Curse of the Kielbasa

Curse of the Kielbasa

or

You Never Sausage a Jinxed Dinner

It was undoubtedly the ol' Curse of the Kielbasa.
When faced with a moral dilemma of whether to pull something out of the freezer for Thursday night's dinner or risk a big jinx by not planning on dinner at home; it can be said by the Fates, "You chose poorly."

After months of delay, mixed with a measure of trepidation, six months of practice and experience where the rubber meets the road and days of anticipation; it was decide that February 24, 2011 would dawn as the day of one of America's Great Rites of Passage for Grant - The TRIP to the DMV for a driver's license.

The night before, Grant sat at the dinning room table and assembled his folder with all documents necessary to avoid rejection by Selma and Patty sitting behind the counter at the Department of Public Safety.  We all know that you are going nowhere fast without their stamp of approved on the list of state required documents for the operation of a motor vehicle (Class C).

Grant, does your folder contain:

• Completed Log of on-line computer based Driver's Ed Course work? Check
• Complete Log showing hours behind the wheel? Check
• VOE (Validation of Enrollment, High School) signed by administrator? Check
• Social Security Card? Check
• Passport for proof of citizenship and Photo ID? Check
• Declaration that you are not addicted to drugs or criminally insane? Oh, where did that go?
• Proof of Vehicle Insurance? Check
• Affidavit from driving instructor [Dad], signed and notarized? Check

Sounds like everything is in order.
In celebration of your Rite of Passage we think you should drive us to dinner tomorrow night at a place of your choosing (assuming you do pass the test).  Deal?
Deal!

Sue asked me on the morning of the 24th, "Should I put something out to thaw for dinner, or risk jinxing Grant by not pulling anything out of the freezer and plan on having him drive us to dinner with his new driver's license tonight?"  We seriously considered how tempted the fates would be if we made definite plans to have Grant drive us to his celebration, weighed against a plan to prepare to cook our own dinner at home.  I suggested that we pull something out of the freezer and mention loudly (to no one in particular) that this would be dinner for tonight - NOT tomorrow night.  I thought to myself, "Now that is a pretty clever loop hole to avoid tempting fate with the curse of the kielbasa".

Grant made an early escape from his duties as an aide in the High School attendance office and met me in the parking lot at 12:30.  I offered him a seat behind the wheel, but he deferred, not knowing exactly where to find the DPS Temple of Teenage Testing, the Valhalla of Vehicles, the Nirvana of Navigators.  So I headed toward the one and only sole DPS office in the State of Texas that has his application on file as a permitted driver.  It was made very clear when applying for a Driver's Permit, that one had to designate a single DPS location to handle all your records - if you veered either to the north or to the south and you tried to apply at a location different than the one originally designated, YOU WILL BE DENIED.  You must travel the straight and narrow road.

As I pulled into the strip mall where the DPS office is located, I noticed a great paucity of parked cars.  What good luck!  It looks like the usual 55 minute wait amongst squalling kids and multiple cell phone conversations in Espanol will largely be avoided this afternoon, we are going to sail right through this application process!  The reality that Grant is never this lucky hits us when we get to the entrance; "Due to Water Damage, this office will be closed until Feb. 28, 2011".  We will try again on Monday, Feb. 28, but I suspect the office holding Grant's files will not be opened until mid-March.  Bummer!

As long as we were in that part of town, I suggested lunch at Rick's Smokehouse.  The Thursday Lunch Special? Yes, as fate would have it - smoked kielbasa.

Zombie Apocalypse on Aisle 3

For the last time last night, Sue and Grant visited the Albertson's grocery store that is just a stone's throw from our back door.  The shuttering of several Albertson's stores in the area was announced last month and there are but a few days left before our local source of milk, baguettes and pharmaceuticals is no more.  With the shelves mostly empty, and the pharmacy, deli and bakery sections now boarded off, the once familiar shopping environment was transformed into an eerie movie set of the much feared Zombie Apocalypse, where the commercial world is vacant and beset my zombies wandering around the city waiting for a buy-1-get-1-free sale on sweet breads.

In addition to the zombie apocalypse feeling from the nearly vacant aisles, the few and peculiar assortment of items that remained on the shelves offered the sense of walking into a time warp, "Look, a can of shaving powder! -  I didn't think anybody has been able to buy a can of shaving powder since 1959. How long do you think this has been sitting on this shelf?"  Like an extreme low tide that reveals the hull and masts of an old sunken sailing ship from a bygone century; such was the character of merchandise revealed after a tide of bargain hunters swept away the standard stuff at 50-80% Off!!.

When we first moved into this house, Albertson's was then Skaggs Alpha Beta, a brave little store on the growing edge of town.  For just a few needed sundries, we could grab our ruck sack and walk across fallow cotton fields and use the farmer's old culvert to stay out of the ditch and then skip across two lanes of light traffic on Highway 78 to do our shopping.  The cotton fields have long since sprouted 4 bedroom homes and Hwy 78 is now 6 lanes with a dividing median strip.  Luxurious Kroeger stores and Super Wal*Marts have come to town and the retail cycle has moved past humble Albertson's, where we were on first name basis with Karla the pharmacist.  Where once when shopping for pampers and formula with by baby daughter strapped into the shopping cart seat, an elderly woman approached me an intoned some important words in Mandarin (or was it Taiwanese - I don't recall), I smiled politely.  A younger woman came and translated, "My mother-in-law says 'your baby girl with big eyes looks like a beautiful doll".  I smiled a bit wider and then nodded my thanks for the compliment.  It was just a few years later, when "Big Eye Doll Baby's" mother was paged by the cashier; "Would the mother of Snow White please come to the front of the store", after Inga had slipped away while wearing one of her favorite Disney dresses, apparently to cull the poison apples from the produce section. 

The local grocery market will depart the world of retail in just a day or two, but it will leave behind some memories of well-worn  daily shopping routines and we will miss the smell of 4 o'clock hot French Bread, fresh out of the oven, a temptation we seldom passed on purchasing.  In their last trip up Aisle 3 and  down memory lane, Sue and Grant did make some final purchases at 80% off - beside the milk they originally came to buy, they got a great deal on a small jar of caviar and a pack of animal cookies in boxes shaped like school buses.

I don't know about your plans, but as for the Suneson's, once the real Zombie Apocalypse comes, we will lock the doors, close the blinds and survive on caviar and animal cookies.

Mizzou for U

It is official - almost.

Grant plugged in my credit card number and sent off $150 to the University of Missouri - Columbia (aka "Mizzou") to register as an incoming freshman for Fall 2011.  He has received snail mail and email invitations from gobs of schools hoping he will apply with them; the University of Chicago, Brown University, Syracuse as examples of well known institutions, some smaller schools of note including James Madison, William & Mary, Trinity University (San Antonio, TX), University of Houston and some real small fry such as Liberty University and Lyons College.  He also applied to the University of Oregon, beloved location of matriculation for his sister, but she understands his decision.  However, Grant is Facebook friends with Inga's good friend Alex, who seems to be taking Grant's plans to go to Mizzou instead of Oregon rather hard. Unfortunately, one can only attend a single school at a time, and Grant has been pretty focused on Mizzou since this summer. 

Of primary interest to Grant is the world class School of Journalism (#1 ranked "J-school"), which he hopes to parlay into a sports broadcasting career.  I applaud him for having a dream and making plans to follow his dreams, and I am heartily encouraged by his acceptance into the J-school program, which offers a well connected alumni base known in the journalism/broadcast business as the "Mizzou Mafia".  On the practical side of Grant's dream fulfillment is the fact that being a part of the Mizzou Mafia "Family" bodes very well for good career placement upon graduation.

Grant took up the special invitation extended last summer to visit Mizzou for a their Honors College Program.  His Mom and I drove with him to Columbia, MO, in July, 2010, where we toured the campus, listened to Deans pitch their departments, programs and scholarships, learned about campus life and dined in the dorm cafeteria.

Grant & his Mother at Mizzou Tiger Plaza

Grant had long expected to be attending The University of Texas in Austin, but that school's mandated acceptance of only the top 8% of Texas High School Seniors has made admittance to UT difficult to impossible for good students in competitive High Schools like Grant's.  Once Grant began to focus on major and careers, the top ranking for Mizzou's J-School made his decision to by-pass applying to his parents Alma Mater an easy one; once he was satisfied by our on-site Mizzou tour.  On the way back from Columbia, we spent a day looking over possible alternatives at the University of Tulsa and Oklahoma State, but without a specific tour arranged for us, Grant's interest was not at all piqued by these campuses.

Grant's cousin, Lisa, graduated from Mizzou and recommends it and the town.  Grant has scored in the top tier on the SAT, which has qualified him for the Mark Twain Non-Resident Scholarship on top of other academic merit incentives offered to entice promising students to enroll at Mizzou.  All things being equal, it may be cheaper to have him attend Mizzou rather than pay in-state tuition at the University of Texas.  The only thing that could be a better deal now is if we, his parents die, and he is adopted by his Uncle Bill.  Bill did his post-doctorate work at Mizzou and by adopting Grant, would make him eligible for the Legacy Exemption and waive out-of-state tuition and fees altogether.

"Truman" Mizzou Tiger Mascot

Later in the summer, Grant and I also visited the University of Houston campus and got an excellent personal tour from an UofH Honors College Student, but the strength of department and the lesser reputation of the school's influence ultimately tipped in favor of Mizzou.  After the UH tour we had hotel reservations in downtown Houston, where father and son took in a ball game at Minute Maid Park, watching the Houston Astros beat the Chicago Cubs.  [Grant is also hoping to visit every major league ball park, Minute Maid Park makes number 4 on the list] 

While in Houston we visited NASA Johnson Space Center/Mission Control.  There are lots of playland kind of rides and exhibits in the visitor's center - not what I was expecting for a premier technical and scientific agency, but perhaps it pays the bills and entertains the generations that did not have a black and white TV set rolled into their 4th Grade classroom so everyone could watch a Saturn V rocket liftoff on an Apollo Mission.  Once past the rinky-dink rides, we lined up for a tour of the NASA working complex.  Our tour shuttle carts where delayed because of thunderstorms in the area.  Apparently NASA not only does not launch space craft during electrical storms, but also does not launch rolling tour trams either.  Safety First.

I enjoyed the historic review of the American Space Program, triumphs and tragedies presented by NASA and recalling my perspective on space history to Grant, "Why when I was about your age..."
Our family is acquainted with two astronauts, one of which, Jim Reilly (Retired) was shown in footage on the International Space Station (ISS) playing with goldfish snacks in the weightless environment [Jim Reilly was a geologist with Enserch Exploration (my first oil company employer) before he was accepted as an astronaut by NASA].  I also related to Grant the answer to the question, "Where were you on July 20, 1969 when Neil Armstrong took 'One small step for a man, and one giant leap for mankind'?"  When man first walked on the moon, I was listening to some old man croon "My Beautiful Western Montana", a song he had written and was pleased to perform at the Show Boat Review on the shores of Flathead Lake (the "Show Boat" was normally a pile-driving barge that installed docks on the lake) .  My parents thought this family entertainment outing while visiting my grandparents would be more interesting than the historic events being broadcast from the moon and narrated by Walter Cronkite (University of Texas Alum).  Some times it is hard to tell if you are about to witness a historic event - sometimes it is not so hard.

Returning from Columbia, MO, we drove through Yale, Oklahoma, location of the Jim Thorpe Home and Museum.  I stopped for a little box turtle that was in the middle of the highway on the west end of town.  Grant and I scooped him up and found a nice place in the woods for the turtle to roam.  We figured the guy was as not as fleet of foot as Jim Thorpe and could likely use one "giant leap" for turtle-kind to keep from getting squished.

Grant saves "Thorpe" the box turtle
Yale, Oklahoma

Super Bowl Super Holiday

There has been some thought and a modest proposal given to declare another February Monday a National Holiday.  The argument is that Super Bowl Sunday is already the de facto Biggest National Party (eclipsing New Years Eve) and it should naturally be recognized that the American People need the following Monday as an official Holiday.

Dallas (technically Arlington, Texas) is hosting Super Bowl XLV this coming Sunday, February 6.  Lots of local coverage for this, the first time Dallas/Ft Worth has been given the "privilege" of hosting the event.  I am told lots of celebrity parties were scheduled for swanky hotel patios, and celebrity events out-of-doors under tents in the Cotton Bowl and other venues.  The planners were anticipating average temperatures around 56 degrees and hoping for weather like last weekend in the mid-70's.  But, despite Al Gore's protestations (and Oscar winning power point presentation) we have been facing the reality of some mighty cold weather.  Some blame the Super Bowl for bringing teams and from Green Bay, Wisconsin and Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania to town along with their weather.  Over 100 hours below freezing, with frigid lows not reached in 20 years. 



Friday Morning Snow
3 1/2 Inches Cancels School for 4th Straight Day



Tuesday, Feb. 1, first brought thunder squalls, then sleet and freezing rain and then snow.  School was cancelled due to the 1/2 inch glaze of ice over most of the roadways.  The temperatures never climbed above 24 (f) and the minor melt and evaporation left only a few dry patches on the street, with treacherous sidewalks and driving conditions remaining.  School was cancelled for a second day on Wednesday, and with no signs of thawing, again for a third day on Thursday.  The forecast for Friday was cold temperatures mixing with Gulf moisture for up to an inch of snow.  Friday school was cancelled again as Garland received 3.5" of snow.  Grant has exalted in the 6-day Weekend - A Super Bowl Super Holiday.

Some of the Suneson celebration of the Super Bowl Holiday:

Strider looks for the Dallas Morning News under the blanket of snow

The Dog Who Wants to
Come In From the Cold





Sue and the Dog Who Came In from the Cold
Snow Day!




Grant Heaps Snow Powder
Upon the Head of His Dear Mother



Sue and Grant Tango
After Son Dusts Mother







Strider enjoys his own SnoCone
We Warn Grant to Not Eat the Yellow Snow



Grant checks for Pecan Flavored Snow off of the Pecan Tree



Snow Covered Magnolia - Some how this doesn't seem right



Sue sends Warm Wishes

Warning! Check Engine for Major Cash Leakage

Cars seem so sophisticated these days.  Used to be we were told to see "Mr. Goodwrench", when things did not sound right with the vehicle.  Now it is a trip to "Dr. Goodwrench" ASAE, DMV, VIP, BMOC, thank you very much.  Of course the extra initials after the mechanic's name means extra charges.

Out to run errands on Monday afternoon, when the dash panel warning lights flash on with

• Check Engine
• VSC
• TRAC
• Skidding Car Icon

A check of the owners guide initially says under these conditions take car to Toyota Dealership.  A few pages further into the guide I read that the idiot lights might mean one or several of many things; most of which suggest differential gear, stability control and engine computer settings and the like.

I take "The Q" into the garage within walking distance from home for a look-see.  I ask if they know what all of these lights might indicate?  I am told they will have to read the codes before they could even hazard a guess.  But in order to read the codes, they will have to charge me $89.95.  It is a secret, members only, near metaphysical process by which these enigmatic lights are decoded and understood, well worth the money I am told.

I call Walter at 5 o'clock to see if they have had a chance to read chicken entrails and sift through the tea leaves and consulted with the decoder.  Yes, Walter tells me, they have several codes; a 30P-S30, a 50P-C13 and a 700T-11 [I am supposed be be impressed with alpha-numeric symbols].  These codes likely mean a major leak and a compromise in the computer's ability to optimally mix the air/fuel ratio and...
"What is leaking?" I inquire.
"Oh, the gas cap."
"You mean the gas cap is not screwed on properly is causing all of these warning lights?"
Walter tells me, that they will clear the codes and test drive with a new gas cap to be certain.

Meanwhile an ice storm blows in that night, but I get a call in the morning that indeed the codes are clear and I can come pick up the vehicle.  None too soon either, as his parts supplier (with a $15.99 gas cap) has stopped making deliveries on account of the icy road conditions.  I walk the 0.6 miles with a cheery Hawaiian shirt under my sweater and overcoat through -1 degree wind chill conditions to pay $108 for a new gas cap.

I just wish with all the sophistication of these car computers that the light would suggest; "Check Gas Cap" before sending up 4 warning lights, in which the decoding diagnosis costs 6-times the retail price of the part in question. Cars are sophisticated, but I feel like a fool.  Cha-Ching.

Salami @ $0.287/oz - A Bunch of Baloney

My kids will roll their eyes and feign utmost disgust at Dad's low brow pleasure, but I love to shop at Wal*Mart.  Just to pique their contempt, I will spontaneously sing a little ditty based on my shopping list:

Yup! Yup! Yup! I'm goin' to Wal-Mart
Yup! Yup! Yup! I'll be saving money 'cause I'm so smart
I'm going to buy me some beans and some jeans, ha ha ha!
I'm going to buy me some raisins and some rolls!
Yup! Yup! Yup! I'm goin' to Wal*Mart 

I just don't know how I raised kids that can justify middle class snobbery.  As I remind then, "I am all about value", and they know it.  Yup! Yup! Yup!

Saving some money of course has its value, but what the detractors in my family don't really realize is that by driving just 3 miles, I can put myself among the market stalls of exotic cultures, share cart space with people from distant lands and while walking from produce to cereals I can often eaves drop on speakers of Hindi, Arabic, Spanish and Tagalog.   While wheeling my goods literally from cosmetics to dairy, I have figuratively navigated from El Salvador to Thailand.  Follow me to the kasbah.  I have been shopping on a Sunday afternoon, only to be dazzled by several West African women in elaborate dresses and high-style headdresses (it is too simple to call them merely "hats") coming from worship services, I have have seen a scowling Chinese grandmother assiduously picking less-than-perfect grapes off the stems and tossing them before bagging the bunch and I have smiled as I have maneuvered around women with head-covering hijabs wagging their fingers and clicking their tongues in the universal "Mom Language" at whining kids.  Shopping at the local Wal-Mart is a trip.

But when it comes time to check out, this is America.  My fruit and vegetables are purchased by the pound, I do not buy by the kilo or gram and Bank Card Plastic is a good as the Coin of the Realm.  In 6th Grade, we were expected to know US weights and measures; 16 ounces in a pound, 3 feet in a yard, 4 quarts in gallon.  At Wal-Mart the hard salami is listed at $4.59 per pound (Per Unit Pricing lists the price at 28.7 Cents per Ounce).  As a perverse shopper and graduate of the 6th Grade, I will walk up to the deli counter and ask for 12 ounces of salami.  The employee's eyes usually show panic at my request in units of ounces.  I had one employee whisper to her manager, "He wants 12 ounces!! Our scales don't measure in ounces!"  The manager whispered back, "Just give him half a pound".  Despite labeling salami in pounds and ounces, the scales are only digital, requiring the merchant to know how many ounces in a pound.  I have had deli workers weigh out 0.62 lbs and ask "Is that close enough?" [clever bluff] Alas, only once has my request been measured accurately.  I am not sure if the inability to convert 12/16 of a pound into 0.75 lbs deserves a commentary on the US educational system, arithmetic standards for entry into Middle School or quality of Wal-Mart employees.

Using the metric system may be logically the easiest system, but converting from English to Metric for our citizenry is a non-starter; I think going digital is as far as we can go with our weights and measures without disturbing the domestic tranquility.  God Bless America! Yup! Yup! Yup!

Birds & Bees, Nuts & Bolts

Sue, as Director of Children's Ministries at Preston Hollow Presbyterian, last week finished the third and final week of sex education classes held Sunday afternoons for 2nd through 6th graders.  The weekly units included body parts, where babies come from, puberty and safety.  The teachers will build on the material covered in the previous week with informal discussion, review and reinforcement of previous topics.

Fifth Grader, Sophie, while trying to recall body parts from Unit 1 during Unit 3, was getting a bit mixed up over the distinction between testicles and scrotum.  When the teacher began to define each part once again, Sophie interrupted the teacher with delight as her conceptual understanding clicked into place, just as her teacher was going over the definition of the scrotum; "Oh!" spouted Sophie, "You mean the 'nut sack'!"

Sue and the teacher bolted for the hallway where they could work at returning their faces to proper decorum.  Yes they agreed, Sophie had been holding out on them, she had it figured out all along.

Weather Dog

Some action figures come equipped with "Wonder Dog".
The Suneson's are equipped with "Weather Dog".

Weather Dog
Wonders whether the doggone weather warrants watching

We have seen some extreme weather changes here in North Texas.  Today (02/01/2011) is a great example; on Saturday, January 29th it was 76 degrees.  Early Tuesday morning, February 1st, I awoke to thunder, soon followed by rain, which turned into heavy sleet and frozen rain pelting my bedroom window.  A 5 AM check of local news showed the expected closure of Garland ISD due to a thick glaze of ice across all the roads.  I told Grant that school was cancelled, he raised two clinched fists in the air from beneath his bed covers, whispered a thankful, "Yes!!" And returned to sleep another five hours.  Light snow flurries have continued through the day.  Tonight's low temp is forecast to be 9 degrees (wind chill at around -5), a change of 67 degrees in about 50 hours.

These wild temperature changes have everyone around here guessing as to what to expect.  But we are fortunate to have a Weather Dog that will tell us the current weather conditions.  We simply send Weather Dog outside for a few moments, and upon his return we can determine the meteorological manifestations happening in our neighborhood.

     If Weather Dog returns Wet - It is Raining
     If Weather Dog's curly tail is straight - It is Windy
     If Weather Dog returns with White Spots - It is Snowing
        (This phenomena is known as the Inverted Dalmatian)
     If Weather Dog Does Not Return - It was a Tornado

If Weather Dog is Visible at Night - It has Snowed

Weather Dog will be happy that his pack will hang around the house again tomorrow, as the iced-over streets will keep school closed a second day.

**********************************************************************************

Weather Dog Digs the Snow
His Pack gets 4 Days off Due to Ice & Snow
(Update 2/4/2011)

The Good Earth (& The Bad Weather)

Saturday, January 29th was a particularly pleasant 76 degrees (F) for the end of 2011's first month.  As I drove home from Taylor's Rentals back up Garland's First Street, the radio coincidentally offered up some old words from John Prine; he gave his advice on life as he sang these words:
     Blow up your TV,
     Throw away your paper,
     Move to the country, build you a home,
     Plant a little garden,
     Eat a lot of peaches,
     and try to find Jesus - on your own.

As noted earlier [Celebration in the Temple], Sue spent a wad of her birthday gift money on plants and seeds and she was raring to put those seeds, tubers, rhizomes and pots into the ground along with all of the hope in the world for a fabulous Spring and Summer garden.  Well, the start of Saturday morning, I was found lazily flipping through the paper, when she reminded me we were burning daylight.  It was time to take John Prine's advice (at least some of it); we'll start with throw away the paper and plant a little garden.

It was time to go see Bud at Taylor's Rentals, because Bud had several rototillers in his side shed that he was happy to rent to us for the day. We loaded the largest one that would fit into the back of our SUV and headed home to commence digging.  I set the choke, positioned the machine in the side yard, pinned the wheels up out of the way and dropped the drag bar down a couple of notches so it could find purchase in the blackland prairie soil that is to be Sue's garden patch between the driveway and the neighbor's fence.  I pulled the starter cord, engaged the clutch and those tines, like goblin fingers, began to rip into the moist, black-clay earth.  Sue was all smiles as she took the controls and began to merrily manage the magnificent mulch munching machine across the 10' x 40' plot.

The newly busted sod was treated with bags of cotton seed mulch in hopes of making the clumpy clay a bit more friable and root-friendly.  After several hours of power plowing, the tines were rinsed and the machine was loaded to make a return trip to see Bud at the tool rental store.  I pulled around back of Taylor's and went inside to finish the paper work.  Bud Jr. was now at the desk, and he ask, "How did the machine run?  Give you any problems?" 
   I said, "Well, my wife actually did most of the work with your rototiller, but she seemed to be pleased with its performance, she didn't mention any problems."
  "Ahhh, you've got a wife like that." Replied Bud Jr., with an approving grin.

That Saturday afternoon, peas and onions were planted.  Soon to come, asparagus, tomatoes, bell peppers, lemon cucumber, some variety of melon,  possibly spinach and blue corn and a peony for the joy of color.  The remainder of the planting has been held at bay after consulting the forecast.  As pleasant as last weekend was in the opening paragraph here; today (Tuesday, February 1st - 3 days later) the newly tilled garden sits beneath one-half inch of ice, sleet and frozen rain.  Tonight's low will be 12 degrees (F), but the garden is insulated by a layer of oak leaves, a gift from our neighbor's trees, transported from our front yard to the sideyard garden plot. 

Meanwhile, tonight we sit by the fireside, warming our now recovering "garden muscles", while the flowering pots of cyclomens and lobelia watch anxiously out the breakfast nook window, awaiting their turn to put roots into real dirt.  In Texas they say, "If you don't like the weather, give it 5 minutes."  It will be hot and humid before we know it, and we know that the weeds are already planning to put up shoots come next Saturday.