green cabbage (about 1 1/4 pounds), cored and chopped

Bring the water to a boil in a stew pot. Add the drained chickpeas, onion, garlic, olive oil, salt, and cumin. Reduce the heat to medium and cook for 2 hours.

Add the bacon. Cook until the chickpeas are soft, about 1 hour more.

Add the cabbage and cook for 1 hour. Taste and correct the seasonings, and serve.

Makes 8 servings.

(Recipe from Real Stew, by Clifford A. Wright)

If you are really daring you can try making Cacciucco. This recipe is on page 235. It's a fish stew from the Tuscan port of Leghorn. According to Wright, "traditional cooks add a stone taken from the sea to the stew so it can reach its true height of earthly perfection." The stew is full of bits and pieces of fish and shellfish. The ingredient list is a bit intimidating. For those who are brave, check it out. Me, I'm not that brave.

You could also try the Octopus Stew from the Island of Djerba. This recipe is from the Island of Djerba, off of the Sahel, the desert region of southern Tunisia, which was thought to be the land of the lotus eaters made famous by Homer.

I can't quite see myself walking into my local supermarket and asking the butcher for one pound of octopus and by the way, can you please clean it for me, too. Ummm....nope.

Don't let me scare you; there are plenty of normal sounding/ingredient recipes. You can make some wonderful Beef Burgundy, Irish Stew, Hungarian Goulash and Old Fashioned American Stew.

The world of stews and soups are at your fingertips with this cookbook.

Check it out. It's well worth the journey.

Real Stew: 300 Recipes for Authentic Home-Cooked Cassoulet, Gumbo, Chili, Curry, Minestrone, Bouillabaisse, Stroganoff, Goulash, Chowder and Much More

by Clifford A. Wright

Publisher: Harvard Common Press, 388 pgs.

ISBN: 978-1-55832-199-1

Top Chef

2010-07-14T20:08:00.001-05:00

I'm not a top chef in real life, but I play one on TV. Not really. Okay, I dream about being a top chef on television. I've watched every episode, every season of Top Chef. I cheered when quiet Harold won season one. I shook my head when Ilan won in season two. I booed when Hung won season three. I danced around the room when Stephanie won season four. I didn't want Hosea to win season five--he just rubbed me the wrong way. And winner of season six, Michael Voltaggio, ranked right next to Hung for a chef I didn't want to win. (I wanted red-headed Kevin to win. He rocked)

I don't like or appreciate arrogance in the kitchen. And many of the top chefs competing in this competition are arrogant. Maybe they use it as a defensive mechanism in coping with the challenges and critiques they face on a daily basis? I just don't like it. Confidence with compassion is more of my mantra. Confidence with arrogance is just out and out rude.

I am nowhere near the level of the chefs competing. I am so far from their level that I can barely see the bottom of their shoes. Seriously. But in my heart, I cook with the best of them.

I grew up watching PBS cooking shows--Julia, Embassy Chefs (I loved the announcer's sexy smooth voice), Martin Yan Can Cook, Jeff Smith, and the "I Guaranteeeeee" Cajun chef Justin Wilson. He used to crack me up. I swear he got drunk making his recipes.

Top Chef now gives me my culinary fix. I don't know how they do it. No cookbooks, no cheat sheets, all from your brains create gourmet food in 30 minutes or you are out of there. Ughh. I'd crack faster than eggs sliding loose in the back of my SUV.

I love to see the faces of the chefs when they are asked to do a dessert challenge. Most of those chefs can't cook desserts. There is a difference between making meals without recipes and winging it and making desserts. You really can't wing a dessert.

When you cook a dessert from scratch you need to be precise in your measurements. You can't guess how much baking powder to use, or how much butter is in your mix. It gets really bad, really fast.

I hear the heads at Bravo are coming up with a Top Chef Just Desserts competition. I can't wait. That will be quite interesting to see how these chefs do what they do best and still win.

Yes, I'm a foodie. Deal with it or get out of the kitchen.

IPhone Has A Place

2010-07-09T21:42:00.003-05:00

I became a member kicking and squirming all the way. I didn't want an IPhone. I didn't need an IPhone. I had a perfectly good phone. I could talk to anyone I needed. I didn't need all the bells and whistles. But from all directions I had immediate family members harping on me to get one. I finally broke down at Christmas time and let an IPhone be bought as my present.

I'm still not as into the phone as my husband is, but I am finding it does fit a niche in my life. Yes, I use it to telephone those who I want and need to stay in contact with--family and friends alike.

What I do finding myself using it for besides calling is checking the weather outlook, being kept up to date on breaking news and improving my vocabulary by playing Scrabble on my lunch hours.

I also read books on my IPhone, but it isn't my favorite way to read. I might find myself getting an IPad. That is something I would maximize considering how much I do read. An IPhone comes in handy when I am stuck somewhere waiting (doctor's appointment and the such). I have to read on a daily basis or I'd go crazy. So an IPhone does come in handy when a book isn't nearby.

I like being able to keep in touch with family and friends via Facebook. On my IPhone I can check in and see how they are all doing. I love communicating with people. Facebook is almost like the old fashioned way of writing letters by letting people know what's going on in your life--only its real time.

I have lots of applications or "Apps" as they are often called on my IPhone. They are personalized to me and my husband. We have some similar apps as we will share ones we find. But I have some he doesn't have and he has some I don't have. I have cookbooks on mine, which is great when I go shopping. A couple of taps and I not only have an idea for dinner, but I have the ingredients all ready to read and no writing by me. I love it.

I also have a program that helps me keep track of my blood pressure. I log it in when I take it and when I visited my heart doctor I just pulled out my IPhone and show her the app. It displayed all the times I took my blood pressure, what it was, when I took it, and graphed it all out. My heart doctor was quite impressed.

My husband has sports apps. I'm not into those, but he likes them.

We are planning a trip to Boston in September so we've downloaded apps about Boston. They have wonderful walking podcasts about Boston so we've already had a taste of what Boston has to offer.

We have a GPS on our phone which we usually use once a week. We also use the restaurant app that gives us new ideas of local places to eat at--some we never even knew existed.

So I've become a believer. I believe in being moderate in whatever it is I do. I use my phone as I need it, without overdoing it. It does have a place in a person's life. I admit it.

Nothing to Sneeze About

2010-06-23T22:25:00.000-05:00

I was checking out our local newspaper's web site recently when I caught something that made me stop and go "huh?" On the weather page, there is a spot that lists the pollen count. Everyone knows everything is bigger in Texas and that also includes allergies. Poor Jerry thought he escaped the cotton back in California only to meet nose first with cedar, pollen, mold and pigweed. Yes, you read correctly. Pigweed.

That's what made me stop and go "huh?" I had never before heard of Pigweed. Mountain Cedar was the first thing I heard about when we moved to San Antonio. People suffer immensely when it's in season. Eyes running, nose dripping and their bodies aching all day--its complete misery.

With Pigweed, it's more of a breathing challenge. Wheezing, red eyes, itching, sneezing, itchy throat and asthma-like symptoms make it a miracle to get through the day without collapsing under your desk. Luckily for me, I'm normally pretty good when it comes to allergies. It has to be really, really bad for me to have sneezing fits and a running nose. What I have to watch is my ears plugging up. Once that happens, watch out. Vertigo attacks happen and that's not fun in any way imaginable. (Especially behind the wheel of a car on the freeway at 65 miles per hour).

I've heard of every pill/treatment under the sun to approach these allergies--over the counter and homeopathic. I think every person is different, and people should find what works for them. What works for you?

Be forewarned if visiting Texas, we do have stuff that will make you sneeze. I'll hand you some Kleenex if you need some.

Friend of A Friend

2010-06-03T23:16:00.004-05:00

It didn't matter if you looked left or right, you couldn't escape it. From the floor to the ceiling it was in your face. It was unapologetic, direct, sizzling hot and it made me smile.

I knew the first moment I walked into the Cooks N' More I was a goner. My pulse raced and I think I finally understood how Imelda Marcos felt about shoes--but for me it was Le Creuset cookware and bundt pans shaped like castles. There was no saving me now. I had never been in a store before, heck; I had never been shopping for anything before that made me as happy I was when I walked into the renovated store that was a church in its former life.

Faded Texas limestone walls still retained their holy elegance. It wasn't until you walked into the store that the sexy hotness smacked you in the face and took your breath away.

"Ah, another victim." The man who spoke those words smiled from behind the register. He closed the cookbook he had been reading, carefully marking his spot with a wooden spoon. "Welcome to Cooks 'N More. It's not much, but I call it home."

"I really love your home." I slowly replied, not taking my eyes off the multitude of kitchen goodies that filled every shelf, display case and even dangled from light fixtures. Gleaming pans hung over my head--a display that would even make Julia Child stop and stare.

"Tell me I haven't died and gone to gourmet heaven." My unfettered laughter was that of a child. I found myself mentally processing all the recipes I could make if I only had the Ebelskiver Filled-Pancake Pan or the Miyabi 7000 pro knife that I knew would fit my hand perfectly.

"You haven't died, but this is my take on heaven," the man said. "The name is Warren and this place is my baby. It's always great to convert another soul to the goodness that is cooking."

"Hello, Warren. My name is Dicey and I am very happy I decided to stop and check out your place."

I couldn't help myself; I walked over to a display and started browsing the copper cookie cutters hanging from a wooden peg display. All shapes and sizes glimmered in the diffused sunlight. Bells, stars, gingerbread men and the traditional candy cane shapes were mixed with off-the-wall designs--from dinosaurs to presidents of the United States and even one in the shape of the great state of Texas.

"These are so cool."

"If you don't see anything you want, let me know. I can order practically anything you want and I know a lady who can custom make any cookie cutter you'd need." He brushed his hand through his straight brown hair and contently looked around his store.

The inside of the store was mainly one big room with the register near the front. Looking toward the back of the store on the right, bookshelves lined the walls.

"Cookbooks?" I whispered reverently.

"Cookbooks," he replied with pride. "New or used. I also have a sharing library where you can bring in books to swap. Sometimes people buy books they later don't use. So they bring them here, and find another one they like and leave the one they don't. I also have a reference cookbook library people can access if they need."

Oversized chairs were scattered near the area and a few were filled with customers reading while others sat a large wooden table, copying recipes onto notepads.

"I have cooking demonstrations every Wednesday night in the demo area. I also offer cooking classes." He pointed to the back of the store to the left. A small kitchen opened into the room with a large island that could easily sit 10 people.

"This place is amazing."

"Thanks. It's nice to know I'm not the only person who thinks so," Warren said, with a chuckle.

They walked toward the back of the store. A display table held an assortment of books stacked in-between kitchen accessories. "Catering to Nobody," sat next to potholders, while "Fatally Flaky" tipped out of a KitchenAid food processor.

"Diane Mott Davidson is one of my favorites." My hand reached out to pick up a copy of "Cereal Murders." "I love her recipes. I've actually made a few of them. Mysteries and cooking--you can't go wrong there."

"Have you read Joanne Fluke's series? Her cookie recipes are to die for." He said with a wicked grin.

"I've read them all. I'm a readaholic." I shrugged my shoulders as if I should apologize for my love of reading.

"Nothing wrong with that. It could be worse; at least you aren't an alcoholic."

"True. Sometimes it's just as addicting. But it is one vice that does increase my vocabulary."

"If you like reading cozy mysteries about cooking, you should check out our book club. We meet once a month and discuss the latest culinary mystery and we make recipes from the books. It's called, "Dying to Cook."

.... To be continued

Daydreaming

2010-05-24T22:28:00.000-05:00

It's funny how as I plug away at work, daydreams tend to happen. I don't plan them, they just pop into my mind. The latest one haunting my thoughts is of a bookstore. It's not any bookstore I've ever been in before, but one I think I want to own.

I would love for it to strictly be a mystery bookstore. Something with a cool sounding name--like Dial M for Mystery or Murder Inc.

You have to remember, this is a dream bookstore where I don't worry about inventory and bills and employees calling in sick. This is a place where there are nothing but oversized chairs and ottomans to put your feet on. Soft music in the background would lull readers into a calm mood. The smell of coffee and cocoa would tweak the nose and homemade goodies tease and torment those on a diet.

Large side windows would overlook a view of a lush, green meadow. It would be a home away from home. No stress, no hassles or cell phones to interrupt. It would even sport a fireplace so in the winter, a crackling fire would greet visitors.

Hey, I said it was a dream. Maybe it should be a used book store. They are always more relaxing than the new stores. I like being around readers. People are just content to put their feet up, read a good book and relax.

Oh well, dreams are meant to be enjoyed. I know if someone came up with a really comfortable bookstore, with more than enough soft chairs, and an atmosphere of calm tranquility, I'd be there. Barnes and Noble are nice, but you are always fighting to get a comfy chair. Come on, they sport wooden chairs at B&N. Who wants to sit on a hard school-like chair to read? It's just not right for me. I buy and get out. I don't want to linger.

It's a good thing I have my own library at home. I have the comfy chairs and ottoman. I have the books that I love right at my finger tips. Soft music tickles my ears. The only thing I'm missing is the fireplace. Maybe one day.

Hey, a girl can dream.

That One Teacher You Most Remember

2010-05-16T20:44:00.002-05:00

If you could point a finger to that one teacher in your life that made a difference, could you come up with a name? Did you have a person who opened your eyes to a subject that you never even knew you loved? That person for me was my high school history teacher, Mr. Fred Horlacher.

Even 30 years later, I can still close my eyes and remember what it was like to be in his classroom. I loved it. And I wasn't alone. I had him for Nevada History in 11th grade and it was my favorite class ever. He truly brought history to life for his students. He made us love history. He breathed it. He lived it. He was what history should be about.

Going to the gym to register for classes was always a challenge. But it was especially a challenge for Mr. Horlacher's classes. The line in front of his table was the longest by far. No other teacher compared. We fought to get into his room. Every chair was taken and students never cut or dropped out of his class. Ever. Students even scheduled doctor's appointments around his lectures. We just didn't want to miss them. They were that good.

For one thing, Mr. Horlacher never used a school book. All of his classes were lecture only. We had to take notes. He tested off his notes. He was the coolest teacher ever. You couldn't help but learn in his classes. He would walk into the room as the character he would lecture about. One day it might be a Civil War soldier. Another week, it would be a Native American. He would be fully decked out with an Indian headdress and clothing. He was that person from history. He gave us facts, dates, lives, loves, the good and the bad. History wasn't dusty, distant stories, but living, breathing people and the challenges they faced.

I hated when the bell rang and his class was over. His classes were never long enough. What was even cooler about Mr. Horlacher is he had a history club that he was the faculty advisor--Ghost Towners Nevada History Club. It was the most popular club to be a part of--it was only open to juniors and seniors.

I'm not sure, but I have a feeling that my school's history club was unique. I don't know of too many high schools that boasted a history club that had so many members. We not only had fun together as a group, but we learned so much about Nevada history.

Our initiation into the group was on Halloween night. We went up to Virginia City, Nevada to its cemetery. We walked through the cemetery at midnight. Mr. Horlacher had it booby trapped with tape recorders, senior students dressed up (glowing red eyes and all) and made sure we screamed a few times. After we walked through the cemetery, we sat among the graves in the dark and he told us about the spooky true history of Virginia City. It was absolutely one of the coolest things I've ever done.

And we had many wonderful adventures with Mr. Horlacher. We walked the actual trail that the Donner Party walked, at night, with only moonlight to show the way. We munched on beef jerky as he told the story of the Donner Party, painting the picture of the hardships they faced on their journey.

Not only were you learning about history, but we were on the same path, stood by the same trees that they camped under. It wasn't until he got to the part about the possible cannibalism, that the beef jerky sort of lost its flavor. That was Mr. Horlacher's warped sense of humor, which we high school students absolutely loved.

We went on so many field trips. One of them included camping by the reservoir and going "snipe" hunting. Some of us knew better, but we kept our mouths shut as other students took potato sacks and sticks and went to capture the snipes.

We went into gold mines, restored pioneer grave headstones, and visited ghost towns. He made it all come to life for us. He taught for so many years at my high school, finally retiring. He is an outstanding historian who still educates young and old alike in the Reno/Sparks area with living history demonstrations.

Mr. Horlacher is one of the reasons one that one of my majors in college was history. He taught me that history is a living, breathing subject that is never meant to be forgotten.

He is and was an amazing teacher. He embodies what teachers should be about--honorable, memorable and kind. Kudos to you, Mr. Horlacher. You are the best!

If one could make alive again for other people some cobwebbed skein of old dead intrigues and breathe breath and character into dead names and stiff portraits. That is history to me! ~George Macaulay Trevelyan

Plateletpheresis

2010-05-15T09:54:00.003-05:00

Donating blood is not for everyone. Personally, it doesn't bother me. In fact, one of the goals I wanted to achieve once I turned 18 was to donate blood. The other was to vote. Yeah, I know, I am a geek. I have been donating blood (and voting) off and on since I was 18--being turned down every now and then because I was underweight (How many times you can say that in your life? roflmao), because my iron was too low or I wasn't drinking enough water.

Drinking enough water is important in the donation process. Water helps the tech find your veins easier and it also makes the blood flow faster. Trust me; as much as I don't mind donating blood, I want the tech to find that vein as fast as they can. Needles don't bother me, but I do want a smooth and fast insertion. I'm not into pain, especially my own pain.

When I got the phone call asking if I'd donate platelets, I was a bit nervous. I had not done it before--I tried once before but, again, I wasn't drinking enough water so it would have been too hard to find a decent vein.

Platelet donations are important. Platelets help the body coagulate the blood. That way you won't bleed to death. Some people have a hard time creating platelets, especially those who are going through chemotherapy. Donations help build up their systems to fight the cancer.

I've seen the machines they use to remove platelets when I donated blood. They are intimidating machines with lots of doodads hanging off them. I will admit they scared me because of my ignorance about them.

I was taking the day off from work anyway for a doctor's appointment, so I agreed to donate. The process was going to take about two hours all together. That's way longer than just donating blood, but I learned there is a bit more involved with platelet donation than just donating blood.

With platelet donation, they take blood out of you, and separate it to collect the platelets, and then return the blood back into your body with an anticoagulant called sodium citrate. One of the side effects of the anticoagulant entering into my body was the "metallic ting" taste in my mouth. It was no big deal, they just gave me some Tums antacids and I chewed on them. The tingly taste when away quickly and didn't bother me anymore. I wasn't nauseated or dizzy.

You get to choose a movie to watch during the procedure (I watched Night at the Museum again). I was in the chair for about 90 minutes straight. You have to make sure you go to the bathroom first because once you are hooked up, you can't move. For me, that was the biggest psychological challenge. If you tell me I can't go to the bathroom, then all I want to do is go to the bathroom. But I surprised myself and did fine.

I had a single vein procedure. This means they use one needle/catheter in one arm to extract and return my blood. So it would draw for a certain time, then stop and return for a certain time. I did feel the pressure on my vein when the blood was being pumped back into my body. But after experiencing it a couple of times, I got used to it.

I wasn't the only person in there donating platelets. They had put the call out and many donors were kicking back in the chairs, watching movies and donating. The platelets don't have a long shelf life, so the donations are used within the week. We were helping people right away--our donation wasn't being stored away for a rainy day. It's needed right away. It's an awesome experience to know that what you are doing might save someone's life that same day or week.

I didn't know until they were done that I was a bonus donor. I had enough platelets in my body that my one donation would be able to help three patients or three treatments for one patient.

You can donate faster for platelets than just donating blood. Instead of waiting 56 days to donate blood again, you can donate platelets as quickly as three days later, if so needed. It's better for a person getting the donation to get platelets from the same donor to decrease problems. Some people who went through organ transplants or fighting leukemia might need multiple treatments to help them.

Personally, I might not donate again this week, but I will donate at least once a month. They offer appointments at the South Texas Blood Bank on Saturdays, so I don't have to take time off from work. The recovery time for me was nothing. I just had to make sure I drank liquids afterwards and take it easy for the rest of the day. No exercising (no complaints on that one, lol) and no heavy lifting. I felt fine afterwards.

Call your local blood bank if you are interested in donating platelets. It's a short break from your day that could help save someone's life. Go on, give a call and donate.

In south Texas, check out the South Texas Blood and Tissue Center. You can visit their headquarters in their donor pavilion, located at 6211 IH 10 W., First Park Ten Boulevard in San Antonio. Contact them at (210)731-5555.

From Scratch

2010-05-03T21:01:00.002-05:00

As a kid, my first real cooking creation was homemade pudding. Mom never really bought snacks and after school I'd get the major munchies. I couldn't eat just anything from the cabinets as what she bought was for dinners and off limits. I had to be creative if I wanted to eat.

What Mom did have was staples in her pantry. Flour, sugar, salt, cocoa and other basics were lined up nice and neat. The only problem was Mom didn't have any cookbooks. She made everything from memory. And as this was pre-Internet, I couldn't just pop on the World Wide Web and check out a recipe to make a snack from scratch.

So I became creative. I love chocolate, so I pulled out the cocoa. I tried to visualize what was in pudding. I thought of milk, vanilla and sugar. I had no clue about measurements when it came to the ingredients. It took a lot of experimentation to creative anything that was edible. I truly believe that my early pudding recipes was where my love for dark chocolate began--using Hershey's cocoa made for some deep, dark pudding.

I'd make small batches and would spoon the dark, gelatinous goodness while hiding from my siblings in my room. I wasn't going to share. They wouldn't have shared with me. Lol

I know for a fact this is where my love of cooking began--especially cooking from scratch. I truly respect how hard it is to make something from nothing. I take great pride in the fact that I can bake and cook from scratch. Cakes, cinnamon rolls, ice cream, candy and cookies. I do not need a stinking box mix. Give me the staples and I will create you some goodies.

It could be why I also collect cookbooks. Mama never had them, but now I have hundreds of them. You think I jest? I have bookcases full of them. My cookbooks cover a wide range of subjects, tastes, countries and are old to more recent. My oldest is from the 1800s, the strangest might be the road kill collection. Among my favorite cookbooks are my Taste of Home cookbooks because it's real recipes by real cooks. I love my Paula Deen books (her banana pudding recipe is a holiday staple for us). I also have a signed cookbook by Emeril Lagasse.

I have a collection of recipe cards that belonged to my husband's late Granny and Mother. Granny made amazing candy from scratch. I loved the homemade rolls his mother and grandmother made. Amazing tasting and they made it look so easy when I know it's not. I miss them. Women like Granny, Gwen (Jerry's mother) and my mother made their gravy from scratch. It's an art that I find hard to master. I know it's a matter of letting the roux cook the flour, you can't be too quick or it won't taste right.

Cooking means love to me. I love my family, so I cook for them. It's probably the reason Jerry and I have gained the weight we have over the years. I love to cook and we also love to eat. Lol

Here are some of my favorite recipes.

This isn't my recipe from years ago, but it's pretty darn close.

Thick Chocolate Pudding Recipe

4 Servings
Prep: 15 min. + cooling

Ingredients
1/3 cup sugar
1/4 cup baking cocoa
3 tablespoons cornstarch
1/8 teaspoon salt
2 cups milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Whipped topping, optional

Directions
In a 1-qt. microwave-safe bowl, combine the first four ingredients. Stir in milk until smooth. Microwave, uncovered, on high for 2 minutes; stir. Microwave 3-5 minutes longer or until thickened, stirring after each minute. Stir in vanilla. Pour into individual serving dishes; cool. Refrigerate. Garnish with whipped topping if desired. Yield: 4 servings.

http://www.tasteofhome.com/recipes

----

Not Yo' Mama's Banana Pudding

INGREDIENTS
2 bags Pepperidge Farm Chessmen cookies
6 to 8 bananas, sliced
2 cups milk
1 (5-ounce) box instant French vanilla pudding
1 (8-ounce) package cream cheese, softened
1 (14-ounce) can sweetened condensed milk
1 (12-ounce) container frozen whipped topping thawed or equal amount sweetened whipped cream

DIRECTIONS
Line the bottom of a 13-by-9-by-2-inch dish with one bag of cookies and layer bananas on top.

In a bowl, combine the milk and pudding mix and blend well using a handheld electric mixer. Using another bowl, combine the cream cheese and condensed milk together and mix until smooth. Fold the whipped topping into the cream cheese mixture. Add the cream cheese mixture to the pudding mixture and stir until well blended. Pour the mixture over the cookies and bananas and cover with the remaining cookies. Refrigerate until ready to serve.

Recipe from Paula Deen, as seen in The Lady & Sons Just Desserts: More Than 120 Sweet Temptations from Savannah's Favorite Restaurant, (Simon & Shuster).

---

Bailey's No Bake Cookies

This was passed down to me right after I married Jerry from his mother Gwen. My family loves these delicious cookies. Be careful, if you eat too many of them in a short time you will get a sugar-rush headache!

Ingredients:
2 cups sugar
1 cube butter
3 tablespoons cocoa
1/2 cup milk
1/2 cup peanut butter
1 teaspoon vanilla
3 cups Minute Oatmeal

Directions:

Mix the first four ingredients in a pan and let it reach boiling. Stir often. After it has reached the boiling point, let it boil a hard boil for about five minutes.

Add the peanut butter, and vanilla. Let it boil again for one minute.

Remove from stove and add the 3 cups of oatmeal. Stir well to coat everything together.

Drop by teaspoons onto wax paper. Let it set until hardened.

Enjoy with a cold glass of milk!

So so Siamese

2010-04-22T15:11:00.004-05:00

A person doesn't own a Siamese. The Siamese owns the person. It's a fact I'm not quite proud of--but I accept it. I don't pamper Karma, a Siamese cat that came into our lives via my daughter-in-law and son, but she acts like it.

No long back-story, but circumstances happened where it was best for her to stay with us. I have to say, I am a cat person. I love dogs. But I connect with cats a tad more. I have never had a Siamese in my household before--they aren't your average cat.

I walk two ways in my life--my normal everyday style of walking and the walking I have to do at home around Karma. You always have to be aware of the cat. Karma has many ways of directing attention to herself and one way she enjoys most is dive bombing you. Going down the stairs you have to watch where she is--if you don't your butt could be meeting carpet at any time. She loves to dive bomb people's calves as they are either half-way down the stairs or right at the bottom. One minute you are alone and moving confidently and the next you are grabbing for the stair rails praying not to fall on your face and break something.

I think she laughs as she does it. If there are such things as past lives, I firmly believe that Karma was a military soldier. She plots with such precision how to take down the enemy. Taking that last step onto the downstairs one has to always look at their feet. Karma likes to sit right at the bottom of the last step right in the middle. If you aren't paying attention, you have one screeching cat and one twisted ankle.

I can't count how many times I've started to walk around the room and out of the blue, a streak of tawny has thrown her body against me. I could understand if it was a Lassie keeping me from falling into the well, but I'm just walking into the kitchen.

Siamese are also different on how they want to cuddle. You can't just pick up Karma and hug her. Oh, no. She has to approach you, when she's wants, and not a second before. I will be sitting on my chair in the library with my leg leaning off the ottoman. I will feel a furry head bumping into my foot. She rubbing her head on the bottom of my foot. Five or six times she will do this and I can move my foot as if petting her, but gosh forbid I put my hands down there to pet her. A flash of fangs and my hands go back where they belong. She never breaks the skin, but she does let you know, it's all on her terms.

But that's okay. I can deal with it. She's a great companion. She's mostly quiet, clean and likes to just be around me although she does hog the foot of my bed at night.

Now, if I can only train her to sit, I think I might not break any bones.

Planes and more planes

2010-04-08T21:20:00.003-05:00

San Antonio is a big military town--from Lackland and Randolph Air Force Bases to Ft. Sam Houston. One thing that you don't get tired of here is watching all the cool planes fly around. From the fast, cool looking fighter jets who tend to fly in pairs as if playing tag--to some of the largest planes I've ever seen in my life.

I am always astounded how the big ones somehow stay up in the sky. They move so slowly they appear to be just floating in the sky like a lost child's balloon. I hold my breath, afraid they might just fall to the ground, but they finish their mission and land safely.

The sound gets you, too. My work is right near Lackland AFB, so on my lunch or breaks I see and hear the wide variety of what the military is using--not counting what the public is flying around in. Base sounding vrooms make my skin tingle with their power. The higher pitch sounds of the fighter jets as they scream across the horizon make me smile. Yeah, Top Gun is the first image in my mind when I see them.

I'm not sure what the official names of the planes I see, as I'm not experienced in that field of study. But there has to be some F-16 Fighting Falcons, and I think I've seen them. Also the C-5 Galaxy has to be the honking big planes I see flying around.

I wish I was a flying nut, then I'd know for sure. Having all these planes around does make for an interesting break. Sitting on the picnic table underneath the oak tree allows me a unique opportunity to scope out what the military is using. At least, what they let us see in the daytime. I learned from being around Edwards AFB in California, that the really cool stuff flies at night. lol

Museum Wish List

2010-03-24T20:54:00.003-05:00

One of the things I was so excited about moving to San Antonio was the opportunity to check out the myriad of museums. From rare art, animal horns in all shapes and sizes to one of the largest collections in the southern United States of ancient Egyptian, Near Eastern, Greek and Roman art--San Antonio has it all.

I've been to the McNay Art Museum, which I loved, and I am adding the San Antonio Museum of Art to the top of my list. I am so jazzed about seeing so many wonderful exhibits. Dale Chihuly, is a well-known glass artist, and he did a permanent installation of one of his pieces at the San Antonio Art Museum or SAM. It is called "Persian Ceiling," and I am blown away just by the photo and can't wait to see it in person. The colors are so rich and vibrant it makes the blood tingle in my veins.

I was perusing the museum's site the other day and I was floored when I saw the teaser to its Western Antiquities collection. Seeing the photo of seated statue of the goddess Sekhmet made me stop cold. Wow. I want to see this in person and I will.

"The Egyptian collection represents nearly 4000 years of civilization, from the Predynastic through the late Roman and Byzantine periods. A colossal statue of the goddess Sekhmet greets visitors to the Egyptian galleries. Other highlights of the collection are a remarkable Predynastic female figurine carved of ivory and a group of 28 relief sculptures from Amarna, the capital city of the 18th Dynasty king Akhenaten. Among important works representing later phases of Egyptian history are a group of plaster mummy masks and two mummy portraits from the 2nd to 3rd century A.D."

Man, I love history. I can't wait to visit this place.

San Antonio Museum of Art
200 West Jones Avenue
San Antonio, Texas 78215
(210) 978-8100
info@samuseum.org

Wildflowers

2010-03-17T22:10:00.003-05:00

I used to think I knew what wildflowers looked like--their breathtaking beauty. All around Bakersfield, if the rain fell just enough and the winds weren't too strong you could see fields of yellows and red and whites. But California has nothing on Texas wildflowers. They take their wildflowers here quite seriously.

Now, in the afternoons as I drive home, I get to enjoy the Texas Bluebonnets in full bloom in the highway divider. As I sit bumper-to-bumper on 281, all I have to do is turn to my left and a mere four feet away are bunches and bunches of blue flowers vigorously growing. We've had the perfect mix of rain and sunshine to nudge the wildflowers into blooms that are picture perfect.

The two dominate species of Bluebonnets are only found naturally growing in Texas and no where else in the world.

As historian Jack Maguire so aptly wrote, "It's not only the state flower but also a kind of floral trademark almost as well known to outsiders as cowboy boots and the Stetson hat." He goes on to affirm that "The bluebonnet is to Texas what the shamrock is to Ireland, the cherry blossom to Japan, the lily to France, the rose to England and the tulip to Holland."
http://aggie-horticulture.tamu.edu/plantanswers/flowers/bluebonnet/bluebonnetstory.html

I learned when we visited LBJ's ranch about Lady Bird Johnson and her passion for wildflowers. Lady Bird talked the government of the State of Texas into planting wildflower seeds along the state's highways. Every year, we are treated to splashes of color and beauty. Many a driver thanks Mrs. Johnson for her foresight into the beautification of Texas.

Jerry and I have visited Wildseed Farms outside of Fredericksburg, Texas. It is the largest working wildflower farm in the country. Acres and acres of flowers so pretty it makes you think it's not real. Something so perfect can't be real, but they are. It's an amazing sight. Trust me; it's something you have to see to believe.

Earliest Memories

2010-03-15T22:04:00.002-05:00

What is your earliest memory? I had another one of my random thoughts and it flashed through my brain--A&W root beer. The earliest memory I have is when I was about five years old and my mother had stopped at the A&W Drive In by our house and bought me lunch. She had picked me up from kindergarten and it was a special treat to eat out. I had a hamburger and a root beer. It was just me and my mother. That was a rare treat for the youngest of five children. I still smile when I see an A&W restaurant, although you can't find a drive in anymore.

My next flash of memory was surgeries I had on my ears. Again, I was about five years old. My ear drums had burst and I was in the hospital. I still remember my head being wrapped like a gauzy white mummy head creature. The nurse had set me on a chair while she changed my sheets. (An unfortunate accident. I couldn't get to the bathroom in time.) My face still burns red at the embarrassment I felt so many years ago. It's funny what stays with you. The nurse was kind, and I kept saying I was sorry.

I don't have a continuous memory of my childhood. It's a hit or miss--second grade and seeing the spanking paddle the principal had hanging in his office. Never used on me, but my brother got spanked. Boy, my mother was furious. She threatened to use the board on the principal if he ever used it on my brother again. We kids laughed at that image. Mama could do it, too.

I remember chasing horny toads in the desert and worrying about stepping on scorpions. I remember a cookout on a California beach and family members teasing me that the crabs were going to grab me and drag me into the ocean. I still have a fear of deep water. lol I can close my eyes and still smell the smoke from the fire we built. We had so much fun.

I remember being at a park and to water the grass they would basically flood it. We'd lie down on the grass and soak in the water. It was the closest thing to being in a swimming pool.

I remember a guy who lived near us who didn't like kids crossing his lot, so he put nails upside down in a piece of wood so we kids would step on it with our bare feet. No pain like stepping on a nail. I think he got in trouble for that, but I can't be sure. I can still see the vivid red drops of blood dripping from my foot and crying so hard my eyes swelled up.

I remember a trip my family took to Tijuana, Mexico. The businesses were run down and there was a lot of dirt. I was afraid and excited at the same time. We had our pictures taken on a donkey painted to look like zebra. Even I knew at that young age that it wasn't right. I just enjoyed being on an adventure with my family.

What are some of your earliest memories?

Sounds of Silence

2010-03-11T20:50:00.001-06:00

It's a bit ironic, that I struggle to hear every day and yet I find my most peaceful times when I turn off my hearing aids and block out the world. It's not that I don't want to hear what's going on around me. I do. I really do. But I find myself turning off my much needed hearing aids during the day just to calm my soul.

There are times that listening can be highly overrated. It's exhausting to hear. My concentration has to be so focused so I can understand what the heck you normal hearing people are saying that I feel as if I've run a marathon. No wonder I'm so flipping tired when I get home.

It's not that I can't hear what people are saying. It just sounds like you all are mumbling. Trying to clarify the sounds can be frustrating, embarrassing and quite awkward.

"Read my lips."

A former coworker said those words to be thinking he was funny. He wasn't. I wanted to slap the smile off his face into next week. I know I don't hear well. I sure as hell don't need anyone to point it out to me. I've been living with this since I was five years old. I think by now I have a clue.

Fish. Dish. Wish. Words sound alike if you can't hear well. I have responded to questions with wrong answers. I've been laughed at, teased, ignored and even made people mad.

"You hear what you want to hear. You have selective hearing."

I heard those comments many times over the years. Umm, nope. I hear what I can when I can. It can be a hit or miss situation. Not by choice. Trust me. If I had a say in this I'd have perfect fricking hearing. But, guess what? I had NO say in the matter. Crap happens and you deal with it. And I've been dealing with this a long time.

I hate and love the sounds of silence.

Want to know what my world is like? Take cotton balls, shove tightly in both ears. Take a set of ear muffs and put over your ears. Now go into the world and try to communicate to people. Try to work. Try to order food from a fast food drive thru. Try to carry a conversation over the phone. Try to be a good mom and be able to hear when your children cry out for you.

Welcome to my world.

When my sons were babies, I would go to their cribs and put my hands on their chests to know they were breathing. I couldn't hear them. I was petrified I wouldn't be able to know if something was wrong. When the kids and I were home alone, if Jerry was gone for the night for some work trip, I'd barely sleep. How could I protect my sons if I couldn't hear if someone was breaking in the house?

But I survived, and my kids turned out okay. I thank God everyday for letting me be who I am. Yeah, I'm hearing impaired, but the good Lord doesn't give you anything you can't handle. I have and will continue to handle this challenge.

A friend wondered how I could calmly study for a test at a noisy restaurant. Well, with my hearing aids turned off, the sounds are muted and it's peaceful. I can be in a roomful of people and read and not be distracted.

I hate and love the sounds of silence.

Woman's World

2010-02-27T21:39:00.001-06:00

"I don't take orders from a woman, I quit." Those words were uttered last week by a young male worker and I am still in shock. In today's work world, women are everywhere. And when I say everywhere, I mean everywhere--from taxi drivers to doctors and every field in between. In all aspects of business life, females are successful. We show up in all levels of the professional world. Not only are we employees and supervisors, we are CEOs and owners of companies, too. Yet, the old ignorant bias still exists.

I try to wrap my head around how someone could say those words and I find that I can't. If either of my two sons even uttered those words I would have disciplined them in a nuclear way. How scum sucking ignorant do you have to be to say that to a woman's face?

Yes, there are still glass ceilings that women have to shatter. It's better now than it's ever been, in my opinion. I'm not blind to the fact that a lot of women do deal with discrimination in the workplace, some successfully, some not so successfully. But having a woman boss is commonplace in many fields of business. It's not that unusual anymore.

According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, "In 2008, 59.5 percent of women were in the labor force, and this share has been relatively stable over the past several years."

"In 2008, women accounted for 51 percent of all persons employed in management, professional, and related occupations, somewhat more than their share of total employment (47 percent). http://www.bls.gov/cps/wlf-intro-2009.pdf

So how can this young man say such a stupid comment? I don't know. Maybe it boils down to how they were raised. If they were raised in a household where the wife was subservient to the husband, stayed at home, told that being a "housewife" was the proper way for a woman to act, then I could see the problem.

Being a "good" wife/mother does not mean you have to stay at home, clean the house, raise the kids and not work. Yes, home life is incredibly important, but in this day and age, there has to be a balance. The economy has made it so that both husband and wife must work to maintain a decent life.

You have to respect what women bring to the workforce. We don't weaken it, we strengthen it. We bring empathy, understanding, intelligence, and multi-tasking skills that only benefit businesses and employees.

We've come a long way baby, but apparently we have a long way to go.

Random Origin Thoughts

2010-02-18T21:05:00.002-06:00

My brain is always chugging away thinking, thinking, and thinking some more. Random things flitter here and there. At times, it can be quite entertaining what I think of--and today's thought were manila envelopes. Why are they called "Manila?" I said to myself, "Self, learn today why they are called this." And that's what I did when I got home.

The handy dandy Interwebs (which doesn't always tell the truth) educated me on the origins of manila envelopes. I bet you didn't know it's origins. I know I didn't know it until tonight.

The manila component of the name comes from manila hemp or abacá, from which manila folders were originally made. "Manila" refers to the capital of the Philippines, one of the main producers of abacá.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manila_folder

Or so they say. lol.

I don't know. I guess the explanation sort of makes sense to me. Why do we call things the thing we do? What's the point where someone said, "I shall call this steak. Or "from this moment on, I shall call this 'bowel movements. "

I crack myself up.

If you've ever found yourself wondering where words "come from," you might want to check out this site: http://www.etymonline.com/

With it, I learned the following:

Manila
1690s, capital of the Philippines, gave its name (with altered spelling) to manilla hemp (1814), original source of manilla paper (1873).

The dates beside a word indicate the earliest year for which there is a surviving written record of that word (in English, unless otherwise indicated). This should be taken as approximate, especially before about 1700, since a word may have been used in conversation for hundreds of years before it turns up in a manuscript that has had the good fortune to survive the centuries.

According to this site, the word steak comes from:

steak
1440, "thick slice of meat cut for roasting," probably from O.N. steik "roast meat," cognate with steikja "to roast on a spit," and ultimately "something stuck" (on a spit); related to stick (v.).

Maybe I should pronounce it with an accent--something from Monty Python or Shrek. "I'll take my 'steik' well dunnnne please. And make sure it dunnit stick in the barbie when you cook it."

By the way, constipation is an older word than bowel movement. Go figure?

Sometimes, it's a bit scary in my brain.

Smells like an Onion, Feels Like a Fair

2010-02-16T22:10:00.001-06:00

I always have an instant sensual memory when I happen to smell onion rings. Tonight, I was picking up dinner at a local hamburger place and Jerry wanted onion rings. From the moment I put the bag in my car and I smelled the rings, the image of the Kern County Fair crossed my mind.

I can close my eyes and visualize walking along the paths with the booths selling corn on the cob, gargantuan hand dipped corn dogs, and mouth watering cinnamon rolls. But it's the smell of fried onion rings that brings those images to mind. Not the smell of corn on the cob or the other items.

Warm, summer nights, the bells and whistles from the midway and trying not to sneeze from the hay bales all these cross my mind. Cowboys, wanna-be cowboys and gang bangers alike walk around the kid goats, bunny rabbits and beautiful horses.

I remember grabbing the boys when they were younger and making goofy faces for the photo booth. We eagerly awaited the strip of photos and made fun of each other. It was geeky fun and I wouldn't trade those memories for any amount of money.

I have to say I do miss the Kern County Fair. We haven't yet gone to a fair here in San Antonio. They hold theirs in February and I just can't gear myself up to go to it. I need my fair at the end of September, beginning of October for it to be a "true" fair.

I think I will just close my eyes and sniff the onion rings and remember times past.

A High Note

2010-02-09T22:23:00.003-06:00

I can still remember the talent show in high school. They had a special assembly where those who wanted to perform could sing, dance and play instruments. I had a fantasy of getting on stage and singing my heart out. Only one problem--I can't sing worth squat. In fact, I've been offered money not to sing.

A girl can't catch a break. Even with my lack of talent, I still had dreams of singing. Barbra Streisand, Helen Reddy (lol), and Carole King I was them all at one time or another. Heck, for a couple of months in 1976, I WAS Elton John. I would play my cassette of Crocodile Rock over and over again to learn the lyrics. This was before the Internet. I didn't have the ability to quickly look up the words of a song I loved. I have to focus my time and energy on memorization the hard way. Stop and rewind. Stop and rewind.

Benny and The Jets, Honky Cat, Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, and Daniel rocked my bedroom. I'd wrap my hand around my hairbrush and screech out the songs--out of tune, and slightly painful to the ears. But I loved it.

I can still watch a musical and dream that I am the lead singer. I'm the one mesmerizing the crowd and the roar of the crowd is for me and what I'm doing.

Hey, a girl can dream.

I remember when rock was young
Me and Suzie had so much fun
holding hands and skimming stones
Had an old gold Chevy and a place of my own
But the biggest kick I ever got
was doing a thing called the Crocodile Rock
While the other kids were Rocking Round the Clock
we were hopping and bopping to the Crocodile Rock

Well Crocodile Rocking is something shocking
when your feet just can't keep still
I never knew me a better time and I guess I never will
Oh Lawdy mama those Friday nights
when Suzie wore her dresses tight
and the Crocodile Rocking was out of sight

But the years went by and the rock just died
Suzie went and left us for some foreign guy
Long nights crying by the record machine
dreaming of my Chevy and my old blue jeans
But they'll never kill the thrills we've got
burning up to the Crocodile Rock
Learning fast as the weeks went past
we really thought the Crocodile Rock would last

A Different Sound

2010-02-02T22:52:00.003-06:00

On cold, clear nights as I drove along Highway 99 in Central California I would occasionally catch strains of dialogue and music from a different world than my own. Pumping out 50,000 watts of unique sounds, KTNN-AM haunted me when I was lucky enough to hear it. The station is located in Window Rock, Arizona.

It was a song that first caught my ear--sung in another language. What I first thought was Russian (It was completely foreign to me) was actually Navajo. Drums, chants and a rhythmic movement made me smile. I had no idea what they were singing about--I just knew I liked it. The deep, male voices touched an inner spot in me and I felt an instant karmic kinship. It's goofy, but true.

They played a mixture of modern county music mixed with Native American songs. The night I first caught its signal the radio announcer spoke in Navajo. I didn't have a clue what was being said. It made me envious. I wanted to know what it meant.

It motivated me enough to go out and buy a couple of cds of Native American Chants and music. I still have the cds. I like listening to them when I can. I especially enjoy the flute music.

One called "Beyond Words - Native American Flute - by Wolf," is haunting and is completely relaxing. I could easily see myself getting a full body massage and listening to this cd.

It brings to mind another time, another world where buffalos roamed free across the plains and Native Americans controlled their lives and didn't answer to white men.

I can close my eyes and feel transported.

Phobos Dreams_Chapter Two

2010-01-31T21:11:00.001-06:00

I had made arrangements with Cap to meet at my place at 2 a.m. That gave me plenty of time to finish my errands.

My step was lighter as I went from shop to shop. I mentioned to no one else about my plans. I had no other friends. To know that Cap would be going with me made me happier than I had been since the Rebirth had happened.

I had one last stop before returning to my apartment. Long ago, I had turned away from the Rebirth's idea of "Church." The government had altered everything when they took over and "Rebirthed" the Earth.

Any resemblance the Rebirth Church had to churches of the past was lost years ago. The church I walked toward was not in the new, gleaming, sterile building they called "Church." My church was a boarded up building two streets over from my apartment.

I looked both ways before entering the decayed building. Rats larger than small cats scampered across the dirty floor. The building was silent, and oddly peaceful. Filtered sunlight drifted into the room I entered. Against the wall leaned a tall, wooden cross. It displayed remnants of a time past, but not quite yet forgotten.

The rest of the building had graffiti scrawled everywhere. Windows were broken and doors take off their hinges, yet this room was unmarked.

The cross gleamed in the dim sunlight. As my eyes became adjusted tot eh dimness I noticed others in the room.

"Peace be with you," I said softly.

"Please be with you," they replied. Two women and one man were sitting in front of the cross, their hands raised together in prayer.

I sat down on the gleaming floor. This room was spotless. The walls were scrubbed to a point that the wood sparkled. No rats entered this room. The caretaker of the church walked over to me.

"Peace be with you, my sister. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Peace be with you, caretaker. I am here to refresh my soul with goodness and to ask for a favor if I may," I replied, lowering my head in the caretaker’s presence.

"And what favor might that be, my child?"

The caretaker was a woman of an undetermined age. Her long, black hair was braided around her head. Streaks of gray intermingled with the black.

Once, many years ago, I thought the caretaker was a pastor in a church before the Rebirth. I didn't know for sure and I wasn't sure how to graciously ask without offending the caretaker.

"I am going away to another city. I was wondering if I might purchase a copy of the "Book" to take with me. Is that possible?" I asked my eyes not leaving her gentle face.

The caretaker looked at me carefully. It was a federal crime to purchase the "Book." And it was even worse for the person who dared to sell the contraband.

"You know the consequences if you are caught holding the 'Book.' Are you willing to face these consequences? Possessing the 'Book' is also a very important honor. You must protect it with your life," she said reverently.

"Where I am going there are no 'Books.' I must have a copy to take with me. I will guard it with my life."

The caretaker looked around the room, the others seems oblivious to our quiet conversation.

"Come with me."

The woman led me to a side room I had never been in before. It must have been where she slept for there was a small, bare bed against a far wall. No other furniture or decorations were in the room except for a painting on the wall. I hadn't seen a painting like that since I was a child. It was of Jesus Christ nailed to the cross.

I fell to my knees in front of the painting. The caretaker smiled, and gently put her hand to my head.

"It's all right, child. God knows you are a faithful believer. There is still hope out there. Even though the government tells us there is none. Those who believe, those who still trust God, know there is hope no matter what the odds are," her soft voice reassured me.

Raising my head, I looked up at the painting and at the caretaker.

"I am going far away caretaker. I need to take some of that hope with me. May I please have a copy of the 'Book?' "

The caretaker nodded her head and reached under the bare bed. She pulled out a small box and removed a book. She carefully handed it to me.

"You don't have to pay me, child. Just promise not to tell anyone where you got it and guard it with your life. Follow those words and you will live a more wonderful life than many can imagine."

I accepted the book and slipped it into my life pack.

"I am honored by your trust. But, please let me pay you."

"No child, I have all I need. I have the Lord and I have the few faithful who still come to worship. I am already very rich," she said, a beautiful smile filling her face.

"Take care my child, and may peace always be with you."

Tears fell down my face. The peace and love the caretaker exuded filled me with warmth.

"Maybe peace always be with you, caretaker," I replied before quietly leaving the room.

Standing once again inside the room with the cross, I walked over to it and knelt. Saying the one prayer I remembered from childhood, I leaned over and kissed the bottom of the cross. I prayed for a safe journey for Cap and myself.

I was careful leaving the building, knowing the contraband "Book" was in my life pack made me far more aware of the surroundings.

I was finally ready to start a new life. I had all I needed in my life pack. Now, all I needed was Cap.

Phobos Dreams

2010-01-28T21:41:00.001-06:00

I stood at the window overlooking the crowded, smog-spewing streets. Escape was the only thought on my mind. Escape from people, places and things. Sirens echoed into the sparse room. Even though I was on the 15th floor of my apartment building, I couldn't escape the harassing sounds of city life.

"God, I want out," I whispered softly. I felt hollowness in my chest. I knew I couldn't take another day in Los Angeles. I was suffocating.

The sharp ring of the telephone made me snap to attention.

"Hello?"

"Do you still want to go?" a deep voice whispered.

My heart felt as if it had stopped. I gripped the telephone so tightly that my knuckles had turned white.

"Yes," I replied. My chest felt as if icicles were stabbed into it.

"We leave at 4 a.m. Be ready," the voice ordered.

"What do I take with me?" I asked. I realized I was talking to dead air.

Packing what I thought were bare essentials, I realized I didn't have to worry about leaving anything behind. I practically owned nothing. My whole life fit neatly into a standard army-issued life pack.

I had twelve hours before I had to leave. I decided to run errands to pick up some needed survival gear. Better safe than sorry, I thought.

Sliding my life pack over my shoulders I headed out the door. I hated going into the streets and avoided it as much as possible. People were mean, animalistic and basically deadly on the streets of Los Angeles. They only cared about themselves and rarely looked out for anyone else. When their bloodshot eyes caught yours, you instinctively knew they were calculating what you had to offer. What could they take from you? Jewelry, money or your life, it didn't matter in what order. The only things important to the street dwellers were themselves.

Two generations before, Earth inhabitants were more caring. They were peaceful and caring to their fellow man. But that was before the change. Rebirth. Ever since then day-to-day life had changed forever.

I rarely thought about what life was like in the past. Hazy faces of my family--my parents and siblings--drifted in my memory. I didn't know if any of them were alive. And I didn't care. The Rebirth had changed everyone--including myself.

But, I knew if I could escape, I could start a new life. A dream life of peace, beauty and the freedom to learn.

I never told anyone of my dreams. I knew no one could make them become reality but me.

Since the Rebirth in 2157, schools were outlawed. Street dwellers had taken over the schools to the point it seemed useless to go through the charade of teaching. Students and teachers were assaulted daily. Murders casually happened in the schoolyard. Everyone carried guns. The government had finally decided it was safer to close the schools forever.

Heading out of my building I felt the full power of the steamy streets. Temperatures today were expected to hit 120 degrees, according to the morning radio report. Ever since the environmentalists got executed in the first days of the Rebirth, Earth's atmosphere had drastically changed.

No one was around to police the world's industrial companies. Large corporations began raiding countries—clear cutting the land, polluting the water and doing what they wanted to make themselves rich. Earth was paying the price.

Temperatures would rise so high during the day that water would boil and fish would die in the ponds. At night, it would get so cold animals would die in their tracks, their bodies stuck in a frozen motion of movement.

I carefully dodged dwellers on the crowded sidewalk. The human stench was unbearable. My stomach clenched as I tried to block out the stale, putrid odors mixed with the cooking smells of the street vendors.

The Army surplus store was only three blocks from my apartment. Sighing with relief, I slipped quietly into the store. Its dark interior was welcoming and familiar.

"Hey, Cap. I need a couple of things," said to an older, grizzled-looking man behind the scarred counter.

"You always need something, Arianne. What's it now? Stun gun? A magic powder to make people disappear??" he growled.

"What? You have something new in? A powder? Does it work?" I asked teasingly.

The old veteran who ran the store fought through more wars than I thought possible. He knew everything about war. He would have still been fighting if he hadn't gotten kicked out for assaulting a superior officer. Cap had a few problems--he had a hair-trigger temper and he hated all forms of authority. The military couldn't prosecute Cap because he was decorated more than most of their generals. He was a national hero.

So they retired him, and gave him enough money to start a new life. Cap opened up the surplus store. The Army was all he knew. And since the Rebirth, Cap's business had boomed. People wanted to protect themselves and to survive. That's where Cap came in.

Most of Cap's goods were probably off the black market, but I wasn't going to be the one to ask him.

I handed Cap the short list of items I needed for my trip.

"Do you have these things?"

Cap looked over the list. His clear blue eyes missed nothing. He glanced up at me, slowly looking at me from head to toe.

"You going somewhere, Missy? his gravely voice boomed across the room.

"Cap, I need this stuff, either you have it or you don't. I don't have time for bullshit."

Cap hesitated, quietly staring at me. "I've got it. Some of it is in the back," he said. "Follow me."

The dusty shelves in Cap's back storage room held everything from beeswax to bullets. No one would ever think of stealing from Cap. He had two bodyguards that sat in the front of the store, ready to kill anyone he pointed at--no questions asked.

Cap pulled some boxes out from under a bench and opened the flaps. He reached in and grabbed an ionic laser torch.

"There's not much call for these since they outlawed off-planet travel. Visitors haven't requested many of these things being that they only work in low to zero gravity. I don't think I will ask why you want it."

"Good, because I'm not going to tell you. And give me two of them. Also, I need a case of dehydrated e-rations, water tablets and do you have any seeds for low-gravity farming?"

Cap stopped in mid-motion and sat down on the hard, wooden bench. He took a deep, weary breath and stared up at me.

"Low-gravity farming? Arianne, what the hell are you going to do? he asked, even though he had already guessed what my answer would be.

Cap was one of the few humans I liked. Even through all of his orneriness I knew what he was like deep inside. We had a mutual respect for each other. What I didn't know until later that Cap thought of me as the daughter he never had, or ever could have.

"I can't take it anymore, Cap. This town is going to kill me if I stay here any longer. I am getting away. I am going to start a new life somewhere else. And I can't do it here on Earth. Please, don't tell anyone," I pleaded, my hand resting on his arm. Curled white scars stood out obscenely against the curly red hair on his arms.

Cap put his huge hand over mine and gently squeezed it.

"I won't say a word. If you are sure this is what you want to do," he replied, staring at me, as if to memorize my features. I wondered if he'd miss me not harassing him on a weekly basis.

"It's what I have to do, Cap." I hesitated a moment and then impulsively said, "come with me." I realized at this point in my life I didn't want to lose the only friend I had ever had.

Cap stared at me. He first appeared shocked at my words. Go with me? Leave his business, his life? It was then that Cap realized he had no life. He had no family, and more importantly had no mission since they kicked him out of the army.

He made up his mind in an instant. "Tell me all about your plans," he said with determination.

I laid out all of the details as quickly as I could.

"And this 'Coyote' is going to pick up at 4 a.m.?"

"Yes. I can only take what I can put in my life pack. He is going to smuggle me aboard a routine garbage scow to Phobos. There are still people living out in space, Cap. The government just don't want anyone to know it. They know that people will leave in droves and abandon Earth," I said, my pale face flush with excitement.

"Since the Rebirth, the government said they abandoned all space colonies. They outlawed all space travel except for garbage dumping and industrial exploration for minerals and such. What makes you think you can get away?" he asked, his hand gripping mine.

"Do you always believe everything the government says?" I asked in a sarcastic tone. "Yes, they have abandoned some colonies. It was horrible; they just took people straight out of their homes and brought them back to Earth. Many committed suicide once they returned. The government lied to them. The government also said when the Rebirth happened that the world would be a better place and crime would no longer exist. Look outside, it's a war zone. You can't go across town without being shot at."

"Okay, I get your point," Cap said. He hesitated for a moment, his eyes looking around the room.

"Will your 'Coyote' accept me, too? Will he let me go with you?" he asked.

"He will if I pay him. He will take whoever I want. It's all the money I have, but it's worth it to get off this stinking planet. I won't need their money where I am going. It will mean nothing to me in my ... our new life."

Cap moved around the room, collecting more items and stacking them on the bench. "I have more than enough money myself, Missy Mae. You don't need to pay my way. So tell me what you have and I will bring the rest. If we are going to start a new life, we need to be prepared for anything and everything."

Cap felt invigorated. He rubbed his hands through his shortly cropped red hair. It was amazing how a few moments ago he felt old and useless. Now he was making a mental list of items needed for their mission. He had a purpose again.

"Thank you, Cap," I said, hugging the grizzled veteran.

Cap looked startled as I hugged him. We rarely had any physical contact besides me occasionally punching him in the arm. He wrapped his bear-like arms around me.

"Let's get cracking, Arianne. We have a new life to start."

.... to be continued.

© Robin Bailey

Vindication

2010-01-27T20:44:00.001-06:00

When Jerry and I moved to San Antonio I appeared to have picked up a correction echo. One of the major roads around here is called "San Pedro." Just like the city in California. So, me being me, pronounced it the way I've always pronounced it. "San Peeeee dro." Well, Jerry suddenly began correcting me. "San Peh dro." It an ongoing argument between us. I say it my way, he feels he has to correct me.

"I'm right," I defend myself.

"You're wrong. You don't call the guy Peee dro. You call him Peh dro," he argued.

Well, everyone around here, including the media, pronounce it Jerry's way. I was not happy. But I was vindicated when listening to KNX radio on my IPhone. A major news radio channel in Los Angeles, KNX announcers ALL pronounced it the way I do... San Peee dro.

I called Jerry to tell him how I was vindicated. I was pronouncing it properly. At least, in Los Angeles, I was. lol

San Pedro is a port neighborhood of the city of Los Angeles, California, United States. It was annexed in 1909 and is a major seaport of the area. The town has grown from being dominated by the fishing industry to become primarily a working class town within the City of Los Angeles. The name of the town is pronounced /sænˈpiːdroʊ/ by its residents, even its Hispanic residents, rather than by its Spanish pronunciation [samˈpeðɾo].

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/San_Pedro,_Los_Angeles,_California

You win some. You lose some.

I'm still right.

Silent Thoughts

2010-01-22T20:21:00.003-06:00

The hands moved gracefully through the air. With a gentle tip and swish the woman communicated in a silent, yet incredibly boisterous language. Her long blonde hair was held back with a delicate seashell hair clip. The inner light that shone from her face was so raw, so powerful that it made Rae lose her breath. Rae stood in the checkout line at the grocery store and did her best not to stare at the young blonde woman and a man as they carried on their conversation.

"Geez, what the hell are they doing?" Rae heard a rude voice directly behind her. She turned around and eyed the person who had spoken. He stood slouched against the checkout stand. It was a twenty-something holding a bottle of Pepsi and a pack of cigarettes in his hand. Rae noticed his nails were jagged and bitten to the quick. His hair was cut extremely close to his head and dyed a shocking pink. Not only did his nose sport a ring, but so did both ears and his lip. She briefly imagined other places on him that were pierced, but quickly tried to erase the disturbing image.

"Looks like they are talking idiot talk to me." The man's companion, almost a carbon copy of his friend, looked at the couple and laughed.

Rae cringed and fought the urge to lean over and slap the man across the face. A white, cold hatred rose from her belly. The couple were not aware of what the men had said. They waited for their groceries to be rung up and continued with their conversation. The deaf man's hands danced a rhythmic dance, his face contorting, exaggerating his conversation. Rae tried to give them privacy, but she could tell the man was relating a funny story to his wife. They both wore smiles that instantly made others around them smile, without knowing why.

That is, except for the two rude men standing behind Rae. She debated what to do, whether to say something or keep her mouth shut. She knew she would say something. Her temper always got the better of her--especially in a situation like this. Her own personal safety flew right out the window when it came to such ignorance.

"That's not idiot talk, you moron. They're speaking sign language. They're deaf." Rae heard herself speak the words before she knew it.

The men stared at Rae as if she had just landed from another planet. It wasn't often that someone responded to their talk.

"Yea, sign language. You mean like this?" The first young man moved his dirty, nail-bitten hand and wiggled it obscenely in the air. He started to laugh and the other one joined in.

Rae took a deep breath and tried to keep the bile down that kept rising up in her throat. She turned to see that the couple was still oblivious to the teenagers’ actions. She returned her gaze back to the men who were slapping each other on the back for what they thought was a good joke.

"You should be ashamed of yourselves. Acting like this. You should know better than to treat people that way. Why don't you guys just grow up?" Rae stood there with a disgusted look on her face. The men looked abashed for a brief second then they went back to their antics mimicking the deaf couple's conversation.

"I wouldn't keep that up if I were you." Rae threatened.

The twenty-somethings laughed at her and shook their heads.

"Oh, I guess we'd better be afraid of this chick. She might kick out butt," the second guy said in an exaggerated tone. He moved his shoulders side-to-side, his leather Doc Marten boots squeaked as he shifted his weight.

Rae turned as her groceries were moved forward. She gripped her purse so tightly that her knuckles were turning white. She noticed that the deaf couple had finished their transaction and were headed out the door into the night. As far as Rae knew they were not aware of what happened. The men were laughing and goofing off behind Rae. They taunted and began making her the target of their attention.

"Knock it off you two," snapped the checkout clerk. The men quieted down. It probably helped that the clerk was a well-built man whose muscles bulged out of his blue and white shirt. It didn't make Rae feel any better about what had happened. She kept her mouth shut and as soon as the clerk was done ringing up her groceries she quickly left the store.

The punks laughed as she headed out the door. She could hear them calling her names.

It was less than five minutes later that the two of them came out of the store and walked across the parking lot to a dented blue Ford that was illegally parked in two handicapped parking spaces. The driver opened the door and tossed his soda and cigarettes into the dirty front seat. Empty beer cans sat on the floor alongside remnants of past meals. The driver didn't realize he'd been hit until he felt his body slam into the metal door frame.

"What the fuc...?" Another swift kick slammed him onto the ground. He heard his buddy yell and run around the car. Before he could raise himself up he saw his buddy fall beside him in the darkened parking lot. He felt a strong kick on his back as both he and his buddy were being pummeled. Kick after kick. No spot was spared. The kicks came so fast they couldn't move. He cried as each kick found tender spots on his body.

"Leave us alone. Leave us alone." They yelled, pain filling their voices. Both laid still, their hands over their heads to protect their acne-scarred faces.

They heard their assailant breathing hard. The person finally leaned over the first boy and whispered in his ear. "Don't ever make fun of someone who is different from you. Especially, if they are deaf. Or I'll come back and finish the job."

The driver was shocked at the voice he heard. A woman's voice threatened them. His face wore a look of disbelief. He heard footsteps and raised his head and watched as the woman from the grocery store walked slowly away. She tucked her shirt back into her pants and pulled out her car keys.

"A fucking woman kicked our ass?" The first punk was stunned into silence. His buddy just shook his head and painfully raised himself to the side of the car. There were no other people in the dark, empty parking lot. No one had witnessed the fight. No one had seen them get beaten up by a girl.

"Let's get the hell out of here," he finally said. They carefully sat in the front seat. Blood trickled out of the second one's mouth. He ran his tongue over a loose tooth in the front left side if his mouth. The driver was sure he had a busted rib.

"Do you want to go after her?" His passenger asked, using his dirty, plaid shirt to wipe blood from his mouth.

The driver looked at the retreating woman. She drove away as if nothing had happened. Her Toyota 4Runner leaving slowly, as if daring the boys.

"Hell, no. She ain't worth it."

Rae looked into her rear view window as the two men sat in their car. She took deep breaths and tried to get her pulse down to normal. She had lost her temper. She admitted it. But those two deserved it. If anyone deserved a good ass kicking it was those two punks.

She reached into her change tray and slipped her two hearing aids back into her ears. She hadn't wanted to fight with them on. Those little things were expensive to replace. Anyway, she decided she didn't need to hear to teach those two punks a lesson.

Her favorite song was playing on the radio and she loudly sang along.

© Robin Bailey

Irish Ties and Other Tales

2010-01-19T22:00:00.001-06:00

Bernie heard the sounds in the darkness off to his left before he saw the killers. Mickey and Aaron were stalking him like a wild animal. Sweat dripped down his face, blurring his vision and burning his eyes. He dared not wipe it away.

The glare from their flashlights bounced off the walls, methodically searching for their prey. Bernie was sure he looked like a deer frozen in deadly headlights. He leaned into the cartons that hid him from the pair, trying to make his short body as invisible as possible as the goons walked past his hiding spot.

"Come on out Bernie, there's no way you are going to escape, you know," Mickey's whiny voice echoed in the large warehouse.

Aaron stopped almost even to where Bernie was hidden and turned his head as if he could hunt Bernie down through echoes. Bernie became as still as a statue. He held his breath, afraid Aaron would hear his ragged breathing.

Minutes--to Bernie they felt like hours--trickled by. Finally, Aaron moved forward. Bernie quietly exhaled and prayed once again to whomever it was watching over him to save his butt. He'd be good. He'd stop gambling, drinking and cheating on his wife. If only he'd get out of there alive.

Bernie's small eyes carefully looked over the piles of boxes stored in the marina warehouse. Rotten fish smells intermingled with the salt of the Atlantic Ocean. It was dark and quiet and Bernie knew if his rotten luck didn't change he wasn't going to live to see another sunrise over New York City.

"Bernie, you know I how I hate to do this, but you brought it on yourself." Aaron's deep voice still had tinges of Irish brogue behind it.

"You stupid fegger. Didn't you think that Little Moe would find out you stole his money?"

Bernie heard them yell more obscenities as they moved farther down the warehouse walkway. Bernie was starting to piss them off by not showing himself so they could get their job done and be on their way. They had things to do and places to go.

Bernie stole the money. He wouldn't deny it. The money had been there for the taking. Little Moe had tons of money. Bernie had figured he wouldn't miss measly $75,000. He was wrong.

"You shouldn't have stolen from one of your own, Bernie. It was really stupid. Little Moe is very unhappy. He trusted you. He loved you like a son. And you went and betrayed him. Very, very stupid," Aaron said.

Bernie heard a gun go off and he felt as if his heart left his body. A warm sensation slipped down his leg and he realized he had wet his pants. He slowly slid down to the cold cement floor and closed his eyes. He wrapped his arms around his knees and hugged them tightly, not saying a word.

"Did you get him?" Mickey asked hopefully. He had a hot date planned for the next day and he wanted to go home and get some rest.

Girls always went gaga for his looks. His red hair, blue eyes and big muscles made girls swoon. Then they got a taste of his hot temper. Most of his dates rarely went past the third meeting. But Mickey didn't care. There was a ready supply of unsuspecting women willing to date him.

"Shit, no. Must have been a rat or something," Aaron said, looking around the darkness. Where Mickey was bulky, Aaron was skinny. Many men had underestimated his strength and died because of it. Aaron boasted slim muscles that were mean and tight. That summed up Aaron's personality, too. Aaron was totally fearless. He had no relatives except his adopted uncle, Little Moe, to whom he was completely devoted.

Aaron silently motioned for Mickey to move over to the far walls of the warehouse and move back the way they just came.

"Bernie, come on out. Let's talk about it, you know. Maybe we can go back and talk to Little Moe and you can give him back his money and things will be okay."

Bernie held his head in his hands. Still squatting behind the cartons. He felt dizzy, sick and tired. He had a blind hope that maybe things could be worked out. Maybe Little Moe would forgive him and he could go on with his life.

"Bernie, listen. I'll make you a deal. You come out now and we will go straight to Little Moe. You can tell him your story and get him to change his mind."

Aaron and Mickey were closing back in on Bernie. He could hear their voices move toward him. He had no choice. He knew they were going to find him.

The room was becoming brighter as the sun came up over the bay. Bernie could discern more around him as boxes became visible. He read the words on the cartons. "This Way Down." Bernie had to stifle a crazy laugh. Those three words summed up his life at this point. This way down. Down to misery. Down to fear. Down to death.

He decided to take a chance and let the goons take him to Little Moe. Maybe he could talk his way out of this. He'd been in tight spots before and pulled his way out. Why not now?

"This is your last chance, Bernie. Come on out now and we won't hurt you."

Bernie stood up, pulled his shoulders back and stepped out into the walkway.

"Don't shoot. I'm coming out. You promised you wouldn't hurt me. I can explain everything, you know," Bernie said, walking into the open. He stood embarrassed and scared at the same time. An obvious stain was spread out in the crotch of his dirty gray pants.

"He lied," Mickey said, taking aim at Bernie and shooting him straight-on between the eyes. Bernie fell instantly upon the cold, hard floor.

"We've got to work on this lying of yours Aaron, me boy. It's not a very good personality trait, you know," Mickey said, stepping over Bernie's sprawled form and walking side-by-side with Aaron to the warehouse front door.

"I know, Mickey. It'll be the death of me yet," Aaron said, slamming the metal door shut behind him.

The sun rose quietly over the dark water. Mickey and Aaron climbed into their Cadillac, oblivious to the beautiful sunrise that was filling the sky.

© Robin Bailey

Pico de Gallo

2010-01-18T20:49:00.003-06:00

It seems once I drove across the border into Texas, I developed a hankering for pico de gallo. The mixture of onions (I prefer red onions in my recipe); tomatoes, cilantro, garlic, lime juice, and jalapenos just seem to hit the spot. Many times the salsa that arrives to our table, along with the chips, is too thin. We always order a side of pico de gallo. Half goes into the salsa and the other half goes into our meal.

There must be restorative powers in that mixture because it always makes me feel better after eating it. Jerry's Aunt Wynema and Uncle Daniel taught us their way to eat chips. They take sliced lemon or lime and squeeze it over the chips, add extra salt and munch away. It adds another dimension to the chips and salsa.

Whatever way you like it, pico de gallo is the nectar of the Gods.

Here's a recipe you might want to try out:

Pico de Gallo
Bon Appétit | July 2000

1 1/2 pounds plum tomatoes, seeded, chopped
3/4 cup chopped onion
1/2 cup chopped fresh cilantro
3 tablespoons fresh lime juice
3 tablespoons minced seeded jalapeño chilies (about 2 medium)
1 garlic clove, minced

Mix all ingredients in medium bowl. Season with salt and pepper. (Can be made 4 hours ahead. Cover; chill.)

These are a few of my favorite things

2010-01-17T19:49:00.001-06:00

Red sauce on spaghetti and winters in Texas
Breakfast at Bill Millers and homemade fleece blankets
Watching the cat warm by the fireplace
These are a few of my favorite things

Clear morning traffic and Sea Island clam chowder
Dramatic sunsets and clear huge blue skies
Wild bats that fly with the moon on their wings
These are a few of my favorite things

Tourists with shorts worn in the winter
Weather that changes from hour to hour
Homeowners who buy corn feed for deer in the spring
These are a few of my favorite things

When the new books arrive
When the chocolate is bought
When I'm feeling sad
I simply remember my favorite things
And then I don't feel so bad

at all........

Live Laugh Love

2010-01-16T20:44:00.003-06:00

I love a good laugh. A day that I have a spontaneous belly laugh or even better, a good gigglesnort, is a good day indeed. A healthy sense of humor is appreciated. Someone who can make you laugh, that's what many women want. Personally, I don't want stupid humor. I like intelligent humor. Sometimes silly humor is appreciated, but what I call "toilet bowl" humor is a turn-off.

I loved the Carol Burnett show--between her, Tim Conway and Harvey Korman I used to laugh so hard I'd cry. It was especially hilarious when they wanted to bust each other up laughing. I swear I think they loved making the other one crack up.

Laughter and tears are both responses to frustration and exhaustion. I myself prefer to laugh, since there is less cleaning up to do afterward.
-- Kurt Vonnegut

Make sure to laugh every day. It feels good and makes you appreciate life. Go ahead and gigglesnort. I won't laugh.

Not. ROFLMAO

Ouranosaurus, Tumbleweeds and Giants

2010-01-01T21:43:00.003-06:00

I lived a good portion of my life in a rinky dink town called Sun Valley, Nevada. It's about a 15 mile stretch of trailers, tumbleweeds and horney toads outside of Reno, Nevada. As a kid there wasn't much to do in my neighborhood. No playgrounds. No parks. No roller rinks. Pretty much all we had was dirt, sagebrush and scorpions to play with--and in the Spring the sagebrush could make you itch when it was blooming.

What I did have was a very active imagination. One of the things I used to imagine as I kicked back under my parent's weeping willow tree, was the mountains that surrounded us were actually sleeping dinosaurs. The rugged hills were brown, rough looking and definitely had the essence of an Ouranosaurus. Sometimes, their faces poked out of the rocks, eager to take a bite of me as I walked by.

With a huge holler (which strangely sounded like a jet engine of a passing plane), the Ouranosaurus would come to life and wander around our valley. He'd nibble on some sagebrush, stretch out his legs and occasionally chase a baby blue Ford pickup truck.

Every now and then, a black haired giant would step over the hills and join the Ouranosaurus in its chase of the elusive Ford truck. The giant often caught the truck and would lift it high into the air, peeking in at the screaming humans in the truck's cab. I'd laugh and he'd gentle set them down on Pearl Avenue to screech away, dogs barking and kids crying.

The dinosaurs and giants kept me company on those lonely summer days. They didn't wander in the winter. They hibernated until the following Spring.

If I'm really quiet, I can sometimes hear the dinosaur hollering even here in Texas. He knows where to find me. I'm looking forward to springtime.

Oh my!

2009-12-27T18:33:00.007-06:00

I had a handful of crushes when I was a teenager. At the time, they were passionate and meaningful. Actors, singers and an occasional neighborhood boy captured my heart. I am the first to admit that I had a major crush on Leif Garrett. Hey, I was a kid and he was cute. I learned the words to all of his songs. I bought his albums. (I still own his albums) I played them over and over again. I daydreamed.

Yes, I know what he looks like now.

It doesn't change how I felt for him back then. It was real. Ah, young love. Another guy I had a crush on was Lance Kerwin. Come on, "James at 15," was the show I watched.

I think I mostly had a thing for blond guys. Funny, considering I married a dark haired guy. lol Lets just say most of the young guys I had crushes on when I was a teenager sure as heck didn't age well as they grew up.

I think Shaun Cassidy is one of the few that looked great then, and looks nice now.

I don't discount the attractions I felt as a teenager. My hormones were going nuts. It's a normal progression to the emotions I faced when I began dating. Life is not an afterschool special and, no, Scott Baio never did step up to my door to ask me for a date. It doesn't mean I didn't dream about it. lol

Young love is a flame; very pretty, often very hot and fierce, but still only light and flickering. The love of the older and disciplined heart is as coals, deep-burning, unquenchable.

Henry Ward Beecher

Imaginations

2009-12-25T21:31:00.002-06:00

Ever since I was a kid I've often wondered how other people live. As a passenger in my parent's car or even my own as I got older I would stare at the houses we'd drive by. Little houses, big houses, red houses, and even purple houses--they sat on the side of the road full of people and animals.

What did the owners do for a living? How did they wind up living where they did? Was the house left to them by a dying aunt? Did they purposely pay money to own the 600 square foot bungalow that looked more like a shed than a place someone would call home?

Are they happy? Are they like Mother Hubbard and have more kids than they knew what to do with? Or were they the grumpy couple who hated kids and chased them off their lawns?

I wanted to know who those people were--did they hug their kids or beat their parents? Were they honest souls or crooks who stab me without a second thought?

Were they teachers, bus drivers, chefs or businessmen? Were they allergic to strawberries or dance naked by the light of a full moon? Do they have a brother-in-law sleeping on the sofa kicked out by a pissed off wife?

In the briefest of moments as I drove past their homes I wondered these thoughts. I never really got my answers.

Did the wonder the same thing about me and mine?

Dreamy Christmas

2009-12-08T21:11:00.003-06:00

Wandering around shopping one day, I happened to stumble upon a Thomas Kinkade gallery. I had heard of him before, but wasn't quite sure what the story was behind his artwork. I knew I sort of liked it, but it was way outside my budget. Yes, it's a bit smarmy, in my opinion, but also it's hopeful. It harkens back to a time some of us wish we could go--a simpler time, and a simpler life.

Okay, maybe just a dream life that is simpler. I would love to live in one of his paintings for just one Christmas. They always look like they are more enjoyable, softer, safer, sweeter and what Christmas should be like--perfect. Which, as many of us know, Christmas doesn't always work out that way.

Mine are usually pretty good, but I know if I lived in one of Thomas Kinkade's paintings it would be perfection.

What painting would you want to step into and live?

Passion for Pixar

2009-11-20T20:57:00.001-06:00

The love affair began with "Toy Story." From the first moment I saw Woody strutting across the screen my heart was lost. At the time, there was nothing like it. The richness of the animation was a feast for the eyes. The music was captivating, the storyline sweet, sad and pleasantly entertaining. One after another hit the screens--A Bug's Life, Toy Story 2, Monsters, Inc., Finding Nemo, The Incredibles, Cars, Ratatouille, WALL-E and, now, Up.

I have seen them all. I own them all. I can't say I bought them for my grandchild, because I owned almost all of them before Gabriel was born. I bought them for me. Jerry is not as big a fan of Pixar animation as I am. I am a major geek about the Pixar movies. I have seen them more than once and I'm not embarrassed to admit it.

When I have chores to do, I pop in Toy Story 2 or Monsters, Inc. I can listen to the soundtrack as I clean and it's great. The animation is so pleasing to the eyes. The colors are soothing, the realism is amazing and I just really enjoy the movies.

If you haven't seen any of these movies, SHAME ON YOU. Even if you don't have kids, these movies are worth watching and owning.

Hey, I'm a Pixar geek and proud of it.

Where did this come from?

2009-11-17T21:06:00.001-06:00

It seems as I get older I have new things appear that I never had before. And I don't mean gray hair. lol I suddenly realize I really don't like heights. They weren't my favorite growing up, but I never let it stop me from doing things. I got into a small plane with my aunt as a pilot. Trust me, if that's not stupid faith, I don't know what is. (You had to have known my aunt).

I easily climbed walls, roofs, trees and such. But as the years went by I became more afraid. For work, I went up in a hot air balloon, 1,500 feet in the air. There was nothing between me and the ground but a small piece of plywood. No parachute, no safety belt--nothing. I still managed to function, albeit a bit slower.

Three years ago, when we visited the Grand Canyon, it took all my will power to walk to the path to the viewing area. Jerry and the boys were fine. They laughed, pointed and enjoyed themselves. Me? I found I couldn't catch my breath. I became dizzy. I was experiencing a panic attack. The vastness of the Grand Canyon blew me away. Have you seen it in person? It's flipping huge. There is so much.... space, it's completely overwhelming.

And last year when I climbed onto our roof to help put on the Christmas lights I felt the icy cold breathe of fear. My knees shook and I leaned over to clip the lights in under the shingles. I felt if I leaned just one more inch over to adjust the lights I was going to fall on my head. I'm going. I'm a goner.

I hurried up and as I slid over to the ladder to get down I realized I couldn't do it. I couldn't step onto the ladder. My legs felt like Jell-O. I was shaking so hard. I sat there on the roof and realized I was going to be there all night. I told Jerry I couldn't do it. "Come on down," he urged. "You can do it."

"No. I can't." I wanted him to go inside and open up the guest bedroom's window so I could crawl into it into the house. But Jerry chided me to climb down the ladder. As he held it, I finally climbed down.

I'm not going up there this year if I can help it. I don't want Jerry going up there either. If I do go up, I'm coming down via the bedroom window. No more downward ladder exits for me.

Just the thought of going up there gives me gray hairs.

A Thousand Years Over a Hot Stove

2009-11-15T19:19:00.001-06:00

It's fitting that I should pull out one of my favorite books as Thanksgiving is approaching. "A Thousand Years Over A Hot Stove," by Laura Schenone is great for someone who loves women's history and the history of cooking. It gives a different insight into the past than the normal dusty tomes.

Most of our history has been given to us from a male viewpoint. I don't mean to knock it, but that's only one viewpoint. The highlights have usually centered on men.

Well, guess what? Women have a colorful and interesting history, too. The writer pulls much of what she writes about from oral history of women. That's where people actually sat down and talked to the older women from all cultural levels of life and asked them first hand what it was like growing up. I love reading those accounts.

What I like about this book is that she shares historical recipes that I haven't seen anywhere else. I have learned how to cook locusts. That's right. Locusts.

Remove legs, wings, and head of insect. Brown the rest in the ashes and eat. It tastes like peanuts. Used to be eaten in the old days, but now mostly by children. Used as medicine to cure stomach ache and prevent measles, smallpox or other contagious diseases. --Flora L. Bailey "Navaho Foods and Cooking Methods," 1940

I know, I'm a slight freak. I can't help it. I love history.

I bought this book for my Women's History class at college. But it actually combines my two loves--history and cooking. I relate to the writer's comments in the intro of the book.

"Though the majority of American women may no longer slaughter pigs, preserve peaches, or make their own tortillas, the effort of cooking continues to be largely women's work, a major force in the rhythm of our lives, keeping us alive, and bringing us together around the table with those we like, those we love, and those we need. Perhaps this is why cooking still matters to women."

I have pulled the book out of my bookcase and I'm going to re-read it this week. If there is ever a time to remember cooking and women's history this is it. My husband made a comment to me recently that since the kids are elsewhere and we are alone, that I didn't need to stress out making a Thanksgiving meal. He didn't get it. I make our Thanksgiving meal because it shows how much I love them. I might look stressed out, but it's a good stress. It's my way of artistically showing them how much I love them. I care deeply about my cooking. It might not be perfect, but it's from the heart.

If you get the chance to read this book, I highly recommend it.

Foggy Thoughts

2009-11-13T20:49:00.002-06:00

I can't help myself; I bust out laughing when people in San Antonio complain about the fog. Fog? San Antonio. Please. You want to complain about fog, try driving through Tule fog. Now, that's some serious fog. I once drove into Bakersfield from Arvin where the fog was so thick that I couldn't see the past the front hood of the car. I had to drive with the window rolled down and sticking my head out every so often to try to find the white line in the road. I drove what was normally a 30 minute drive that took me almost an hour and a half. I had to drive so slow to be safe. I couldn't follow the tail lights of the car in front of me, because they could be driving off the road themselves.

People in San Antonio get so nervous in their "fog." Geez. Their fog is pretty, somewhat thin and you can easily see down the road at least four car lengths. That's a clear day in Central California. lol

But, in Bakersfield I had to laugh when it snowed six inches that one year. Residents there freaked out. They had no clue how to drive in snow. I mean come on, this is not that much snow.

When I was a kid, I had to walk to school in snow that reached my knees. Just like those stories you hear about. lol Only they were true. I used to walk in the wheel tracks of cars that drove on the road just so I didn't have to keep sinking in the snow. Once I started to drive, then I learned of a new terror. Reno can get some amazing snow storms. I can still remember driving to University of Nevada, Reno with snow like this:

Man, scraping snow/ice off your windshield was a biotch. And what's worse than driving in thick snow was hitting black ice. With black ice, it's not like you can see it to avoid it like a snow drift. With black ice, especially at night, you hit it and before you know it you are doing wheelies in the middle of a busy road. Ughhh

I guess I'm a seasoned driver. I've driven in the worst of the worst. Snow storms, Tule fog and rain that flooded the road as I drove over it.

San Antonio fog is bad. Yeah, right. rofl

Military Dreams

2009-11-11T20:05:00.002-06:00

When I was a freshman in high school I decided that when I graduated I would join the Army. My oldest brother, Tommy, was in the 101st Airborne Division in the Army and I was and am very proud of him. I was devastated to learn that because I was hearing impaired I would not be able to join.

It didn't matter that I was completely healthy, physically fit, intelligent and eager to join. I wasn't good enough. As a woman, I knew I wouldn't be allowed to be on the front line. I could deal with that--but as a hearing disabled person I apparently didn't have anything valuable enough for the military.

It sucked big time. I was so disappointed. I still feel I would have thrived in a military atmosphere. I could have been an asset in whatever position they put me in. I didn't care where I worked, I just wanted to help.

Military pride runs deep in my family. Practically every generation of my family has been in the military all the way back to the American Revolutionary War.

Samuel King was my 6th great grandfather. He was born in Clogher, Northern Ireland in 1746. He emigrated from Northern Ireland at age 23 in 1769. Samuel King enlisted December 9, 1776, as a Private in Co. K, 11th Virginia Regiment of the Continental Army commanded by Col. Daniel Morgan. He was captured at Germantown and listed as a prisoner on a muster roll call October 14, 1777. He apparently escaped and appeared on the Philadelphia Co., Pennsylvania muster roll on February 17, 1778, in Camp Valley Forge under General George Washington.

His patriotic blood runs in my veins. I hold my hand over my heart when I sing the national anthem. I know I wouldn't be where I am today if it wasn't for my brave ancestors fighting for our freedoms.

I honor and respect every soldier who has been in any segment of the armed forces. My oldest son is in the Air Force. My father and brother were in the Army. My grandfather was in the coast guard. My relatives were in the Civil War (on both sides). My ancestors have fought in every single war back to the beginnings of our country. Heck, they probably fought in more wars prior to that time in England, Scotland and Ireland where my ancestors are from. I just haven't found documentation of that yet.

I only wish I had the chance to add to that honor. Oh well.

This nation will remain the land of the free only so long as it is the home of the brave. -Elmer Davis

Here I Go Again

2009-11-07T22:26:00.003-06:00

I am the first one to admit I can be a crybaby. I get emotional over tv shows, movies, heck even commercials. Right now, I am watching the tv show, "The Locator," and I'm teary eyed. I normally don't cry in my every day life. There's just something about sad tv shows, movies and the such that get to me. This episode shows a young woman wanting to find her father whom she hasn't seen since she was 12. This young woman has terminal cancer. My gosh, she's young, and she has four kids. Luckily, her father is found and they are reunited. I'm bawling like a baby.

I keep telling myself that crying at times like this is good for me. It's healthy to cry. It's not something to be ashamed of--no matter how much my boys and husband tease me about it. It relieves stress, releases toxins from the body and calms your soul.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it. lol

That's also why I am so careful about what movies I watch. I am quite empathetic with the characters. I feel way too much. Yes, I know it's a movie, but I get into them. Especially if it's a good movie. I will stick to watching comedies. Those I can handle. I love to laugh and that also feels good.

I can watch sporting events and get emotional. Especially with the Olympics. Who didn't get teary eyed when the 1980s USA hockey team won? Huh? I dare you to deny it.

Go ahead, call me a crybaby. I can take it.

Take a Deep Breath and Relax

2009-11-02T20:38:00.002-06:00

Lately, I've really gotten into meditation. I have an IPOD that I listen to every night as I go to sleep. I pop my ear plugs in and within minutes I'm out cold. It used to be that it would easily take 20 to 30 minutes for my brain to stop thinking and finally relax enough for me to fall asleep. Between an overactive brain and Jerry's snoring, I'm lucky if I got five hours of sleep a night. And, boy I dreamed so much I'd wake up more tired than when I went to bed.

I discovered Kelly Howell on ITunes. She offers up a unique style of meditation music. It utilizes subliminal brain waves. And it works. Her voice is soothing and is actually pleasant to listen to--and I'm quite picky. The first recording I listened to was entitled, "Deep Sleep," and it put me into a delicious deep sleep. I hadn't slept that well...since ever. I downloaded a couple more of her albums on my IPOD. The latest is "Healing Meditation."

I'm enjoying listening to it. It's relaxing and takes the stress right out of me. I'm not sitting in a lotus position meditating. I'm laying on my back in bed, lights off and just taking deep breaths as I listen to first a little bit of talking, then just music. But it's not merely music. It's about 30 minutes long and it's new age, but not new age. Ugh, you need to listen to it yourself to understand.

It works. I'm calmer, I sleep better and I'm more cheerful. I can't quite imagine myself sitting in a lotus position, but kicked back on the bed, I can handle.

Best thing is I don't want to rip off anyone's head at work. That's a nice change of pace. lol

Now, take a deep breath and relax.

Richard Davidson, a professor of psychology and psychiatry at the University of Wisconsin says, "Modern neuroscience is showing that our minds are as plastic as our bodies. Meditation can help you train your mind in the same way exercise can train your body." Therefore, each and every minute you meditate you're enhancing the biochemistry of your brain, building muscles that increase your mental, emotional and spiritual potential.

Aliens Among Us

2009-11-01T22:14:00.002-06:00

I was in junior high when I wrote my first play. I'm not sure why my writing career started with a play instead of a short story, but a play it was. I know I was heavily influenced when I read Erich von Däniken's "Chariot of the Gods?" My play was about alien astronauts who land on earth and what they find when they get here. Not only did I write the play, but I directed it as it was performed in front of my classmates. It wasn't performed on stage, but in front of the classroom. We made props and everything. So began my writing career. lol

I've always been a behind-the-scenes kind of person. I've never sought out the limelight. That's why I like writing. I can create my own worlds, my own characters and live vicariously through them. I'm shy. I always have been. I can socialize with the best of them, but with my hearing disability it's always made me uncomfortable to be in front of a group of people. The more people there are, the harder it is to hear properly--hearing aids or not.

But with writing, I can always be in control. I can "hear" everything that's going on and I won't make a fool of myself. Normal hearing people have no clue how awkward it is to not understand what's going on around you. I can't count the many times I've misunderstood conversations and embarrassed myself. I swear I'm going to get a bumper sticker for my Jeep, "I'm not stupid, I just can't hear you right."

Writing allows me the chance to say what I want, how I want and I like that a lot. It's good therapy for me to work through frustrations with writing. I had one short I did where I worked through some aggressions I had--I call it my "Jean-Claude Van Damme" moment. It felt good to kick someone's butt even if I don't do it in real life.

There have been times when I have felt like an alien on this planet. Not fitting in the hearing world and not fitting in the deaf world. I've always been on the outside looking in.

I've been working on a book for the longest time. My protagonist is a hard-of-hearing lady who deals with a mystery. What are the odds? lol They say to write what you know. Well, I know what's it's like to face hearing challenges. So that's what I'm writing. One day, I might actually finish it. I work on it, and then set it aside. I tinker with it and push it away.

It's a challenge. But I think I will stick with it. Unless an ancient alien arrives in my backyard and entices me to visit his planet. Then all bets are off.

Theme Songs

2009-10-30T21:27:00.005-05:00

I once watched an episode once of Ally McBeal that had to do with theme songs. Tracey Ullman played a therapist who helped Ally develop her own theme song to make herself happy. Ever since that show, I find myself humming my own "theme" song as I go about my day. The point is it should make you happy. There are times I crack myself up. The theme from "Shaft" will go through my head at the oddest times. Suddenly, I find myself giggling.

Other songs I have considered my theme song include "On a Clear Day, You Can See Forever," by Barbra Streisand. (I adore Babs, especially in that movie). If I could sing like anyone, it would be her.

Also, when I started at the SA dealership, I heard this song over and over again. It became "my" song. "Crazy" by Gnarls Barkley

I can hear it now without cringing, but four or five times a day, every day for a couple of months, was driving me.... certifiable crazy. lol

I don't need to listen to radio to enjoy music. It will free float in my head. If you can't make yourself smile, goodness gracious, who will?

Rain in San Antonio

2009-10-26T21:28:00.011-05:00

This past Saturday, Jerry and I went to a concert that featured the Beatles tribute band, "Rain." We love Beatles music and spending a couple of hours listening to great musicians play some of our favorite music was completely cool.

Yes, I know they aren't the Beatles. They do their damndest to look, talk and sing like them, but they aren't the Fab Four. I'm not delusional to believe I was listening to the original band. But they are pretty darned good singers and musicians in their own right. The guy who portrayed George Harrison could play some serious guitar. He had two solos that were amazing.

They are more of an "event," as much as a concert, as they do videos in between the songs. There were easily three generations of fans in the audience. Everyone had a great time. It was held at the Majestic Theater, which I've mentioned before, is a gorgeous venue. The concert was sold out. In fact, Rain, sold out all eight shows they held here in San Antonio.

I think I can honestly say I enjoy the earlier music of the Beatles. "Love Me Do," "I Wanna Hold Your Hand," "Twist and Shout," and "Help." Man, I can hear those songs and instantly want to get up and dance around the room. Jerry appreciates their later studio music, "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band," "Come Together," and the such. They had such diversity. There is something for everyone.

It was a sad day when the Beatles broke up and a devastating day when John was murdered. What a light of goodness he was. We haven't seen Paul McCartney in concert. He's a bit expensive. If I go to see him in concert, baby, I'm sitting right up front. He's a living piece of rock and roll history.

Going out made me realize how I want to do more of it. We've seen concerts in Bakersfield--George Thorogood, Tom Petty, Doobie Brothers, BTO and others. I think I'm going to like the diversity of the bands that come here to San Antonio.

Since it's just Jerry and I now, we can get away to do things. I'm starting to like this middle age spurt we are going through.

If Rain comes to your town, check them out. It's a great night out and will give you a chance to hear some great music.

The Perfect Steak

2009-10-25T22:37:00.004-05:00

There's nothing quite like a steak from Texas. If that sounds like bull pucky, it's not. It's true. Since moving here, I've learned that they truly know how to create the most mouth-watering tender steak I've had in my life. And it's not just one restaurant, we've had amazing steak meals at multiple places--Texas Roadhouse, Texas Land & Cattle Company, and Saltgrass Steak House. There's even more places that are highly rated here in San Antonio, that Jerry and I haven't had a chance to visit yet, but they've had great reviews. They include Boudro's On The Riverwalk, Bohanan's Prime Steaks & Seafood, Fleming's Prime Steakhouse & Wine Bar, The Little Rhein Steakhouse, Morton's The Steakhouse, Myron's Prime Steak House, and Ruth's Chris Steak House.

It's so flipping cool to live in a place that offers a myriad of fine dining choices. I am so not used to that at all. I'm slowly learning the benefit of well-seasoned meat and what exactly quality meat tastes like. My favorite dish at Texas Roadhouse is their sirloin beef tips with mushrooms. It is really good. Their steaks are specially aged and hand-cut every day by their in-house meat cutters. We aren't talking pre-cut frozen steaks bought from a place states away.

By the way, everything made at Texas Roadhouse is made from scratch every day--from the salad dressings to the yeast rolls. Those are to die for. I'm hungry just thinking about it.

If you want a great steak, come to Texas. You will find it.

When I Grow Up

2009-10-22T20:58:00.001-05:00

By junior high, I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up--a librarian. Go ahead, laugh your butt off. It's true. I fell in love with reading when my parents bought me a handful of hardbound Nancy Drew mysteries. It was love at first paragraph. The deal was closed in the 5th grade when I won a contest in Mrs. White's class and the reward was my own copy of “The Prince and the Pauper.”

I knew then, I needed books—lots and lots of books. Although my real life was dull and boring, books could transport me to other lands, other times, and if I wanted help me be a different person. Every time I opened a cover of a book an adventure awaited. I have literally read thousands and thousands of books, plays and magazines. I think it would be fair to say I'm a bookaholic.

From 7th grade forward I worked in the school library. I knew the Dewey Decimal System backwards and forwards. I was an assistant to every librarian up through my senior year of high school. I even took a library class in college. I was stymied in my attempt to become a librarian due to a couple of reasons--I paid my own way through college (I had no help from anyone) and the University of Nevada, Reno didn't offer a degree an ALA–accredited master’s degree in library and information science. The closest schools that had that program were either Berkeley or UCLA. I couldn't afford either one. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

I wound up moving to California with my parents right after my first semester in college. Yeah, I was closer to UCLA, but boo, I still didn't have enough money. Then a couple of months later I met Jerry and wham bam thank you ma'am, we were married. Before I knew it, we had a family and my college dreams were put aside.

But books still held their allure for me. I never stopped reading. Heck, I even took a book to Vegas when Jerry and I got married. lol

As I raised my son, then my second son came around, I always took them to the Arvin library. It was a small place, but I loved it. I enjoyed being around the books so much, I donated my time to help them shelf books. After doing that for six months, they hired me on. I was thrilled. Even though I was a temporary library clerk I was in seventh heaven. I was around all those wonderful books, helping people, and they paid me for it!

That was such a great summer. I was seriously thinking about applying for a job at the central library in town, but was discouraged by coworkers on how political it was there.

By a strange twist of fate I wound up working at the daily newspaper in Bakersfield. I started as a news clerk (a glorified typist/phone gal) and again opportunity fell in my lap and I became a writer. I had the job before I had the degree.

More than one "real" reporter asked me how I got the job. To my face, mind you. How can I be writing if I hadn't gone to college? I was able to write because I was a professional reader. I wasn't just a casual reader. I can honestly say I have probably read more books than most all of the writers combined from that newsroom. Okay, that might sound a bit arrogant. But in high school, I read seven books and two plays per week. I'm a serious "reader."

I think the key was when I worked at the newspaper that I kept myself humble and I was always learning. I had some incredibly talented teachers--some of them even reporters from the newspaper where I worked. I continued my college career, working full time and raising my sons. It was hard, and without Jerry it would have been impossible. But I did it.

My love of reading carried me to places in my real life I never even knew possible. When we bought our house in Texas, I was able to finally purchase what I always wanted--beautiful custom-made oak bookcases.

I finally had a place to display my beloved friends. That and I have a library in my house. I might not be a professional librarian, but I play one at home. lol

Random Food Thoughts

2009-10-21T20:48:00.001-05:00

I had to laugh at myself today. In a flash of awareness I realized how different I must be than most people. As we go through our workday, random thoughts flitter across our minds. Whereas for me, those thoughts usually tie to cooking. Not that I'm a chef. Far from it. I just like to cook. But what I really enjoy cooking are desserts. There is a reason my husband and I are a tad bit overweight. lol

So there I was, processing a handful of payrolls and what am I thinking about? A chocolate cake recipe I am thinking about trying out. I have this great recipe for a chocolate cake from scratch. I've made it before, but with a peanut butter frosting. I was thinking I could make the batter, but pour it into a bundt cake pan instead of a 9x13 pan and then create a flavorful center for it. I have some great blackberry preserves and I thought, "Wow, I wonder if I can mix that in some cream cheese to make a delicious filling for the cake?"

That's not the normal thing a person thinks about during their work day. At least, I don't think they do. I am not sure what it is about desserts that I love so much, but I can cook those until I pass out. I love being creative and mixing them up.

Regular food, I just process out to eat. Spaghetti, sloppy joes and the such are normal meals. I don't get creative with those because they mainly explode into doggie food if I do.

But I have to say, I do make kick ass desserts.

I'm thinking about melting some of those blackberry preserves and pouring them over the bundt cake when it's done as a glaze. Maybe add some fresh blackberries over the top.

I wonder what it would taste like, if I do? What thoughts go through your minds?

-----------------

Best Scratch Chocolate Cake Ever

Ingredients:
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 cups sugar
2/3 cup baking cocoa
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 eggs
1 cup milk
2/3 cup vegetable oil
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup brewed coffee, room temperature

Directions:
In a mixing bowl, combine dry ingredients. Add eggs, milk, oil and vanilla; beat for 2 minutes. Stir in coffee (batter will be thin).
Pour into a greased 13-in. x 9-in. baking pan. Bake at 350° for 35-40 minutes or until a toothpick inserted near the center comes out clean. Cool completely on a wire rack.

Halloween

2009-10-19T19:21:00.000-05:00

Fall happens to be my favorite time of the year. The leaves start to turn, it's cool enough to sleep with the windows open and I eagerly look forward to Halloween. We always had a great time with our kids on Halloween. I think we had more fun decorating the house, than planning their costumes. They always helped me drag the pumpkins, homemade headstones and put together scarecrow cowboy guy. We have always had a bench by the front door and every Halloween we'd pull out a pair of Jerry's old jeans, a cowboy shirt, shoes, gloves and a cowboy hat and stuff it all with newspaper. We'd sit him on the bench so it looked like someone real was sitting there. We'd use an old devil halloween mask as a face. It scared all visitors on Halloween.

The kids in the neighborhood got used to seeing our guy sitting on the bench. Most of the little ones always thought he was real. In fact, one year we had Jared sit there, posing just like the scarecrow cowboy guy, but as the kids walked away he's stand up and touch them on the shoulder. ROFL Talk about screaming kids. We actually made some of them cry. Oh well. lol

I have a new bench on the front porch, but no scarecrow guy. It's just not the same since the kids are older and live elsewhere. I put up decorations and play scary music out the window on Halloween. The neighborhood kids like our decorations. I haven't made anyone cry in Texas. Yet.

Last year, Emily brought Gabriel over to go trick or treating in our neighborhood. He looked great in his bumblebee costume.

The only bad thing of the night was as we were waving goodbye to them, I stepped on a scorpion barefooted. Talk about major pain. We ran inside and called poison control who basically told me to relax I wasn't going to die. I survived, but that first half hour was MAJORLY painful. I guess it serves me right for going barefoot on Halloween. Never again.

We also carved pumpkins last year with Gabriel. It was so wonderful.

We won't be able to do that this year, as Jason, Emily and Gabriel are staying in Abilene for Halloween. Emily will have to take lots of photos. This year, Gabriel is supposed to be Lion King. I can't wait to see the photos.

I love making Halloween goodies for Jerry and I and sitting around watching old, scary movies. I don't go for the new gore-filled horror movies. I like either Abbott and Costello meet Frankenstein or something else along those lines. We don't get as many kids here in Texas as we used to get in California, but we live at the end of a long street in a cul-de-sac. I'm just glad no one buses kids to our area. lol

I've done my share of scary things on Halloween--walking through cemetaries, being in a seance room at midnight, and touring ghost towns. We had a blast doing it all.

I always say it's not the dead that worry me on Halloween, it's the living.

Mwahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaa

Here's a recipe for those brave enough to try them. They taste so yummy.

Severed Fingers Halloween Cookies

SERVES 15 , 30 cookies

Ingredients
2 tablespoons red food coloring
30 blanched almonds
2 large eggs
1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup butter, at room temperature
1/2 cup confectioners' sugar
5 tablespoons granulated sugar
1 pinch salt
1 2/3 cups all-purpose flour

Directions
1. Heat oven to 350°. Line two baking sheets with Silpats (French nonstick baking mats) or parchment paper, and set aside.

2. Place food coloring in a shallow bowl. crack each whole almond into halves. and toss them into the bowl with the food coloring and stir them until the color is evenly distributed. leave them in the bowl and stir them every so often until the color is as dark as you like.

3. Separate 1 egg. Set aside the white. In a small bowl, whisk together yolk, remaining egg, and vanilla. Set aside.

4. In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, combine butter, confectioners' sugar, granulated sugar, and salt. Beat on medium speed until well combined. Add egg mixture, and beat until smooth, about 2 minutes. Add the flour, and mix on low speed just until incorporated. Wrap the dough in plastic, and chill until firm, 20 to 30 minutes.

5. Divide the dough in half. Work with one piece at a time, keeping remaining dough covered with plastic wrap and chilled. Divide the first half into fifteen pieces. On a lightly floured surface, roll each piece back and forth with palms into finger shapes, 3 to 4 inches long. Pinch dough in two places to form knuckles. Score each knuckle lightly with the back of a small knife. Transfer fingers to prepared baking sheets. Repeat with remaining dough.

6. When all fingers are formed, brush lightly with egg white. Position almond nails; push into dough to attach.

7. Bake until lightly browned, about 12 minutes. Cool completely.

8. note: To make the knuckles more creepy just shape them big and uneven. To keep them from puffing out too much roll the fingers extra skinny (skinnier than you want them to look if that makes sense). I also try to get them out of the oven before they brown. I sometimes add a bit of almond extract to dough.

http://www.recipezaar.com/Severed-Fingers-Halloween-Cookies-135850

McNay Art Museum

2009-10-13T20:10:00.000-05:00

On a misty, rain-soaked afternoon, Jerry and I decided it was the perfect day to visit the McNay Art Museum. I had put the bug in his ear weeks earlier and we couldn't have asked for a better day to be inside. Located about 20 miles from our house, we drove through beautiful, older neighborhoods to find the museum. The McNay Art Museum was the former home of Marion Koogler McNay. And what a home it was--a mansion of beauty and charm.

Built in 1927, the mansion is a 24-room Spanish Colonial-Revival that is elaborate without being gaudy. It sits on 23 acres of surrounding land and boasts a courtyard that is lush and calming.

Mrs. McNay was an avid art collector. The very first painting she ever bought was Diego Rivera’s Delfina Flores.

She passed away in 1950, but made sure that her artwork would not only be protected, but enjoyed by everyone. She left behind a collection 700 pieces of amazing art. An endowment she created helped start the first museum of modern art in Texas which opened its doors in 1954.

The collections has grown to more than 20,000 works that includes:
•Medieval and Renaissance art.
•19th- through 21st- century European and American paintings, sculptures and photographs.
•One of the finest collections of prints and drawings in the Southwest.
•The exceptional Tobin Collection of Theatre Arts.

The museum has a visiting exhibition featuring the reclaimed artwork of Jacques Goudstikker. I really enjoyed these paintings. They were Dutch "Golden Age" paintings of the 17th century, and a handful of Renaissance paintings. I find myself drawn to paintings from this era.

We were looking at original artwork from 400-500 years ago. It's mind blowing to think that something hanging on the wall right in front of me was painted so long ago. Colors were vibrant and clear, while others were soft and muted. Clear lines, delicate brushwork on canvases that were created by natural light. No lightbulbs helped the artists. They couldn't just go down to their local Hobby Lobby and pick up a tube of paint. They had to make their own paint fresh every day.

I love the Old Masters more than the modern stuff. I admit it. In one gallery, they hung all the modern paintings and scultpures. There was a painting of a trash bag. Just a trash bag. I don't get it. Sorry. Lots of squiggly lines on one painting. No rhyme, no reason, no clarity. Just a squiggly mess.

We didn't stay long in that gallery. Some people love that kind of stuff. Not me.

Another exhibit they have is the The Harmon and Harriet Kelley Collection of African American Art: Works on Paper. This was a beautiful, and touching collection. I have to share what the museum had to say about the collection:

San Antonians Harmon and Harriet Kelley began collecting African American art in the 1980s. Since that time, their collection has grown quantitatively and qualitatively to become one of the finest such collections in public or private hands in the United States. Every room of their home is full of museum-quality paintings, drawings, and prints illustrating the rich history of African American art from the late 19th century to the present. The Harmon and Harriet Kelley Collection of African American Art: Works on Paper, featuring nearly 100 prints, drawings, and watercolors, is a wonderful introduction to the riches of their collection and also a remarkable and unique survey of more than a century of American art. A rare opportunity to see these privately held treasures, this exhibition also serves as an advocate for greater understanding and appreciation of the contributions made by African Americans to art history.

Harmon and Harriet Kelley were prescient as collectors, buying works of art at a time when not many other collectors were interested. Hence, their collection contains many works which are not to be seen anywhere else. Among the earliest and rarest works in the exhibition are prints by the 19-century printmaker Grafton Taylor Brown, the first documented professional graphic artist to work on the West Coast. The exhibition is also particularly rich in works by artists of the 1930s and 40s, which document in strikingly beautiful and personal ways the growing awareness of African American heritage and identity. Among the artists included in the exhibition whose work focused on the African American experience are Elizabeth Catlett, Romare Bearden, and Jacob Lawrence. The exhibition also includes contemporary works by Alison Saar and Robert Colescott. In all, more than 50 different artists are represented by works in the exhibition.

I admit I am ignorant about African American artists. I enjoyed walking from gallery to gallery admiring the work I saw. There was one particular one that grabbed my heart and literally almost made me cry.

You can just feel the emotion breathe from this artwork. I find it powerfully sad.

If you ever get a chance to visit the McNay Art Museum, I highly recommend it.

Landscaping

2009-10-10T19:39:00.000-05:00

Jerry and I have always been into landscaping. Our house in California was completely tricked out with trees, bushes, and occasional veggies. I have always loved having a lush, green yard. It's a team effort with us--we go together to buy the plants and Jerry plants most of the stuff with me helping. lol

We carried the same viewpoint when we moved to Texas. And moving to our new house we had a huge yard to work with--almost a quarter of an acre all together between the front and back yard. All this yard had really planted in it was grass--that's it.

The first thing we bought to plant was an oak tree for the front side yard. We had a rude awakening with that tree. Jerry spent a day and a half trying to dig the hole for that tree. He learned the hard way what was under our yard--limestone rock. Lots of it. He wound up renting a jackhammer just to plant a tree. That was a first for us. Here is what it looked like when we were done.

The next step we did was to expand the look around the tree and add a retaining wall planter. Our goal is to minimize the lawn that needs to be watered and mowed. We bounced around different ideas until we came up with the following. We did all the work ourselves and saved a lot of money on labor. Although, I did get sunburnt and scratched the heck out of my hands.

We've since added a climbing rosebush in a huge container where the bench is and moved the bench to the side of the house. Today, we added three bottlebrush bushes/trees to the long left side by the wood retaining wall.

I've also tweaked the plants in the brick retainer wall planter. I originally planted rosemary and basil, alongwith other flowering plants. Today, I added parsley, thyme, sage and green onions.

I will try to take photos when I can so I show the newest additions. In the back yard, we have a real challenge to work with.

We have added two oak trees and one Chinese elm to the back yard, alongwith three crepe myrtles. Our big plan is to add a large back patio with a cover. We've had bids, but OMG, way out of our price range for now. We hope to do it piece by piece so we can more affordably accomplish our goals.

We try to go with native plants that are hardy, and I want to attract butterflies and hummingbirds. I like being able to plant my herbs and veggies in the planter up front. I don't have to worry about the dog getting anywhere near it. I am starting to dry my own herbs and make my own spice mixes with them.

There's always something to do or plant and we are having fun doing it. Man, I love it here.

Majestic Theater

2009-10-03T20:53:00.001-05:00

San Antonio has many entertainment venues and one of the prettiest and most unique, in my opinion, is the Majestic Theater. Jerry and I saw it for the first time when we saw a comedy show. I was blown away with how elaborate the place is. I was used to the Fox Theater in Bakersfield and thought it was a nice theater, but the Majestic leaves the Fox Theater in the dust. At one point, the Majestic was the largest theatre in Texas.

But size aside, it is a beautiful theater. It has so many visuals to it I want to go back just to tour it without seeing an event.

It's hard for me to explain the interior, so I am just going to grab what they say on their web site.

Inspired by Spanish Mission, Baroque, and Mediterranean architectural traditions, theatre patrons are transported to a fantasy villa. Walls become towers with windows of colorful glass. A rare white peacock perches on a balcony railing as doves are caught in mid-flight. Grape vines creep along the walls and luscious foliage flourishes. The vaulted "sky" comes to life as stars twinkle while drifting clouds pass by overhead. Balconies, tile roofs, arches, and columns, railings, elaborate ornamentation, statues, and a bell tower all aid in the transformation of the theatre into a mystical village.

The acoustics are really great in the theater. And even the bathrooms are cool looking. lol It's classy elegance and a beautiful lady.

Jerry and I hope to buy tickets tomorrow to watch "Rain." They are the Beatle tribute band. We plan to make a night of it with dinner out and then the concert. I am looking forward to visiting the Majestic again.

Want to learn more? Check it out.

http://www.majesticempire.com/aboutMajestic.php

A Foodie Weakness

2009-09-27T11:09:00.000-05:00

I am foodie. I love a good meal. One of the cool things about San Antonio is all the food options. We are quite spoiled with the restaurants around town. When we first visited in 2006, Jerry and I ate at a fast food restaurant called Whataburger. It was love at first bite for Jerry. He enjoyed their hamburgers. It reminded him of the way they used to make burgers when he was a kid.

For me, it was the chicken strips with white gravy. Texas was the first place I've ever bought a fast food meal that offered gravy. Until that point only KFC offered gravy with its mashed potatoes. Whataburger had it as a side for the chicken strips. I was so used to having sweet and sour sauce or barbecue. White gravy? Great concept.
I am so hooked on it. I know it's bad for me, but I can't help it. It tastes so dang good.

They dish is up with Texas toast on the side. Can you say, goodness personified? lol It offers up comfort. To me, fried chicken, white gravy and toast is old fashioned comfort. It's not the tofu, soybean, lettuce alternative. It's tasty goodness.

So, I'll just ride an extra mile on my bike. It's so worth it.

Quilting

2009-09-22T20:34:00.001-05:00

My mama is an amazing quilter. As far back as I can remember she has been creative with her hands--quilting, crocheting, tatting, sewing, or embroidering. Her hands have always been busy. I still have a poncho she made for me when I was a kid. Crocheted in blue and white, my color choices at the time, and it's still wearable. What I love most of what's she created are her quilts. She comes from a long line of quilters. Her mother, grandmother and up the line have quilted. It's something she loves. At family reunions, like the photo above from the last one, they raffled off homemade quilts. It's a fierce battle between relatives as we all want to win the quilts.

When she moved back to Oklahoma, the thing she loved most was getting together with her aunt and cousins and quilting. They'd get together, sew and talk gossip and laugh. She loves her family. My great aunt Sadie is in her, gosh late 80s, and still sews a mean top piece.

I've tried to quilt. It's not my passion, since I'm as creative and talented as a duck in the desert. But I wanted to try what I could to share the process with my mama. I'd call her up with the questions and challenges I face as I attempt my first quilt. There's a bit of pressure on you when you have a woman in your life who is so dang talented. It is intimidating. But mama laughs and gives me advice. I've threatened to send her all the pieces I have just so she can shake her head over and laugh herself silly.

All this changed on Memorial Day. My mama had a stroke. She refused to go to the hospital for three days. Because of her Okie stubborness, she has residual damage that probably won't go away. Her left side is paralyzed. She can't use her left hand or leg. She went through rehab and now is in a nursing facility near her home. My dad visits her every day.

Mama can't quilt anymore. Nothing has broken my heart more than the thought of her not being able to keep her hands busy. To create beautiful quilts that express how creative she is and to know she can not do it anymore is a crime.

I haven't had the heart to go into my sewing room since her stroke. My enthusiasm has dimmed. I can never be as wonderful at quilting as my mama has been. She is a true artist.

I love you, mama.

A baby's smile

2009-09-20T20:44:00.000-05:00

I love a baby's smile. It's so real and joyful. No regrets, nothing fake or insincere. It's from the heart and so wonderful. I especially love the smile of my grandson, Gabriel. He has a way of smiling that just lights my soul. I never thought I could love a child more than I loved my own sons, but Gabriel brings even more love out of me. I am so looking forward to each day to watch him grow up.

I can't wait until my sons have more children. Having babies around is the joy of my life. I love holding them, feeding them, playing with them and rocking them to sleep. To have them smile at me .... it's a gift from God.

I'm grateful for every second I get with them. Maybe you'll be lucky and have a baby smile at you.

Museums

2009-09-17T22:22:00.001-05:00

There are many museums in San Antonio and I haven't seen as many as I'd like. The one that I want to see next is the McNay Art Museum. I keep hearing about it on the local news and it peaks my interest. I love art and I believe this place has exhibits that will inspire me.

For those who haven't heard about it, check this out:
http://www.mcnayart.org/#/history/

The grounds look beautiful and I think it would be a nice way to spend a Sunday afternoon. I just have to talk Jerry into visting it. Hummmm....must think... lol

Buckhorn Saloon and Museum

2009-09-10T19:18:00.000-05:00

I've been to many museums over the years, but one of the strangest for me was visiting the Buckhorn Saloon and Museum in San Antonio. It's been in continuous operation since 1881. Founder Albert Friedrich opened his doors and offered up a a bargain, "Bring in your deer antlers and you can trade them for a shot of whiskey or a beer." That was the birth of a really unique museum/bar.

This place is a trip. According to the Saloon's web page. "This is where it all started...where Teddy Roosevelt recruited Rough Riders and Pancho Villa is rumored to have planned the Mexican Revolution. Many of the original furnishings still grace today's Buckhorn Saloon, including the back bar which was hand-crafted of marble and cherry wood."

There are horns of all shapes and sizes and animal trophy heads are mounted on all walls of the business. I've never seen so many dead critter parts in one place in my life. It was a bit disconcerting to eat lunch under the watchful glare of deceased animals.

The place boasts that it is five museums in one place. We just visited the bar area and had lunch. We plan to go back and see the other museums which include Fins, Feathers, The Hall of Texas History Wax Museum and the Texas Ranger Museum.

I have to say they do have the strangest gift store I've seen. It has odd animal pieces for sale along with the usual fare. Bones, candy, doohickeys and whatnots. I am going back there to do some Christmas shopping for funky things to put in stockings. lol I can't wait to see the kid's faces when they open up their stocking gifts.

I did love sitting at the back bar and imagining what it was like when Teddy, Pancho Villa, Will Rogers or Henry O sat at the exact same bar and had a drink. In between daydreaming about the past, I found myself apologizing to the trophy heads.

I'm sucker for sad eyes.

Greenbelt

2009-09-09T19:45:00.000-05:00

I know many will laugh at my naivete, but I honestly did not know what a greenbelt was and how great is was to live near. It wasn't until I moved to Texas that I was able to experience first hand the perfection that is greenbelt. Where our home is located we have greenbelt on the left side of the house and at the back. It's like having a mini forest right outside my back door. This is our view from the back porch.

Jerry built a gate in the back fence so now we can easily step out into another world of peace and tranquility. Trees, wildflowers, butterflies and deer all abound in our greenbelt. A small creek lies right at the foot of the hill where we live. It's mainly dry in the summer, but once a rainstorm hits, it flows with life and energy. Tadpoles squirm and float, and birds sing and dive at the grasshoppers who happen to chirp so loud even I can hear them without my hearing aids.

I had no greenbelt where I lived in California. We had a canal behind our house full of mosquitos and frogs. Oh, and a train track that clanked at all times of the night. I so don't miss those sounds.

Here, I open up my bedroom windows and enjoy the cool breeze and listen to the birds, grasshoppers and many other crunchy critters I haven't identified yet. I feel so spoiled having such beautiful nature so close to home. It's calming for my soul.

What's great about all this is that being a greenbelt, it's going to stay natural. It will not be bulldozed into another useless shopping center. It will stay green, wild and a home for creatures big and small.

This makes me quite happy.

Mission San José y San Miguel de Aguayo

2009-09-07T19:48:00.000-05:00

When visiting San Antonio most people stop to see the Alamo. It's definately worth seeing. It's a piece of history that is held sacred by most all Texans. It's important to see the video in the soldier's garrison before seeing anything. It will help explain the history behind the Alamo. But I'm not going to focus on the Alamo here. BTW, there is NO basement at the Alamo. lol

What I always recommend to visitors is to check out the Mission San José y San Miguel de Aguayo. It gives the visual people out there, like myself, an understanding of what missions were like back in the 1700s. Located a bit south of the Alamo, it's also in San Antonio. It's one of the most beautiful missions I've ever seen. It has the land around it that we wish the Alamo still had around it. Mission San Jose is a great place to see the beauty of what was--the artwork there touches my heart.

Founded in 1720, the mission was named for Saint Joseph and the Marqués de San Miguel de Aguayo, the governor of the Province of Coahuila and Texas at the time. It was built on the banks of the San Antonio river several miles to the south of the earlier mission, San Antonio de Valero (the Alamo).

Its founder was the famed Father Antonio Margil de Jesús, a very prominent Franciscan missionary in early Texas.

It's known as the "Queen of the Missions."

http://www.tshaonline.org/handbook/online/articles/SS/uqs23.html

The statues are all around the church:

The next time you are in San Antonio, make sure to check out Mission San Jose. It's free to see and offers a touch of history not often found. You won't regret it.

Kreuz Market and Barbecue

2009-09-03T21:15:00.000-05:00

(I took the first three photos and the rest I snagged off of photobucket)

I've read articles spouting the perfection of barbecue in Lockhart, Texas. The Texas legislature has officially deemed it the BBQ capital of Texas. It's been in Bon Appetit, Gourmet Magazine, on the Food Network on more than one show and the Travel Channel. Lockhart is a mere hour and 20 minutes from where I live. Jerry and I had to check it out.

The town is just a bump in the road. It sports on a good day about 12,000 people. It has a handful of beautiful historic houses on main street and a courthouse that harkens back to the good, old days.

On this visit, we went to Kreuz Market (pronounced Krites). It started as a German Market in 1900. There was some family disagreements between the original owners three kids. One kid stayed at the original site and renamed it Smitty's Market, it's right off the town square, and one of the other kids took the name and moved it to a new location on the edge of town and named it Kreuz Market. Kreuz Market is a huge facility. It seats about 560 people.

It has an actual wooden sidewalk out front and an antique-look inside. I loved this sign they had posted.

You go one way to order in a room set aside. You can feel the heat from the BBQ pit as you enter. I felt sorry for the people working in that room. There are no platters or sandwiches. (photo snarked from photobucket as I was too busy deciding on my meat choices to take photos)

This is what the order board looks like:

You order by the pound/half pound. I chose a small amount of brisket, ribs, smoked ham and two links of their homemade sausage(regular and jalapeno). They put your meats on butcher paper, toss on half a loaf of Wonder white bread, a sleeve of crackers and two plastic knives. You then carefully pick up that butcher paper load and head into another room.

This is not Jerry. Another photo snagged.

As you walk to the doors leaving the meat room you feel the heat coming from the BBQ pit. Oak logs glow super hot and the smell is divine.

The second room is where you choose what sides you want. I chose German potatoes, beans and sauerkraut. That's right. BBQ style sauerkraut. Add a side of marinated onions and unsweetened tea and lemonade and Jerry and I are set. By the way, no plates, no forks. We got plastic spoons with the beans and little plastic bowls, but that's it. Oh, and no barbuecue sauce. They have the firm belief that meat this good doesn't need to hide behind a sauce.

I would have taken a photo of the meats, but we were too busy eating. LMAO Here's another photo I snagged off of photobucket of people who had more self control than I had.

The meat was delicious and the sides were tasty. If you would have told me I would eat sauerkraut with barbecue I would have thought you were nuts. But they add some chopped barbecued brisket to the sauerkraut and it was damned good. The brisket was good, but not memorable. I personally believe, and Jerry stated, that my smoked tri-tip tastes tons better. He said I need to market it. LOL The beans must have jalapenos in them because they were HOT. Jerry loved them and the jalapeno sausage. I can't handle the super hot stuff so I just took his word for it. He actually sweated as he ate them. They were that hot. But he said those were his favorites.

For me, it was the smoked ham and sauerkraut. I'd go back just for those.

We had dessert of miniature apple pies that were tasty.

I had wanted to check out Smitty's while we were there, but we were stuffed. I had Jerry drive by it just so we could easily find it next time we visit. It's right nearby the courthouse I showed up above.

The drive was worth it. We had leftovers which makes for a great next day lunch. San Antonio, and it's nearby areas, has so much great food to choose from you never get bored. I love it here.

History

2009-08-25T20:49:00.001-05:00

I love history. It ties back to my high school years with my favorite teacher of all times, Mr. Fred Horlacher. My junior year Nevada History class was the most amazing experience of my life. Mr. Horlacher lived and breathed history. He brought it life. We never had a book in his class. If his lecture was on the Civil War, he'd come in dressed as a soldier and tell us about the Civil War as if he lived it. One time he came in full Native American garb. A full feather headress and all. You took your notes from his lecture and that's what he tested on. He was the coolest teacher in the whole school.

He was also the advisor for the Ghost Towners Nevada History Club. You fought to get into his classes and to get into the club. It was only open to upperclassmen and was a blast to be in. We went on field trips all around Northern Nevada. Our initiation into the club was walking around the Virginia City cemetery on Halloween night at midnight. Come on, how cool was that? He had it boobytrapped with sounds and people to scare us. After we walked around (and screamed a lot) we sat around the headstones as he told us real life "ghost" stories about the residents of Virginia City. I can still close my eyes and see exactly what it looked like. It's a snapshot I've had in my brain all these years.

He took us along the same path the infamous Donner Party took that fateful winter. He had handed out beef jerky to us and we walked by moonlight. No flashlights. He told us the sad story about the Donner Party. Of course, once they got to the part of cannibalizing, the beef jerky just didn't taste good anymore. lol

He loved to play practical jokes on us. Sitting around a campfire, he would tell us stories about the Native Americans that lived around Lahontan resevoir. He would have us repeat a few Paiute phrases. Owa Ta Foo Iam. Over and over we'd say it. Suddenly people started giggling. More and more of us got it. What a crack up he was.

He sent newbie students on "snipe" hunting trips. Those who knew about snipes kept out laughter quiet until the newbs were out in the dark making noises and carrying a burlap bag.

I learned to appreciate and respect the history of Nevada because of Mr. Horlacher. And because his passion for history rubbed off on me, I am learning to love and respect the history of Texas. And Texas has a lot of history wrapped up within its borders. Each day trip we take we learn something else about this place we call home.

Mr. Horlacher would be proud.

Texas Scenery

2009-08-18T19:44:00.000-05:00

I love the funky scenery I've come across since we've moved to Texas. When friends and family heard we were moving to Texas they were shocked. "Why do you want to move to a place that only has rattlesnakes and tumbleweeds?" Well, I had to educate them that Texas has a lot more going for it. Yes, west Texas does have those things, but where we are--south central Texas--we have a bit more beauty, in my opinion.

Personally, we are living at the edge of what is called "Hill Country." It's lush, peaceful and always beautiful. Even in the drought we are experiencing, it's lovely. Deer are abundant and you can see many birds and butterflies.

The first thing I noticed when we moved here was all the stone. Not only could you see the stone cut along the roadway, it is used as major focal points in housing and retail sites. The photo above was one I took in a retail shopping center. Instead of removing the tree, the planners left it and utilized it in a unique way. I find it so funky, it's almost Zen to me. lol

I can handle living where it is hot, as long as it's pretty. That's always been my mantra. And it's pretty here.

Here are some photos I snagged off the Internet to show you all how gorgeous it is here. :)

Brackettville

2009-08-17T21:15:00.001-05:00

Back in January, Jerry and I decided to take a day trip. We drove 2 1/2 hours from San Antonio and visited a place called Brackettville. It's a small town in west Texas that is barely a bump on the road. It was a nice, almost desolate drive from San Antonio. Many places reminded us of our drives in California. The scenery is similar of the central coast. A touch of farm land mixed in with desolate desert and sagebrush. It's almost a mixture of land around Fresno and Mojave jumbled together. The day was beautiful. We left San Antonio when it was cloudy and in the low 60s to Brackettville where it cleared up to blue skies and high 60s.

We drove seven miles outside of Brackettville to a destination knowns as Alamo Village. What is Alamo Village and why were we visiting it? It's a huge, movie set that still is active today. It was originally constructed, basically in the middle of nowhere, for and by John Wayne. He had a movie he really wanted to make, "The Alamo," which also starred Richard Widmark. They started building it in 1957, and finished two years later, and in 1959 they started filming the movie.

This place is not just false-fronted buildings normally seen on movie sets, this is is a complete town. More than a million and a quarter adobe bricks were made and used. They used 12 miles of water pipes and 30,000 square feet of Spanish roofing tiles. Part of the site has a replica of the Alamo from 1830s. They also built a Mexican town from the 1830s that has a jail, saloon, general store, stables, church, cemetery, bank and blacksmith shop.

This was the first movie set built in Texas. It is stocked with stagecoaches, wagons, surreys, cannons, props and set dressings. This year they are celebrating their 50th anniversary. Apparently, they are going to have recreators wandering around in full costume, ranchers will bring cattle and horses, offering trail rides around the ranch and more.

Since it was January, only a handful of visitors were at the site. It was peaceful, quiet and scenic. If I were going to make my own western movie, I'd definately check this place out. Or, if I wanted to do Western themed photos of my family, this is the place. There's not much going on around it, it's quiet. No amusement rides, fudge shops or the rest.

They have filmed more than 100 movies, documentaries and music videos at Alamo Village. Some, I'm sure you've all seen.

Movies
1951 Arrowhead - Charlton Heston
1955 The Last Command - Ernest Borgnine
1958 Five Bold Women - Irish McCalla
1959 John Wayne's "The Alamo"
1960 The Spirit of the Alamo (TV) - NBC
1960 Roy Rogers Show (TV)
1960 John Ford's - Two Rode Together - Jimmy Stewart
1966 Top Hand (TV)
1967 Aye, That Pancho Villa (TV)
1967 Bandolero - Dean Martin
1968 Children's West (Lon Chaney, Jr.) (TV)
1973 A Death in Tombstone
1974 The Texas Ballad (KLRN-TV)
1978 Adventures of Jody Shanan
1978 Centennial, "The Longhorns" (TV) - Dennis Weaver
1979 Code of Josey Wales - Michael Parks
1980 Barbarosa - Gary Busey
1980 Seguin (American Playhouse) - Edward James Olmos
1981 "Kathleen" Kestrel Films
1982 Tennessee to Texas - A Musical Affair (TV) - Tanya Tucker
1984 Up Hill All The Way -Burt Reynolds
1986 Houston - Legend of Texas (TV) - Sam Elliott
1986 The Alamo - Thirteen Days To Glory (TV) - Alec Baldwin
1986 No Safe Haven - Wings Hauser
1987 Alamo: Price of Freedom - Caser Biggs
1988 Lonesome Dove (TV) - Robert Duvall
1989 Gunsmoke - The Last Apache (TV) - James Arness
1991 JCV Japanese Quiz Show (TV)
1991 American Movie Classics (TV - Bob Dorian
1992 Rio Diablo (TV) - Travis Tritt
1992 Travis Smith (direct to video)
1993 Bad Girls - Madeleine Stowe
1994 Gambler V (TV) - Kenny Rogers
1994 James A. Michener's, "Texas" (TV) - John Schneider
1994 Good Old Boys (TV) - Sam Shephard
1995 Streets of Laredo (TV) - James Garner
1995 A&E History Channel's "The Alamo" (TV)
1995 Discovery Channel's - "The Battes of the Alamo" (TV)
1995 PBS - Ken Burns "The West" (TV)
1995 A&E Biography - "Davy Crockett: American Frontier Legend" (TV)
1995 The Learning Channel's - "Famous Battles" - Alamo Segment (TV)
1995 Discovery Channel's - Buffalo Soldiers" (TV)
1996 Once upon A Time In China and America - Sammo Hung
1999 Alamo... The New Defenders (direct to video)
1999 The Bullfighter - Domineca Scorcese
1999 The History Channel's - "Haunted San Antonio" (TV)
2000 Jericho - Mark Valley - Leon Coffee - Buck Taylor
2001 The History Channel's "History vs Hollywood" (TV)
2002 "Westown" Sturghill Productions
2006 Blue Eyes - Walker Cable Productions
2006 Mexican Gold - Walker Cable Productions
2007 The Man Who Came Back - Walker Cable Productions - Eric Braden - Billy Zane
2007 - Friend of The Devil (TV Pilot)

Music Videos

1980 Willie Nelson - "Tougher Than Leather"
1995 Brooks & Dunn - "You're Gonna Miss Me When I'm Gone"
1996 Gary Hobbs - "Corazon de la Ardiente"
1996 La Tropa F - "The Sheriff"
1996 "Los Palominos"
1999 Shade of Red - "Revolution"

Here are some photos we took:

Rembrandt

2009-08-16T22:35:00.000-05:00

I saw my first Rembrandt, in person mind you, when the Armand Hammer Art Collection was on display at California State University, Bakersfield. It was a momentous occasion for me. I had seen original art before, but never anything such as I saw that day. I walked into rooms filled with works by Dutch, Flemish, German, and Italian masters. My world changed in a split second. I finally "got" it when someone said, "Good art is not what it looks like, but what it does to us." (Roy Adzak)

What it did for and to me was wake me up. Up until that time I was culturally asleep. The richness of the colors, the amazing techniques to take blank canvases and create life out of them took my breath away.

The fact that I was standing in front of something that was created hundreds of years earlier gave me chills. The clarity of the strokes, the vibrancy of the colors, the beauty of Rembrandt's work was just as beautiful as it must have been the day he finished it.

I had to have a poster of his work. After I left the exhibit, I learned they had sold out of the poster I wanted. It was an early work of his entitled, "Portrait of a Man Holding a Black Hat." (c. 1637) I became a person with a mission. I had to have that poster. I tried finding the poster at all art places in town. No luck. I wound up writing to the Armand Hammer Collection administrators begging for a copy of the poster. I lucked out as they took pity on me. In the mail came a copy of the poster I lusted after.

If you want to understand why I love this man's work, check out this link:

http://www.rembrandtinsocal.org/slideshow/slideshow.html

Living the rough life

2009-08-13T22:06:00.000-05:00

I've often wondered how I would have survived living the pioneer life. I have long felt a deep connection to old places and things. It feels comfortable. It feels right. It's a natural fit for me. I'm not sure why, but it is. When I look at historic recreations of an old cabin I feel happy. I'm not turned off by the bare wood, the small rooms or lack of new things.

It comforts my soul to picture myself bustling around, cooking dinner over an open flame in a large hearth. Seeing my man sitting at a table, drinking a cup of coffee and smiling at the children. It's like a slice of time opens up when I see places like this and I see the memories. I see what was--and I feel the struggles and the happiness that happened. It was hard, but it was worth it.

I feel a connection to my ancestors when I see places such as these. I honor their memories by respecting the past. Most of us nowadays have no clue what it was like to make you own food from scratch, to create your own soap, furniture, housing and really grow crops to survive.

We are so lucky today to be able to go to a supermarket/department store and buy all we need. Are we better off for it? I don't think so. On one hand we are richer than many during those times, but we are also poorer.

I'm blessed that I am where I am because of the sacrifices they made. If you truly think about what all your ancestors had to survive, you'd realize how damned lucky you are to even be here.

“If you look deeply into the palm of your hand, you will see your parents and all generations of your ancestors. All of them are alive in this moment. Each is present in your body. You are the continuation of each of these people.”-Thich Nhat Hanh quotes (Vietnamese Monk, Activist and Writer. b.1926)

Texas Underground

2009-08-07T18:45:00.000-05:00

It took me about two years to finally get my husband to agree to go check out a local site that is pretty darn cool. First off, let me say that I have a touch of claustrophia. I'm okay in elevators and closets, but not anything tight that involves the earth. Tunnels, caves and the such make me itchy and a tad lightheaded. But I had heard so much about Natural Bridge Caverns that I wanted to check it out. This place is the largest cavern in Texas.

The first time I brought it up to my husband he balked. We had been experiencing major rain storms and to him, the thought of going underground, especially after it had been raining for 52 days straight, was unacceptable. Finally, things dried out and a year or so later, he agreed. Less than 20 minutes from our house is an amazing natural beauty. It's quite unassuming as you drive up to the place. The grounds are typical Texas--oak trees and big skies. In fact, Jerry and I sat around after the tour on a bench and listened to jazz music on his IPhone and enjoyed the clear blue skies and butterflies.

It's when you step underground that things really start to amaze you.

The entrance is down a short way from the visitor's center and I have to admit I took a couple of deep breaths as we walked into the passageway. I figured if I got too freaked out I could leave. I wanted to see how far I could go. Well, I went all the way--180 feet deep underground. And I didn't freak out once. lol

Natural Bridge Caverns has areas of it that are larger than a football field. We saw it all--stalagmites, stalactites, and chandeliers. We also saw soda straws, which are hollow tubes from where the water leaches through the ground. Nature is so freaking cool. Wherever you looked were amazing formations. From the ground to the ceiling.

We had a great time visiting the place and will go back to do the Illuminations Tour they offer. They also let people do spelunking, but there's NO way I'm crawling into a small tunnel. I'd get stuck and lose my mind. lol

As we were walking down there, I realized that I could easily live underground in a place like Natural Bridge. No bugs, no critters (except they had bats down there at once point in history. The petrified guano gave it away)

If you didn't know where the opening was--it would be a pretty darn safe place to live. I believe they found evidence that Native Americans lived down there at one time.

Heck, Texas even does the underground bigger than anyone else. rofl

Big Skies

2009-08-06T20:03:00.000-05:00

“We all live under the same sky, but we don't all have the same horizon”

Konrad Adenauer

Probably one of the first things my husband and I noticed when we moved to Texas was the sky. You might ask yourself, "What's the big deal about the Texas sky?" Well, it's flipping huge. It's not your normal sky. You might think you know what a big sky is---but unless you've been to Texas you have no idea.

For as far as the eye can see, you see a clear, blue window to heaven. I'm used to having mountains around me. When I lived in Reno, it was the Sierras. When we lived in California it was mountains not just north to south, but also east to west. Now, I love mountains, but I didn't realize how boxed in we were until we moved to San Antonio.

Our first year here Jerry and I used to just stop and stare. We'd be filling the Jeep up with gas and find ourselves just taking it all in. I'm sure many were looking at us, wondering what was capturing out attention. It is so clear, almost no pollution. Trust me, coming from California we would drive and see the layers of pollution in the air. So to be somewhere where there was practically none was amazing.

Sunsets here are so breathtaking, too. The colors are crisp, and yet soft. Strong and muted all at the same time. Oranges, yellows, purples and reds, as if a crayola box exploded in the sky. We hope to finish our back patio and I can't wait to sit out there and watch all the sunsets. It truly calms the soul.

We might share the same sky, but our horizons are so different.

Believing

2009-08-05T20:56:00.000-05:00

I want to believe that goodness always wins out. I want to believe that whenever I reach into my candy jar, a piece of chocolate will always be there. I want to believe that Diane Mott Davidson will never stop writing her Goldie the Caterer mysteries.

I need to believe that I raised my sons the right way and that they have turned into the proper, honorable young men I hope them to be. I need to believe that I will lose the cough50cough pounds that I dream to lose. I need to believe that it's okay to cry over sappy tv commercials.

I have to believe that I can do anything I set my mind to--from climbing Mt. Whitney to driving the Weinermobile. I have to believe that I have made my parents proud with what I've accomplished in my life.

I believe that I married the most perfect man for me. I know what true happiness is and I'm grateful for every breath I take. I believe that my beautiful daughter in law is the best thing that has happened to my son. And that I know she makes perfect babies.

I also believe that if you put out positive, you will get positive in return. So I wish to one all, believe in yourself and you will be the happiest person no matter where you go.

Rainy days and Monday .....

2009-08-04T19:38:00.000-05:00

We are going to save every drop of water we can. Rainy days haven't been around here for awhile and it's so dry. Our first step, buying a rain barrel. This baby can holds 57 gallons of life giving water. Now, it's just needs to flipping rain. I have it positioned in the best spot to collect the wetness. Right in front, to the right of the front porch. All righty. We are being completely earth friendly. So rain already.

We need rain. We pray for rain.

O God, in Whom we live and move, and have our being, grant us rain, in due abundance, that, being sufficiently helped with temporal, we may the more confidently seek after eternal gifts. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen.

(Prayer Source: Novena in Honor of St. Isidore: Patron of Farmers by National Catholic Rural Life Conference, National Catholic Rural Life Conference )

We will even dance for rain with the help of some beautiful music.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nao6j-n0nz8

Lightning Storms

2009-08-02T20:59:00.000-05:00

I can honestly say I haven't seen a truly amazing lightning storm until I moved to Texas. The closest thing I can remember is a storm I once experienced in Reno, Nevada. It was a vivid storm full of sheet lightning. I thought it was the end of the world. Luckily, it wasn't; but I still remember that storm from more than 30 years ago.

Our first year of living here, it rained all the time. And with the rain, came lightning. I have thing about lightning--it's a love/hate relationship. I love the vividness and beauty of lightning and I hate and fear lightning itself. I'm terrified of being struck. If there is a storm nearby, I have a routine I go through--tv off, lights off, computers off, no listening to IPOD, no taking showers, and going to the bathroom really fast. Ask my hubby and kids, I ususally wind up sitting on my bed and waiting out the storm.

Our house is two stories and that first year of living here when the storms hit I felt like we were in the clouds, literally in the middle of the storm. Lightning was everywhere. Close, far away, bright, soft and completely unpredictable. The storms would last for at least an hour or two. I actually was looking out the window during one storm and saw a bolt hit a transformer at the end of a line of power poles. The line sits to the left side of our house and in the distance I saw a big zig zag of a bolt hit and a green explosion light the sky. The pole next to our house swung back and forth a good three feet. I was terrified that the pole was going to fall into our yard. Thank God, it didn't. But it reinforced what I've always known--lightning is flipping powerful.

It's like a big light show here. My husband always teases me because of the steps I go through when a storm comes into the area. He just didn't think it could or would hit a house. After a recent storm where two houses were hit and caught on fire--he's not so quick to pooh pooh me.

I think I'm always going to have a love/hate relationship with lightning storms. Heck, Texas does everything big here--including storms.

Agasga and Crickets

2009-07-31T19:40:00.000-05:00

Agasga is the Cherokee name for rain. That's something we desperately need in South Texas. The first year we moved to Texas (2006) there was so much rain I teased that I was looking around for an Ark. It rained 56+ days in a row. The weather was perfect for breeding critters. We had an invasion of crickets. I mean hundreds, thousands, tons of them everywhere. It was most disgusting. There were everywhere--work, the bank and fast food restaurants. Crawling, creeping and crunching--it was almost enough to make a gal scream.

Flash forward to 2009, and we have heat and drought. We've had more than 37 days of 100 degree or higher heat. Now, I'm used to heat and drought. We had that back in California. I can handle it. It sucks, but I can handle it. At least, it's prettier here than where I used to live. It somehow makes it easier to handle.

I've come to learn in Texas is either feast or famine when it comes to the weather. Jerry and I are trying to become more "green." I bought a rain barrel and we are trying to capture all the rain we can to reuse on the plants. We are keeping the air conditioner at 80 degrees and have acclimated to it. My next step is to stick a bucket as I shower. Any water that winds up in it, goes outside in my plants. We are on Stage 2 on water restrictions. We can only turn on the sprinklers once a week, on a certain day for a certain time. That's it. If we go to Stage 3, we will only be able to water our plants once every two weeks. My yard and plants will die.

We need agasga here....I'm thinking of dancing naked in the back yard to tick off the rain gods. I'm thissss close. lol

Emotions

2009-07-29T18:38:00.001-05:00

I had a few experiences over my life where I had an overwhelming emotion and not in the normal context of life. Unexpectedly, I would get a huge flash of an emotion -- hate, fear, comfort. Was it a natural happening chemical reaction in my brain for some reason or was it a sliver in the fabric of communication from the dead?

There is no logic of why, in Virginia City, Nevada in the Mark Twain museum that I should feel that someone just threw a blanket of hate over me. I felt I was being suffocated with hate. For no apparent reason, other than me touching an Indian blanket that was a wedding gift. All I knew is that whatever had happened to that Indian princess who married a rich white businessman in San Francisco, she wasn't happy. I can't explain why I knew that. I just did. The feeling was so powerful that I actually stepped back a couple of feet and sat down on a nearby bench. It was incredibly disorienting.

I can't explain why I felt fearful when my husband and I walked down into the engine room on the Queen Mary in Long Beach, California. I felt fine as we did the walking tour, but as we took the steps down into the engine room, I felt my arms cross over in front of my body in a defensive motion. The room was bright as can be. There were no scary displays. It was just the engine room of what it would look like if the ship were operational.

But there I was, arms crossed, nails biting painfully in the palms of my hand. I felt an overwhelming emotion of fear. I was extremely uncomfortable down there and couldn't pinpoint one reason why. My husband was fine. He was all over the place exploring it. I just knew I wanted to get out of there as fast as I could. I made myself stay down there so not to ruin my husband's fun of exploring, but it was physically painful to stay there. Why? I don't know.

I don't know why some things have happened to me over the years. As I grew up, I didn't know it was something to worry about. There are many episodes now, when looking back, that should have signaled to me I felt things that many people didn't.

One time, during a field trip in elementary school we went to a place called Bower's Mansion in Carson City, Nevada. Even then I loved history. As we entered the mansion, led by our teacher, we were given the typical teacher lecture about the history of the mansion and the people who had it built. A man named Sandy Bowers, who was a silver baron, and his wife Eilley Orum, lived a lavish lifestyle -- for awhile. They wound up going broke. I still remember as we entered into the mansion I stood at the bottom of the stairs and looked upwards. A feeling of discomfort came over me.

It was a bright, sunny day, but I felt chilled. I wasn't sure why, but I didn't want to go upstairs. I moved to the back of the line and did what I could not to go upstairs. I finally had to follow everyone else. It's funny, I went into my "mode" crossing my arms in front of my body and my finger nails digging into my palms. I guess I still do that. Anyway, I never saw anything, but I felt a large sadness. It was a really strong feeling. I knew that whoever lived there was very sad. I know that sounds goofy. Even I felt that was goofy. But that's what I felt. I don't know if I am explaining this correctly, so forgive me if I ramble, but this was bigger than normal feelings. Even at the age I was -- I think I was 8 or 9 years old, I knew it was something different.

We went through the rest of the house, but I didn't feel anything as strong as I did on the second floor. We got to go outside and see the grounds and some of my classmates were laughing and talking about a family cemetery in the back of the house and we were dared who was brave enough to go and check it out. Well, the thing about me is I would do something if I thought others were too scared to do it. (although nothing too stupid or dangerous. LOL) As I went up to the cemetery, with the others following me, I felt a strong emotion again. I was uneasy standing there, but not completely afraid. There were trees around and it was sorta spooky for a bright, spring day. But I just knew something else was around there. Something was watching us. Was it just kids being kids and playing mental games standing at a cemetery? I don't know. Maybe.

But I think I connected with some strong emotions those people must have felt. I was glad when we finally left. I think I have always kept myself closed over the years to being too receptive because I am truly afraid of what might happen if I open myself up. I don't think I really want to work on this thing of mine, if I really do have anything at all. I don't know when it's going to happen and I have absolutely no control over it all. It's strong, but mild if that makes any sense. It sneaks up on me and smacks with its rawness of powerful emotion. The strength of emotions is sort of like someone throwing ice water on you out of the blue.

It does make life interesting at times.

Deer and other critters

2009-07-27T20:31:00.000-05:00

If someone were to ask me what was the wildlife you have seen most since you've moved to Texas I'd have to answer--deer. I've never lived at a place where wild animals walk around freely. In California, we had kit foxes that darted through the fields, but they were few and far between. In San Antonio, it's the deer. On two sides of our house we have what they call "greenbelt." It's wild land that won't ever be developed. Sort of like having a small forest around you. This is where the deer live.

They walk wherever they want...sometimes not the best place for them. Some have been hit while crossing the busy streets. That's always sad. To the left of our place, we've seen a herd of six to seven deer. From my son's window we see them nibbling at the plants and calming walking around.

Texas is also the first place where I've seen deer food for sale in the stores. Just like buying bird seed, you can buy deer food. During my walks in the greenbelt I see dry looking niblets of corn that people put out for the deer.

There are many times Jerry and I are driving home after dark and as we drive by a certain road I always warn him to be careful. Deer feel they own the land--I've seen them calmly munching someone's lawn in the dark of night. They saunter around sassy and bold.

Since we have a fence around the back of our yard I'm not bothered by the deer. I've seen everything from young ones to older ones with a rack of horns. Just beautiful, you just hope they don't get hit by a car.

So far, we haven't seen snakes, but our first year here we saw some of the biggest bugs I've ever seen. I kid you not, centipedes the sizes of a ruler. I still get the shivers with that one. I had praying mantis on my wall by my front door that was six inches long. I won't even go into the nest of daddy long legs that resided above my front door for a short while.

Now, we mainly have to lizards that like to live in the ferns on the front porch. I've named them Sherman and Sheba. They dart around when I'm watering the plants.

I can handle the deer and the lizards--you all can have the centipedes. lol

Biking in Texas

2009-07-26T18:50:00.000-05:00

Jerry and I have taken up bike riding. We both want to get in shape and it's time. He's picked it up faster than I have. He has a couple of weeks on me as he bought his bike first. He's lost eight pounds and feels stronger. Me, I got whizzy dizzy today and had to stop for awhile. But, that was after a one hour bike ride in almost triple digit heat.

Bike riding in Texas does have its benefits. We bike at a place called McAllister Park in San Antonio. It has 25 miles of trails with part of them paved and part of them not. Trees abound and it's delicious to be biking when it's 103 and a canopy of trees to protect you from the heat. We also see wild deer while riding and squirrels scampering across the path. The place today was full of walkers, runners, bike riders and people out having a great time.

That's me in the distance biking away. We are trying to do at least an hour ride every weekend here. During the week we are riding around our house every other day. Neither one of us wants to burn out or hurt ourselves. It's actually quite fun to ride. I have to be completely honest and say the hills about kill me. I swear, those long, winding inclines make me want to puke. But I am trying to stick with it.

We were watching part of the Tour de France and I have no flipping idea how they do it. Between watching bits and pieces of that event and part of a triathalon held in Hawaii, I've come to the conclusion I'm soooo out of shape. There was a 72 year old woman who not only competed in the triathalon, but finished it. I'd been toast in the swimming. I can't swim worth squat. Never could. But they inspire me. It gives me hope that if I focus, I can do anything.

Of course, I tried to tell that to my body today when I finally had to stop riding. I had a meager breakfast and after an hour of riding I started getting light headed and seeing spots in front of my eyes. Enough. lol It doesn't mean I am going to stop riding. In fact, I'm going to put in a couple of miles tomorrow after work. But I've learned I have to have food on my stomach and some sugar in me.

I'm not sore, as much as tired tonight. It's a good tired. I never thought I'd get back to loving being on bike, but I am.

Am I going through my second childhood?

In Sickness, In Health

2009-07-25T19:35:00.000-05:00

One of my creative ramblings.

In Sickness, In Health
by Robin Bailey

January 21, 1992

My dearest Journal.

God, what a cold thing to write to--a journal. I don't like the sound of it. I think maybe I will call it by a person's name. Yes, I think I like that much better. I know. I will think of it as if I am writing a letter to my bestest friend. That is, if I had one. What shall I call her? Elizabeth? No. That sounds so formal and stiff. I don't like it. I know! I will call my journal Sarah. I've always loved that name.

My dearest Sarah,
It's been so long since we've talked last. I've almost forgotten what you look like.

I hate my own name. Ann. Have you ever heard of anything so plain and boring? It's not anything that's like the real me. The real me. No one truly knows the real me, except for Edward. Ah. Edward. Not Eddie, or Ed or any other name for him. It is always Edward.

January 22, 1992

Dear Sarah,
I must tell you about the wonderful vacation we are having. Edward and I are at one of our favorite resorts. It's up in the mountains. Today, we had breakfast together and he went off for a hike while I sit here relaxing. I love days like the one we are having. The view from the resort's porch is quite breathtaking. Sarah, I know you'd love it if you were here. The sky is so clear and the air has the smell of pine cones. I can see the lake from where I sit--the water is so blue it makes your eyes hurt.

The real me. I've always been an adventurious-type of person. I can't even count on both hands all the journeys I've taken to far-off lands. Of course, many of those trips have been between the covers of great and wonderful books. Edward loves my books almost as much as I do. I know one day we're going to take a cruise around the world in 80 days. We will. Edward and me. He's even pinky-promised me. So you know he means it.

March 14,1992

Dear Sarah,
We plan on staying here on an extended vacation, my dearest Sarah. Edward has worked day and night for the past sixteen years so his business would be successful. And it is! We sacrificed for so long and now we are reaping the benefits. God, it is so beautiful here.

Edward works so much. Day and night. Night and day. We go days without seeing each other. But I know my dearest Edward thinks of me. He often tells me so. They say confession is good for the soul. I think I am going to use my journal to confess a few of the mistakes I've made lately. It can't be used against me. And no one will know. I plan on ripping this up as soon as I'm done. But I know I will feel better to write everything down. And I do feel better already.

March 29, 1992

Dear Sarah,
Oh, Sarah. Edward fed me grapes last night. We had such a wonderful evening. We sat underneath the star-filled night sky on our blanket and snuggled, laughed and completely enjoyed ourselves. Many people here say we act like newlyweds. They find it hard to believe that we've been married for 17 years. But we do love each other so. Edward said I was the only woman for him.

Only woman. I have to admit Edward was completely honest with me there. I was the only woman for him. The only problem was, I wasn't quite enough man for him. It's amazing how you can be married to someone for 17 years and never know his true feelings. Actually, Edward isn't gay, he is bisexual, as he explained to me. That was the day he told me he was finally leaving me for his lover. Bob.

What a boring name Bob is. His lover couldn't have an exotic name like Tomas or Sven. No, it was Bob. Not even Robert. But Bob. Bob was a man Edward had known for as long as we'd been married. Balding, paunchy, near-sighted Bob was an accountant. In fact, he was our accountant.

How dull it must be, crunching numbers all day. But this was the great love of Edward's life. he finally realized he'd rather live with Bob than be with me. It's not that he didn't love me, Edward proclaimed as he packed his bags. He just loved Bob more.

April 24, 1992

My dearest Sarah,
Edward and I made love last night as the stars twinkled above us. It was as delicious as lovemaking could be. Edward and I both saw a shooting star. We made a wish and even though I know you aren't supposed to share it outloud, we did. Edward and I share everything. We never keep secrets from each other. Edward said his wish was never to leave my side and to be the kind of husband that I deserved.

Oh Sarah, I started crying at that point. I hugged Edward and told him he already was the husband that I deserved. He is so perfect, so handsome, so devoted. I told him my wish was for that night to never end. I know we are always going to be as happy as we are tonight.

I wasn't mad when Edward left. I guess I should have been, but for some reason I wasn't. I sat there on my favorite oversized chair, my latest book clutched against my chest and wondered what I would do about dinner. Should I make a sandwich or go out and get something to eat.

I knew Edward would come back to me. I had complete faith that he was just going through a mid-life crisis. This was his way of sowing his wild oats or something. Edward loved me. He always did and always will. I know he will come back. Bob couldn't love him the way that I do. No one loves Edward as much as I do. I'd die for Edward. Bob wouldn't. For God's sake, Bob is an accountant! All he cares about are numbers. Edward would come to his senses. We have a life to share together--until the end of time. In sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer .. and the rest of the wedding vow mumbo-jumbo.

May 1, 1993

Dear Sarah,
Edward was so funny this morning. Before he left for his daily hike he ate a huge breakfast. I am amazed tht a man as trim and handsome as he, can eat so much and not gain an ounce. I eat one piece of chocolate and I instantly gain five pounds. I am a very lucky woman to be married to such a wonderful man. Edward brought me a single long-stemmed rose when he came to breakfast. He handed it to me and kissed me. He said the beauty of the rose barely matched my own beauty. Oh, how my heart fluttered. Edward is such a sweet-talker. It's a shame you two haven't met. I know you are busy with your life half-way around the world. One day we must get together so you can meet my knight-in-shining armor. I know you'd love him as much as I do. Maybe now that Edward has retired we can plan a trip to Cairo and visit you. Oh, wouldn't that be devine! I must talk to him about that as soon as he gets back.

Edward slammed the door in my face telling me that he wasn't coming back to me. He said if I didn't leave him and Bob alone he was going to call the cops. The police. Yeah, right. Edward woudn't do that. He loved me. He's just going through a phase. He wasn't happy with Bob. I could tell. His face was tired looking and definately looked unhappy when we talked. He'd be coming home soon. I knew he would.

July 4, 1994

Dear Sarah,
What a simply wonderful holiday Edward and I shared. The fireworks in the sky were almost as dazzling as the ones he and I shared from our beach cabana. yes, dear heart we are now in Tahiti. We have our own private beach. We've made love so many times I've lost count. There must be something in the tropical air! I've managed to achieve a little bit of a tan. You know how I usually burn and peel, but I think the sun down here is much better for my pale skin. Edward says I have quite a glow about me. What a fantastic man he is. I am so very lucky.

As I started to leave the ritzy apartment building Edward shared with his boring Bob I saw a familiar face. Bob was crossing the street and heading straight for me.

Without a second thought I hid behind a huge ficus tree in the lobby. Bob entered the building and headed for the elevator. He never even saw me. But I saw him. He wasn't so hot to look at. I don't know what Edward saw in him. Bob's off-white pants were wrinkled. He wore an army green polo shirt that stuck to his back in the summer heat. His thinning salt and pepper hair hung down in strings from his sweaty, bald head.

I don't know what made me do it. I walked up to him and stabbed him in the back with my paring knife. You know, the knife Edward gave me last Christmas. Remember, he gave me silverware in a really beautiful pattern as my present.

Now one saw me do it. Bob slumped and I quickly removed my knife. The door opened and I pushed Bob into the empty elevator. He never even saw me. He landed face down onto the hard floor. The red stain was spreading across his back. It turned his green polo shirt a muddy color. I smiled as I put the knife in my pocket.

Edward would come home now. I wondered as I left the building if I would have time to stop by the grocery store and buy a couple of steaks. There's nothing Edward likes better than a rare steak, except maybe making love to me.

September 4, 1995

My dearest Sarah,
Time has seemed to stand still. Edward and I are sailing around the world in our sailboat. We have visited many islands and countries. We are having a great time. We spend our time eating, sleeping, and making love.

I can't remember the last time I even worried about being somewhere. We are so lazy nowadays. I sit around and sunbathe while Edward sails the boat. We fit together so well, my dear friend. We will reach your home one day.

The overweight nurse quietly pushed the medicine cart down the sterile hallway. There weren't that many noises this time of night. Most patients were peacefully sleeping the Darvon and Percodan-type of sleep one would expect in a mental hospital.

The nurse, known as Sarah, entered room 113 with a careful step. This particular patient has been convicted of killing a man. Nurse Sarah was always wary when entering this room. They didn't pay her enough to risk her own life with a crazy killer.

With a gentle shake, nurse Sarah woke up Mrs. Tilton. "Here you go hun, take your medicine and go back to sleep."

A sleepy-faced old woman accepted the pills and gratefully swallowed. Her head falling back to a soft pillow, a smile on her wrinkled face, a book clutched to her chest.

Nurse Sarah shook her head, and felt sorry for the crazy woman who always had her nose in a book and never quite connected with reality. She guessed that's what happened when you were locked up in a mental hospital for 15 years and never had any visitors.

©1995 Robin Bailey

Sweetened versus Unsweetened

2009-07-24T20:39:00.000-05:00

Some things aren't going to change just because I moved to San Antonio. One of them being I just don't dig drinking tea and I never have. Growing up with my four siblings and parents, I was the only one who hated it. I was the freak. In fact, I'm probably being sacrilegious by saying that I think tea sucks.

Tea is big here. They sell it in restaurants by the cup, pitcher and gallon. I kid you not. Now, my husband--he loves the tea. Me. Ugh. It is what it is...if I'm going to drink something with my meal it will be soda or booze. lol

What Texas offers that I haven't seen offered before (I hear it's a Southern thing) was the choice in restaurants of Sweetened Tea or Unsweetened Tea. In California, when you order tea it's always unsweetened and you add your own sweetener--whether it's sugar, or the fake stuff. The first time I got offered Sweet Tea I thought I'd try it out. For me, it's still an ughhhh. There is just no kick to it. I like my drinks to have a bite, a kick or a whoop ass.

My husband chooses his tea unsweetened. The sweetened tea is just too sweet for him. This is a man who has used the fake stuff for years. But now, he drinks the unsweet tea with nothing added. His taste buds have changed since he came here. I think that's a good thing for him to not use the fake stuff.

I've never seen the volume of tea drinkers as I have here in San Antonio. They are definately a different breed of people. Apparently, there is never a bad time to drink the stuff. I wouldn't be surprised if someone made ice cream out of the stuff. They love it here that much.

I think I will stick to the only ice tea I really enjoy to drink--a well made Long Island.

Tacos in Texas

2009-07-23T19:40:00.000-05:00

I thought I knew what tacos were before I moved to Texas. It meant food from Taco Bell, my favorite Mexican restaurant or the ones you made at home from the yellow box. But, I was so wrong. It wasn't until we moved to Texas that I learned what real tacos should taste like--and it's not "yo quiero Taco Bell."

Texas takes taco making and taco eating to a whole new level. The first thing I was introduced to was breakfast tacos. Okay, wipe out the image of Sonic's or McDonald's breakfast tacos right out of your mind. They take cardboard to a whole new level. Texas breakfast tacos are almost a religious experience.

The foundation of a Texas taco starts with homemade tortillas. That's right. Homemade. Fast food restaurants here make their tortillas from scratch. How do I know that? I see them plop out of the machine and right on the grill. Just as Krispey Kreme lets you see how their donuts are made, so do many Texas fast food restaurants. But even if you can't see them making it, it's easy to tell the difference between store bought and made from scratch. Taste a Texas flour tortilla and you'll never be the same again. Soft, substantial, light and tasty, these tortillas are good enough on their own to eat with a little bit of butter and nothing else.

The breakfast tacos here are filled with scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, fried potatoes, ham, refried beans, cheese, Carne Guisada or brisket. That's right. Brisket. I bet you used to think that Brisket was something just for lunch or dinner. Not so. Texas takes its barbecue quite seriously (that's for another blog lol) and it's even hit the breakfast menus.

And what's strange is that it's not strange to eat brisket for breakfast. In fact, it's might tasty and quite affordable. For under four bucks you get a couple of tacos and some caffeine and you are set for the day.Tacos are eaten from morning to night in Texas. Fillings include fish, shrimp, chicken, beef, pork, vegetarian and everything else in between.

You get so spoiled here. Store bought tortillas will never be in your shopping basket once you've eaten the real stuff. I've even gone through the drive through at one of our local Mexican fast food restaurants and ordered flour tortillas to go (they sell them by the dozen here). I then went home and made my own enchiladas using their tortillas. Oh yeah, baby. Tacos in Texas--it's an experience you have to have first hand to truly understand.

Being Polite is Part of Being Texan

2009-07-22T21:09:00.000-05:00

I'm an adopted Texan. About two and a half years ago, my husband and I decided to sell our house, pack up all we own (and everything we still owe on) and move to San Antonio. We had no home, no family nearby and most importantly,--no job waiting for us. We moved cold turkey. Most would ask, "What the hell are you doing?" I know my husband asked me that more than once.

I just knew it was the right time to make a change. We both had ties to Texas in various ways. His grandmother was born in Texas. One of his great grandfathers is buried up in the panhandle. Three of my older siblings were born in El Paso when my Dad was in the service. So, we've heard stories about the state over the years. (We pictured Texas as being full of rattlesnakes, sagebrush and big skies, but that's another blog. lol)

What made us truly pack up and move was the price of housing. Only someone living in California can truly understand the value of a purchasing a new home with more than 3,100 square feet for a mere $200,000. It was a dream come true. Of course, to do this we had to move thousands of miles from everything we knew. We had to leave behind all family and friends and somehow find a job. But we did it.

And we bought that house, with escrow closing in only one week. If that wasn't destiny I don't know what to call it. We love the house, the neighborhood and yes, we both got jobs.

The first thing I noticed when we moved to Texas, (besides the affordable housing) was how polite everyone was--no matter where you were. Work, shopping, and even fast food restaurants--we heard a lot of "Yes, ma'am, " or "Thank you, sir." A smile almost always greets us wherever we go. At first, it was quite unnerving. I kept wondering what the person's secret agenda was--my Mama didn't raise me a fool. But, no agenda. Go figure? People are just polite here. I found myself picking up the habits. Especially at work, I would find myself responding to people, "Yes, ma'am." "No, sir." and I meant it. If I had done that back in California they would have thought I was from another planet.

The longer you live here, the more you get manners. Now, that's not saying there aren't idiots here, because they are still around. But, on the whole, most people will treat you mighty nice. You start to feel you are a better person because of it. Having manners actually feels nice.

I think I like it.