Boxing Day

Boxing Day!  Boxing Day!
December 26 is Boxing Day

No punches were thrown.
No fighting was known.
No pugilists were seen, No referee to cry "Foul!"
We just put up our feet and threw in the towel.

With a nice covering of silent snow blanketing North Texas, and nothing in particular to do, my less than ambitious plans included nothing more than a dash to the woodpile.  The remains of our storm-broken peach tree and our surgically removed 40-foot Ash tree branch, were all cut into 30" logs and stacked next to the garage during the summer and autumn.  Now we were perfectly prepared for just such a lazy snow day as this.

Strike a match, set the fireplace ablaze, pull up a chair and do a little bit of reading.

A perfectly wonderful Boxing Day.

Stockings were hung with Care -
Now there sugary treats have been emptied
Candy for Breakfast!  It's Christmas!



The Wife steals Mark's gift of
Team of Rivals by Doris Kearns Goodwin
to begin the Holiday reading



Toasting Tootsies

Strider keeps a lazy eye on all of the household inactivity

Thunder Snow Christmas Day

If anyone was listening for the sound of tiny hoofs landing on the roof that Christmas Night, what they likely heard instead was thunder and a healthy rain pelting the rooftop amidst an unlikely Yuletide thunderstorm.  The third-string TV meteorologist that had to work Christmas no doubt reported that this year Santa was bringing not just toys for the the good girls and boys, but also an arctic air mass - with the possibility of snow [White Christmas!?]

Indeed around mid-day the rain turned to large Texas-size snow flakes that floated and danced through the air.  Since the beginning of recorded weather events, this was only the second White Christmas, the first in 1937.

We sat by the fire and enjoyed the exchange of gifts until the striking of the clock chimes signaled mid-afternoon and time to prepare for Christmas Dinner.  We invited a couple of recently divorced friends over for the feast, Dianne whose daughter was off to California to visit her Dad and Jeff and old friend.  The feast featured salmon steaks, risotto, artichoke halves in garlic butter, cornmeal yeast rolls and a few bottles of wine followed by a hearty multi-sensory rum cake.

The snow ensconced yard was nice to view from the windows, though Inga was the only one intrigued enough to cover up in coat and boots and go out to romp upon the frozen landscape.

A Cool Yule!

Inga Silhouetted against the Shining Christmas Lights of Home

Inga ventures into the Winter Wonderland

Strider Loves Snow Days & Treats in his bowl

Inga discovers Reindeer Hoof Prints on the rooftops

Thunder Snow Christmas Morning

Christmas Eve Eleven PM Service at First Presbyterian features the reunion of young adults who have returned home for the holidays and who are encouraged to reunite in the chancel choir section and provide voice for the Christmas Eve anthems.  This year the choir director called a rehersal the week leading up to the Christmas Eve service, but once the dozen or so former members of the High School Choir gathered, he decided they would not reherse, just have dinner together and he'd select something with which they were familiar.  And so it came to pass, the "Youth Choir" (ages 18-27) sung their anthem in worship and exchanged updates on their lives in the 'real world'.

We lingered long past midnight visiting after we had extinguished our candles having sung Silent Night to close the service.  We drove home in two separate cars listening to the local Public Radio station's rebroadcast of the Christmas Blockbuster, an extended playing of ecclectic Christmas songs from Handel to the Kinks, interspersed with history and legends and factoids imbedded into the Christmas traditions.  One tradition is that if you feed your pets by candle light before sunrise in Christmas Day, your pet will behave well all year.  Grant fetched a Milkbone treat for Strider and lit a candle and after making the dog sit, he tossed him the treat while hold the burning candle in the otherwise darken kitchen.  What can be the harm?

Parents and children, enjoying the late Christmas Eve atmosphere stayed up until 2 AM laughing and chatting.   We were up late enough to hear the cold front roll down from Santa's North Pole, bring loud claps of thunder, bold flashes of lightning and tiny pecking sounds as the rain turned to ice and sleet striking the windows and leaves of the shrubbery.  We retired to bed beneath the welcomed and strange turn of weather with dreams of a White Christmas and a plan to rise late to find what Santa had hauled down the chimney.

Inga sips tea while viewing Mom open her gift

Grant styles his Oregon Ducks cap

Say "Cheese" = Sue gets a knowlege boost for her new hobby, cheese making

Inga is bemused by her brother's gift clue

Sue puzzles over the Suneson traditional rhyming gift clue



Grant receives a set of Nerf Rifles to bring on to campus -
 it seems to be all the rage this year



Inga suspiciously cracks open Steven Colbert's latest



Sue has a good time trying to get through all of that bubble wrap





Grant & Inga

Targets of Dad's new Camera

 

Inga studies rhyming clue after rattling a
mysterious box with her name on it



Inga connects the dots:
Windshield Ice Scraper, Tire Pressure Gauge & Key Ring
-It a new (used) Subaru gift from her Grandparents!!



Tree Hunt

It is now a fine family tradition.  The trip to Kadee Farms 60 miles from home to where all four Sunesons wander about the acreage, shouting to one another, "Come look at this one", then we all gather and circle the tree, debating.  
"It is not green enough."
"It looks sallow, I don't like it."
"It does not have a good top."
"Its branches are not well balanced."
"No, too scrawny."

All reasons to exercise a veto.  The process continues as someone else shouts, "Come look at this one!".  We circle again until it is unanimously agreed, this will be our tree.  We have been doing this for most of the past 18 years.  This year, Inga did not arrive into town until December 17, so selecting our tree on December 21st was cutting it pretty close to being able get a live tree before Kadee Farms closed for the season.

The hand saws that we pick up at the processing shack that are used to cut the tree are all very dull now.  I think next year we bring our own saw.  Once the tree has been felled, the tree-farm hands tie the netted tree to the rack on the roof of the 4Runner.  Then we head for the second half of the tradition, a Texas barbecue dinner.  In the beginning this meant a stop at the Double Deuce BBQ (home of the secret sloping bathroom).  The Double Deuce was razed some years ago, so we switched to Big Daddy's Texas Smoke House.  Last year I thought we found an upgrade at Big Baby's BBQ in Greenville, but this year Big Baby's was out of business, so it was back to Big Daddy's.  The tradition survives, it may change location and sauce, but the tradition must survive.

We ended up with a taller tree than usual, but what the heck, it's Christmas.  Once the living room furniture was rearranged, Grant and I balanced the tree in the stand and cut the netting off, allowing the branchs to unfurl and fill the room with evergreen holiday spirit and the scent of pine.  

Now it is Christmas!

Oh Christmas Tree!
Filling the house with the 'smell of Christmas'

Last Minute Addition
Live Tree Cut December 21

Christmas Holiday Begins

As for me, these things like Christmas now have a tendency to sneak up on me before I am really ready, much less having spent days or even weeks to anticipating the arrival of the Christmas Holiday as in bygone days.  Like the victim of a playful ambush with a packed snow ball rudely filling my ear - I think, "Where did that come from?"  Christmas already?

The kids now away at college look forward to arrival home and some sleep-in time and some of the vestiges of the old home routine and a reunion with High School friends.  Grant at the University of Missouri is on a semester system; finishes up with Fall semester finals mid-December, returns for Spring semester later part of January.  Inga at the University of Oregon is on a quarter system; finished finals early December but has classes begin for Winter quarter the very first week of January.

Grant texted he had plans to finish up his last final the morning of Wed. December 12 and drive home in 10 hours arriving late that night.  Sunday night the revised text message arrives, "B home 2morrow night".  

I just gotta ask, "What about your Sociology final on Wednesday morning?"  No problem, he can take the final online from his laptop computer at home (in bed), the professor will post it, it is an open-book final, an he can take it twice before Friday, and the Prof will use his best score to compute his semester grade.  So he and fellow classmate Sean (also roommate) use skype and work on the answers and submit their best answers (twice) from Texas and New Jersey.  I am thinking, "Back in my day a final exam was something that one ..." - but I don't tell him what I am thinking.  Life is just so cool and easy these days, no sense in bring up the analog past and mimeograph sheets and all of that pain.

Inga's Christmas travels and arrangements are a bit more complicated than her brother's.  She texted her preferred days of departure from Portland (she listed 3) and she definitely had to be back on January 6th, as classes begin the following day.  She and her two apartment mates, Alex and Jasmine (plus a couple of boyfriends) ended up at Jasmine's parent's beach house in Tillamook for a few days after the end of Fall Quarter.  She was ready to fly home after a week of down time in Oregon with friends.  It was my job, as holder of the credit card, to book the flights.  She had a $50 coupon (courtesy of United Airlines through Jasmine) which took me awhile to get the codes right before I booked a one-way flight to DFW Airport.  I did make the reservation to Texas; but I emailed her and told her I did not book a return flight since a Mayan friend of mine told me that the world was going to end on the 21st of December.  I thought maybe I should save the money that I would spend for a return flight to use instead on buying a generator or something handy like gold or maybe more stone to carve a few additional years onto the Mayan Calendar.  Then I remembered that Hollywood already made a movie about this Mayan end-of-the-world prophesy, so I figured if Hollywood scripted it, it can't be true.  So, I bought a return ticket a couple of days later.

Here it is January 6, the world looks about like it did on December 20th, for better or for worse; and Inga has texted that Sean, her faithful boyfriend was waiting for her with some surprises at the Portland airport when she landed.  For Inga, she will sleep in Eugene and have visions of sugar plums (or more likely lemon tea and a juicy steak) dancing in her head, then the sun will rise on another winter morning tomorrow and she will trundle off to class with the lights of Dallas far behind her.

And somewhere in the steamy jungles of Meso America, the chip-chip-chip of the Mayans are no doubt hard at work carving out another set of glyphs on a limestone wheel that will add another two millennia to our predicted earthly existence and yet many will turn their attention all too soon to the next doomsday thing and then fret.  As for me and my family, I think tonight I will plug in the Christmas Lights that adorn my eves and front bushes and hold to the hope that is heralded by this Christmas Season: God's Light has come into the world and the darkness has not overcome it.  

These are tiding of great joy!  Peace on earth and good will toward men with whom He is well pleased.

Season of Light

The first Sunday of Advent, a time set aside for preparation and anticipation for the fulfillment of prophecies of hope and redemption.  Or, a time to get great deals on 42-inch flat screen TV's and great discounts on this year's playstation and an amalgam of assorted electronic time-wasters. 

Maybe one does not have to choose either/or from the above.  But I am secure with my current size (of TV) and perhaps I have wasted too much time in other frivolous ways to consider wasting more time in getting excited over electronic games.  For me, I prefer dedicating some time to a few of the Christmas traditions and hold my doubts about the worthiness of camping in a Wal-Mart parking lot to purchase a bigger TV.

This Advent Season began with a 73 degree day!  Perfect for putting on one of my Hawaiian shirts and stringing Christmas lights along the eves.  I am not oblivious to modern trends, trends that add plenty of glitz, easily set up with the speed of a blitz.  Namely, yard art Christmas decorations, lighted lawn ornaments and manufactured Christmas light nets that can be thrown over a tree or a bush and plugged in without hassle.

For me, I have not modernized our outdoor Christmas display, I like to think it is out of some great virtue that lighted eves have over the inflated, internally lit lawn displays - but I must admit, there is no such virtue in the more tedious decorations, just a reluctance on my part to spend additional money when I already have "perfectly fine" outdoor Christmas decorations.  Not a scrooge - but a prudent approach toward the seasonal festivities and festooning I tell myself.  On the other hand, our neighbors when I was a kid proudly claimed they had an unlit "Bah Humbug! House"; we at least make an effort.

Not only are my Christmas lights not modern, they date way back, almost to the days of the Magi. I think they can be traced at least to 1972, the year of Nixon's re-election and pre-dating the Arab oil embargo.  These C-9 class color Christmas bulbs are individually crafted and screwed into their own socket, where they shine forth for but a few days before they must be replaced.  These C-9 bulbs were the kind of lights sanctioned by St. Peter himself as the official light of Christmas.  Now, we have strings of tiny LED bulbs made in China and sold for $2.89 for the whole string.  And when one goes bad, you do not lovingly and tenderly replace the now dimmed out beacon, but one is constrained by utilitarian economics to throw out the whole lot.  Sons of perdition! Indeed, the proliferation of these type of namby-pamby disposable Christmas lights are the harbinger of the "end times" I say.

Clothing myself in self-proclaimed righteousness and with my arms wrapped in a tangled mess of green electrical wire and fragile C-9 bulbs, I ascend the latter to tediously and precariously insert the C-9 with their specialized attachment apparatus between the eves and shingles.  The lights are alternating blue and green spaced 12" apart, casting a heavenly peace across the front of the house once the December sun has set.  I kind of like the look, even if it engenders within me an unholy smug self-satisfaction.  Jesus will forgive me.

Many of the houses in the neighborhood have a variety of seasonal displays that came out of the garage when the temperature was in the 70's, weathered  cold, strong 40 mph winds the next week, snow on Christmas day, and by the beginning of Epiphany (Jan. 6) it was back to 70 degrees. Two doors down, the Rivera family sets up quite the holiday display on their lawn.  They go for the inflated, animated and illuminated electric and eclectic lawn decorations.  For Christmas they display:  The M&M characters, an animated penguin that rises up out of a jack-in-the-box, the Holy Family kneeling at a manger, an 8-foot snowman, a Christmas moose (or is it a reindeer?) with 3-foot plastic candy canes lining the front walk. 

As Tiny Tim pulls himself up on his crutches and comes out from the chimney corner and walks down our street and sees one house with only lights set out and another with a lawn filled with M&M characters, candy canes and a moose and a vinyl snowman; I hear him shout, "God bless us everyone!"

Indeed, a Merry Christmas to all!

Shrimp Leftovers - Like I was sayin'...

After the big birthday party, we had dirty dishes and some leftover shrimp.

Like I was sayin', shrimp is the food of the sea and was now the dominant leftover in the fridge from my birthday party.  I bought 14.5 pounds of shrimp, I boiled and served 10.75 pounds of shrimp to 16 guests, I had about 3 or 4 pounds of leftover shrimp.  Bubba says there are lots of ways to prepare shrimp, so with the leftovers, we had many shrimp meals, including:

• Sauteed shrimp
• Shrimp and onions in remoulade sauce
• Coconut fried shrimp
• Shrimp bisque, and
• Shrimp and bacon quiche

...that's about it.

Big Shrimp 55th Party: And Other Oxymorons

I do love my oxymorons.
    Jumbo Shrimp
    Military Intelligence
    English Cuisine
    My 55th Birthday Party

The wife asks me on Friday night, "So, what does 55 feel like?"
I say, "Man, I can't believe 30 was one quarter-century ago.  I feel a lot like 32, but dang - 65 is only 10 years away."
I say, "Man, being 55 beats the alternative you know!"

The wife tells me on Friday night, "I feel bad I could not come up with any thing for your birthday present."
I say, "Tomorrow's party with great friend, good food and maybe some wine and 55 years worth of stories, that sounds about my speed for now."

And so it came to pass, Mark Suneson decreed all should gather for a birthday party on the Saturday following Thanksgiving. They came, they laughed, they cried they ate and they drank.  And it was good.

We were expecting from 12 to 19 people at the house.  I was planning on cooking for all.  The question was, how much shrimp does one need to feed this many people?  [Answer at the end of this blog] I thought 14.5 lbs should be about right and so place an order at Central Market for deveined, raw, easy-peel jumbo shrimp.

We had 16 bring their party attitude to our door.  One couple was under the weather, but we did not receive that Facebook message with their regrets until after the party.  Another couple who had said they would be here, even though it involved a 100-mile drive (one-way) was phoned about 2 that afternoon and asked to bring a few more chairs.  My request to bring a few more chairs was met with akward bepuzzlement and stammering after a pregnant silence.  "What...?  Why...?  You want chairs? ...at your house?  When? ...tell me again - this for what?  After a brief explanation of the event, he said, let me check with Donna - hold on?  I hear, "Yikes!" (or something like that) over the phone.  I am told that they will be here, and they'll bring along a few chairs.

Sue was the pastry chef and was working on scratch lemon meringue pies (rather than cake) at the old man's request.  She turned the kitchen over to me at 3 PM - Dinner at 6 PM.

For the feast for the ancient of days, the table would be set with:
   Boiled shrimp
   Homemade remoulade (made the day before to let the favors blend)
   Grilled Italian sausages
   Dirty Rice
   Cream of Tartar Biscuits (scratch family recipe)
   Green Salad
   Lemon meringue & Key Lime pies
   (guests were asked to bring their favorite beverage to go with our lime rickies, ice water and soda)

Aaah. Waiter! Bring more wine, I feel like a kid again!

We had 14 lb 8 oz of shrimp on hand.
We cooked and served 10 lbs 12 oz.
AND after everybody had their fill, we had about 3-4 lbs cooked but unconsumed. AKA leftovers.
Total:  7-8 lbs for 16 people. 
The Wisdom I gained by turning 55; expect people at a party to eat about 8 oz of shrimp.  I treasure this knowledge but I am happy to share it with you. 
And, if you act now - we can share some shrimp with you too.  Drop on by and see my Jumbo Shrimp.
Let us Eat, Drink and be Merry!

Thanksgiving Home Coming

With darkness coming a short time after 6 PM and the Texas nights drifting into the 50's with a few mornings of fog, Autumnal activities can not be far behind.

For Grant, Thanksgiving means a full week off from classes at Mizzou.  He has been looking forward to getting away from classes for much of this semester.  One of his apartment mates was not going home until the weekend, so Grant asked Sean to take notes for him on their mutual late-Friday class, as he load his mound of dirty laundry into his car and headed south by southwest. arriving home after 7 PM Friday night after a 9 hour drive.

From what we could pry out of our sophomore, we learned that this semester is a rigorous cycle of classes for J-School, and many end up changing majors at this point.  He himself has entertained such thoughts, but knows he can not make a living as a Philosophy major, so it remains Journalism.  At this juncture, J-School students are asked to choose 1 of 5 emphasises:

   Broadcast (TV - Radio)
   Print/Digital (Writing)
   Strat Comm ('Strategic Communications' - Marketing)
   Magazine (Focus on design & lay-out)
   - and so other thing that I can't remember (must not have been important)

Grant was initially encourage by others to consider Broadcast because of his voice and easy of communication and conversational style.  He considered Broadcast, but was really interested in writing, specifically Sports Writing & Reporting, which falls under Print/Digital.  With this tract, he will be given a "beat" next year, where he will be writing for the Columbia Missourian, the local subscription paper.  He will likely start by covering area High School sports and work his way up to traveling with the University teams and interviewing the scholar-athletes on campus.  One step at a time I say.

Grant has now made enough money making and delivering sandwiches for Mr. Goodcents deli-shop that he can apply for in-state tuition as a working resident of the State of Missouri.  They Mizzou administration says, "Can you prove you have worked in the state and made enough to qualify for residnecy?"  Grant answers, "Yes I have."  They then say, "Show Me."  The papers for in-state tuition should be approved by the end of the year.

Also, he and his two apartment mates are planning on hosting a campus radio show covering sports, current events and pop culture - or something.  May be it'll be a show about nothing (?).  Should be good experience for his journalsim future anyway.  One of the trio, Carson, already has his own show on radio, so they already have a foot in the door.

While home, he did a lot of sleeping; or at least he did not get to see the crack of noon too often.  He spent a lot of time on his lap top, I don't ask.  Otherwise, he went out in the evening with a few old High School chums and some of the Mighty Owl Orchestra gang gathered for a meal and a movie.

While home, we replaced the front brakes and changed the oil in his machine.

Thursday, November 22 we had gladly accepted an invitation for a Thanksgiving Dinner at the Home of Bill & Susan Cook.  Their daughters Lisa and Sarah were there along with Sarah's two daughters, now grown into young ladies.

It was a fabulous feast as always, though the turkey was operating under dual instructions, one set from the turkey wrapper and the other set from the cook book.  The Cooks opted for the indigenous wrapper instructions, but that meant a bit more time past the appointed 2 PM scheduled feast as it turned out.  What is the rush anyway?  It is done when it is done.  Just more conversation before we all trip out on the tryptophan.  We brought along a couple of pies, pumpkin and Sue's speciality, pecan.  I enjoyed everything, including the tomato aspic (I married into this T-day gastronomical element, so I've never complained - nor should I).  We returned from Wichita Falls the same day, as we had a dog waiting for his turkey bones at home.



It was a day of rest on Friday as well as my birthday.  Grant was out with friends, and I asked to be taken out to have a dinner of seared scallops.

Come Saturday, I was throwing myself a party and cooking for 16 friends.  It is all worth Giving Thanks.

It Was a Good Run - Like, I Mean RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!

The 6-Foot spider web goes up in the corner of the front porch first.  Spider is attached to the web using his fuzzy brown, pipe cleaner legs.  Only, this year, only six of his legs could be found.  I was relieved that no precocious 7-year old trick-or-treater came and said, "Hey mister Goblin, your spider only has six legs.  You know spiders are not really insects, but are technically arachnids and they have 8 legs.  Did you know you got that wrong?  Can I get some candy now?"  So at least that Halloween fear of mine was averted.

I carved two jack-o-lanterns this year on the 30th, since if I carve too much earlier, the +80 degree days we often see in late October in Texas quickly rot the pumpkin.  I went to the closet a pulled out my old white sheets to add a scary affect (No, they are not those kind of white sheets) and draped them in the entry hall where I set up an axe on a bloody chopping block illuminated by a 5-candle silver candelabra.  On the porch was a brain (made by pouring peach Jello + evaporated milk in a brain mold) on a dinner plate, and under the brain plate was hidden a bowl of candy.

The shtick this year was that I was a rotting skeleton who had "lost my mind" and I could therefore not remember where I put the treats.  If only someone would help me find my "mind' [brain] I would see if I could deliver some treats.  If they have endured this charade and lasted up to this point, they will then help me and point out my plate of brains.  When I pretend that they want to eat brain-food and serve them the plate, they discover candy under the plate.  They invariably tell me that they would prefer the candy.

One of my first visitor was dressed as a ghoulish skeleton.  It was Jayden and his parents from directly behind us, across the alley.  Last year Jayden was an army guy.  Once Jayden had steeled himself to approach my visage and get his treat, Jayden's mother whispered to me that "this year Jayden insisted he had to be something scary, like Mr. Suneson."  Yes!  That just chills the cockles of my cruel Halloween Heart.  The power of fear is realized by some at an early age.  You gotta earn your Skittles at my house on Halloween.

The crowd was fairly constant from 7 to 9, and I can never keep count, but I figure I had 30-35 visitors this year.  That does not count the likes of the mother and little Dracula who paused on the sidewalk directly in front of the house, listening to my recorded sound effects, and saw the lit candles and my goblin-faced, black robed figure seated under the spider web; then I heard her say, "This house is way too weird.  Let's keep going."

Spider Man came pretty early in the evening, and maybe his "spider-sense" was tingling and he really knew better, but Mom assured him that guy in the chair was not real he had to go up and ring the doorbell.  Just after he rang the bell and peered trepidaciously into the dark entry hall; from my position behind him, I snarled.  He screamed and lept directly up to clutch Mom's throat.

Several young ladies, trick-or-treating in pairs usually come by toward the end.  Being girls, they are usually very verbal expressing their misgivings and thoughts to one another as they approach my scene.  I love this, because they usually address their companion by name, which I then note.  There is usually a debate as to whether I am real or a just a dummy (this debate does often extend beyond Halloween), and which of the two should be the first to approach.  As this conversation plays out, at some point I then use there names and call out "Lydia! Come closer.  I want to steal your soul."  This really freaks them out!  They then think that I am somebody they know from school, but can not connect as to who.  I tell Little Bo Peep, that I know all things and I even know where she can find her lost sheep.  I just play with their little minds.  Next year I think I need to be a "troll" [in the modern cyber context].  

One of the pair of late evening 9th Grade girls managed to get a few Butter Fingers and then moved on to the next house.  I then begin to limp and drag my haunting specter across the lawn where they are waiting for a neighbor Jane, a nice lady, to give them some treats.  They see me shuffling across the dead leaves and plead with Jane. "Trick-or-Treat.  Please Hurry! Please!  He is coming after us!!"  They run away screaming into the night as I bid them sweet nightmares.  I think we all had a TERRIBLY good time.

Find a Farmer



American Gothic
Painted by Grant Wood

In the second year in the J-School at the University of Missouri, the sophomores are required to take a weed-out course listed in the Catalogue as Cross Cultural Journalism.  The students derisively refer to it as a course in "white guilt".  Grant rolls his eyes (we could tell even over the phone) when relating that the professor spent an entire hour going over the proper way to describe a person from the New World who descended from Spanish heritage.  As I understand it now, this is multiple choice with only one (politically) correct answer:

   A.  Hispanic
   B.  Latino/Latina
   C. Chicano/Chicana
   D.  (nation of birth)-American; e.g. Mexican-American, Salvadoran-American
   E.  Undocumented-American
   F.  Illegal-American
  G.  Spanish-Speaking American
  H.  American

When I was growing up in California the Mexicans attending Junior High with me referred to themselves as Chicanos.  In College the Chicanos on campus had a separate newspaper called La Raza [The Race] - which always struck me as tilted toward heralding an exclusive ethno-centric worldview.  But, those were the times.  There was even a separate graduation ceremony for Hispanics sponsored at the public university, certainly not because there was a remnant of racism.  But a doctrine of "Separate but Distinctly Different Culture (that you Gringos just would not understand, so why try. No comprende)" was in force.  I visited my Friend Bob Lundahl, the Dean of Student Affairs, and enquired about signing up for the exclusive Nordic Heritage Graduation Ceremony.  He took a long draw on his ever-present cigarette and laughed.  Then he told me to go away.  --But I digress...

In the middle of the term, the students in Cross Cultural Journalism were given an assignment to personally interview a farmer and get their opinion on health care reform.
The entire class thought, assign me a chapter to read, give me a topic upon which to research and write, give me a pop-quiz; but where am I going to find a farmer? 

Grant called his mother with the news of the daunting task, adding that the TA had provided the caveat that "Don't be surprised if you find in really hard to get an interview, because there are so many J-School students crawling across Columbia, a relatively small town, and most of the locals are tired of dealing with student journalists like you.  They've all been interviewed before."  Well, Grant had a good source and he made the right call; his country born, bred and raised mother was not at all stymied.  One of her more promising suggestions was, "Go the the local farmer's market.  Of course after you make your purchase, you can then ask for an interview."  With his eye's opened, Grant tried the Columbia Farmer's Market the next day, Thursday.  There were no farmers there on Thursday.  But on Saturday, there would be farmers.  The Farmer Interview had to be turned in next Thursday.  Up and at 'em on Saturday morning, be selected a bag of Missouri apples and said to the the apple growing lady at the stand, "How about an interview on your views of health care reform?"  She said, "OK, how about next Wednesday?"

Arrangements were made for him to drive 30 miles to Booneville and meet his farmer at the old downtown hotel.  At the appointed time, with his iPhone in recording mode, he sat down with his source.  She had come, not only prepared to answer his questions, but she had brought a copy of the United States Constitution, marked up and illuminated and explained her ideas and opinions over the following 60 minutes.  Wednesday night he had a whole lot of transcribing to do, but he had finished the assignment where others in the class had yet to find a farmer.  How 'bout them apples?

Geckos Tell Tea Time

The accumulated wisdom of the ages is passed down through oral tradition, apprenticeships with the shaman and wisdom from the people-of-the-earth.  Some of these wise notations have been collected and recorded in the Farmer's Almanac.

Watch the Woolly-Bear Caterpillar to see if it will be a hard winter.
Plant corn by the phase of the moon.
Don't run with scissors.
Never wear ratty underwear - because what if you get in a horrible accident and you have to go to the hospital - and then what would the doctor think if he saw you wearing ratty underwear?

Now I have discovered a talisman for the urbanite:  How late into the year can you make solar tea by placing 2 tea bags in a 1 1/2 gallon glass jar on the back deck in the morning, coming home in the evening to find a jar of fresh brewed tea to be served over ice with dinner?

This conundrum has been baffling me for a few years.  But the answer is given by the geckos.  The answer is:
    Turn on your back porch light in the evening, this attracts insects, which then in turn attracts gecko lizards to eat the insects.  The geckos will show up as lithe little guests at your home from Spring until well into the summer.  But once they no longer gather around your porch light, the season for making solar tea has passed.

Knowledge is power. Use it wisely.



 Listen to the wisdom of the lizard!  And sip your tea with a mind at peace.

Movin' On Down & Out

The weekend following Labor Day, it was going the be the first coolish weekend in months - good timing.  My friend Jeff called and said the news is that "the house finally sold - I have to be out by Monday the 10th."  Of course I offered to be of any assistance I could, "Do you need some help in moving?"  I felt good about being able to actually act as a friend, and I felt good that he answered with resignation, "yeah - the would be appreciated."

Jeff's divorce had been final for several months, and part of the settlement was that he had to stay and repaint and clean the place and keep it ready for the occasional showings earning the skinny-end of the split of the sales proceeds.  We maintain friendship with both sides of the shattered couple, but this was a time that Jeff truly needed some help.  Sue, though not included on the original "helper list", quickly added herself once I told her the circumstance of how I was going to spend the coming weekend.  The ex-wife just happened to call Sue on Friday night and worked into the conversation a question as to whether she was going to be helping Jeff the next day?  For those keeping score - the answer was, "why, yes."

We set about the tasks Jeff directed us toward, mainly boxing up piles of household stuff to be delivered to the Salvation Army and boxing up lots of what remained in the kitchen cabinets for stowing in the U-Stor-It across town.  Two other work friends were man-handling the appliances and trucking them to storage while we worked on our corner of the glum circumstance.  James, the youngest of the 3 kids, was the only one of the siblings left in town, and he showed up dutifully later in the morning and helped sort through the flotsam of the shattered family without much enthusiasm.  James had helped move his mother to her apartment.  James had helped move his older brother to his new place once he landed a job 80 miles out of Dallas.  James had moved himself into an apartment he found on Craig's List once his bedroom was on the market.  Now James showed up to clean out the last of those familiar items of home, towels of a certain color, drinking glasses that were once of special significance, plates & bowls from mealtimes together.  James seemed to be tired of shoveling family members and family memories to far flung disparate localities.

In the end, the house was basically clean.  We had know the family before the 3 kids were born, and though Sue's job that day was to sort, box, sweep and discard, it was not with "ruthless efficiency" as there was obviously a lot of sentiment going out to the growing pile on the curb where it would wait for the scavengers to pick through old toys, lamps and odd furniture until Wednesday morning when the Garland City trucks with "Solid Waste Department" lettered on their doors would scoop up the wreckage of what was once a family and haul those mementos - now officially "trash" - off as landfill.  Among the curbside memories was a High School graduation gown, some photos and works of children's art.  If the all the hauling were not so physically exhausting, the emotional toll could really hit home.

Just me and Jeff on Sunday morning for the last odds and ends.  Mostly clothing and bottles of liquor that we moved to the travel trailer that Jeff had parked at the Holiday Village Travel Park, Jeff's new home on Highway 78, just across the road from the Pet Cemetery.  I asked Jeff if it was good that the house sale had now closed?  He looked for a silver lining; I can save some money without a mortgage, rent for the trailer space and power hook-up is pretty cheap - but I will miss living in a house.

Since the Facebook appeal brought no takers, Jeff's final duty on Monday morning was to gather up the cats and drop them off at the city animal shelter before work.

I was good to understand that being there was being a friend. 
Let's move on out. 
Let's move on up.

Moving on Down

While leaning against a log on the Mukilteo Beach on Puget Sound this past August, I was enjoying the salty sea-breeze and conversation when I get a message from LamCim Building Management, who is - putting this mildly, "a hands-off manager" of the building in which Sunstone Exploration leases office space.  Some may choose to use the term "slum lord".  Anyway, LamCim wanted immediate actions from all of the tenants on the 3rd & 4th floors, to either relocate to the 2nd floor or vacate their office.  The reason is that the building is minimally maintained that there are very few of us left in the building and management was tired of the cost of upkeep for a/c and other items for those of us above the 2nd floor.  I returned the message to LamCim indicating I would like to relocate to the 2nd floor - once I return from vacation.  No response from LamCim.   

My reasons for staying in the building were: it is only 3 miles from home, I like the convenience of banking with the bank branch that occupies the 1st floor, where I am on first name basis with the tellers, as well as the small town ambiance of downtown Garland and the lunch options within walking distance, not to mention the disruption and hassle involved in finding a new location and arranging for internet service and moving files, desks etc. and printing new business cards.

Once I reluctantly got up and moved away from the gentle lapping of the tide upon the Mukilteo beach gravel and flew back to Texas, I called LamCim and asked them to provide a few details for this "immediate" relocation.  Amy Airhead, the titular building manager, called one morning shortly thereafter and said she happened to be in the building to meet with another tenant, and wondered if I would like to meet with her regarding the move - now?  Sure - thanks for the returned call and for the courtesy of scheduling an appointment.  I left my suite #305 and met Amy Airhead on the second floor.  I looked at the available space (all of it on the 2nd floor) with Amy Airhead and said I'd like to have the office in the northwest corner of the building.  It was a single room with a few square feet more than my current 2 room office, but an equitable trade off.  Though I had adjusted to my space being split between a working room and a file & junk room, now I would have to deal more judiciously with my junk.  Amy said she would now consider my request.

About 1 week later, the last week of August, the A/C completely failed.  I called Amy Airhead (she does not take calls, but one can leave a message).  Via email, I am told that management was about to replace the compressors.  I email back, "better hurry, it is awfully warm in here."  No action over the next few days.  My emails go to Amy, inquiring on any solutions for a/c or the planned move?  The North Texas heat wave takes hold for the first week of September with triple digit temperatures.  I bring my thermometer from the house and put it on my desk.  It is 89 when I walk into my office in the morning and by 1:30 it is reading 100 degees (F)!  I take a photo of the thermometer.  I do not stay too long in my office for the next few days.

I go see the Civil Engineers in Suite 316, and I see that they have portable a/c units throughout there office space.  I tell them it is 100 degrees inside my office and acknowledge that they at least have a solution with the portable a/c.  He tells me, "My attorney got those for us."  I get his attorney's number.  I email Amy Airhead, and she sends back email with the lie that they will see what they can do for me about a portable a/c and the new a/c compressors are about to be installed - and she might as well have added that "the check is in the mail and it will be delivered by the Easter Bunny."  When I tell the engineers what the building management told me about replacing the units, he laughs and says, "they are not going to replace those units" [sucker]. 

Next I call city council member representing the downtown district.  She gets right back to me and sends the building inspector over the next day.  I meet with the city inspector, but he says there is not a lot they can do for slum lords of commercial property, and says he knew a guy whu used to office in this building "but the management was so @#%%! up that he moved out - that is probably your best option also."

The attorney for the engineers is in court so I contact another attorney, show him my lease agreement and he says I have a case because 3 weeks of no a/c is not beyond there control and as a rent-paying tenant, I have a right under Texas law to expect the premises to be habitable. 

I call LamCim. No response.  I send an email relaying what I learned from the my lawyer.  and ask for 1 month free rent (3 weeks without a/c and loss of work time + attorney fees).  A week later, just before rent is due, I get a letter via email that asks, "Why are you threatening me? We gave you a bigger office (+24 sq ft) and besides we are not liable."  Offering to reduce 1 month's rent by 50%.  I call.  No response.  Still waiting for several messages left with slum lord be returned.

After 3 weeks I did get help in moving down to Suite 210 (I believe I share this number with Sherlock Holmes on Baker Street) and I have a/c and walls painted with a color that screams Hot Dog Stand Yellow.  Any hope in getting a response?  All I want is a discussion of what is fair and why others were provide a/c while I was lied to.

My Slum Lord Tony C., deserves to live in hell, but I will bet he and Satan share air conditioning and Tony would be the first to invoke Satan himself if he was without a/c for even a single day. 

Do Y'all Have Any Questions?

Inga, a Senior at the University of Oregon has landed a job as a tour guide for the Clarke Honors College.  This will bring in about $64 per month - but oh, the experience.  Having come from the Lone Star State herself, I believe Inga is as well prepared as Tina to be hospitable and congenial, using all of her verve and zeal as she conducts tours and answers questions (only at the end of the tour of course) for those prospective students and their parents who have been admitted to the Honors College in the University of Oregon.  There is a basement to the Clarke Honors College, but it is not part of this tour.

When Inga is not leading tours, she is finishing up her classes and writing the required thesis as the last requirement for completing her matriculation through the Honors College.  The subject of her thesis is studying the efficacy of smoking cessation programs, as part of her emphasis on public health policy and intentions of working in the field of non-profit health organizations.

She will be graduating in half-a-year, so stay tuned to The Economy vs The Honors Student.

Take it from Tina, y'all have been just one of the greatest groups! I mean it.

Total Depravity & The Wheels of Justice

They seem to arrive every 8 months or so. 
The black Dallas County Official Business logo in the return address corner is what I first notice, then my eyes do a quick to check to see who is in luck this time -- The envelope please!  This time the envelope once again had Sues name on it.  A morning date at the Dallas County Crowley Court Building for jury duty -- but wait!, that's not all!  It comes with an all- Public-Transit-expenses-paid to for a day pass on any bus or light rail of your choosing!  Truth be told, I usually find the proceedings somewhat interesting, but then again if I had my drothers, I could be more productive arranging my own schedule.

Sue was selected with about 40 other citizens to wait inside Criminal Court Room and listen to the lawyers lay out the qualifications for service to the pool of prospective jurors.  It was a child sex abuse case.  Sue knew one of the other prospective jurors, a teacher at the church pre-school.  This elderly pre-school teacher confided that she just did not think she could be impartial in such a circumstance.  Sue, while not relishing the opportunity to serve on such a jury did believe she could do what the justice system required.  If anything, Sue is equitable to a fault, always ready to hear the other side.  However, this day she was assigned a seat near the back of court, which experience tells me that the 12 member jury is usually selected from the first 2 or 3 rows.  The jury was selected and she and she was free to use her DART Rail pass to ride back home by mid-afternoon, assigning her $6 check for time and service rendered to Dallas County over to a charity fund for children.

Of course my unintentional escape from Jury Duty last year was using the ploy of showing up on Monday, a day ahead of when I was summoned.  Out of a thousands souls waiting in the Common Jury Room that day, the County Courts Lady called my very name over the PA to report to Clerks Office.  I was told to take my $6 and leave, since I was supposed to be a juror tomorrow! I hear them thinking, "Beat it dufus!"  Cha-Ching, baby $6 bucks easy money!

A former boss once told me that he was waiting as a prospective juror when the prosecuting attorney asked a woman next to him if she could convict a man if the evidence warranted?  She assured him she could, because, while he was talking to the pool of prospective jurors, she had asked God for a sign as to whether the accused was truly guilty, and God had answered immediately. She noticed right then that the court room fluorescent lights flickered, indicating divine judgment had been revealed.  In fact, she stated she would be glad to take a seat on the jury and do God's faithful bidding.  But Devil take all, go figure; she was not chosen as a juror.

****************************************************************
The next week, on my way to work in the morning I drove past a house about a block away from mine and noticed a police car and an unmarked car on the curb with two plain clothes detectives and a uniformed officer going through the contents of a red car.

On Thursday evening coming home NBC Channel 5 had a news truck at the same spot, while Fox Channel 4 had their lead reporter and camera man interviewing a neighbor.  I pulled slowly by, drove home then walked out the front door to go see what the story was.  I saw my neighbor, Max out front smoking his cigar and told him two TV news crews were filming down the street.  He invited himself along to go see.

Channel 5 had just left, but Fox was still there, so we inquired as to the nature of local story; identify ourselves as long-time neighborhood dwellers.  At first the news team was tight lipped, but Max and I began to speculate that it might be related to an ICE (Immigration & Customs Enforcement) round up we had heard about earlier.  Max then threw in a tidbit about an arrest of a Garland Youth Volunteer Soccer Coach on charges of sexual molestation of a young boy.  The on-air reporter then confirmed, "You are looking at it - right here."

Max then got interviewed on camera and we both answered questions about the neighborhood and our thoughts.  My Calvinist roots lamented, Total Depravity as a basic human condition.  Max and I were filmed talking and walking back to our respective homes.

News at 9 - but no film.  Max and I ended up on the cutting room floor.  Ironically, the interview they ended up airing was with a young man, Justin, who expressed disgust and shock.  But Justin, is known to us as a habitual neighborhood criminal and in trouble with the law since about the age of 12.  The evening news had the police spokesman making a statment and he was flanked by LULAC folks who were there to spin the story that this sexual predator had nothing to do with immigration policy - just in case you out there in the TV viewing audience might be thinking just such a thought.  The Garland Soccer Association released a comment that they had done a background check on this coach using his driver's license and found nothing. 

It seems to me we already have more than enough American perverts that we don't need to be importing them.  But hey, America is the land of opportunity and liberty, everyone who wants to come on up here (for whatever reason); just get a fake document or two, get an official driver's license (what could be the harm?).  And then you'll have the opportunity to take liberties, and who cares?  After all all foreigners should have the right to disregard American laws and to come to America to disregard our laws.  Who cares?

Who cares? That is a good question to ask the young victim, who when the detectives ask if he knew why the police were talking to him?  Answered, "Because my coach rapes me". 

A Calvinist woud lament, total depravity - a human condition.

Great Northwest Trip - Bavaria & Spokane

We had traveled over 2500 miles by car in 13 days, so we plan a decompression stop for just the two of us in a Bavarian mountain village, formerly known as Leavenworth, Washington.  Leavenworth is a small town on the east side of the Cascade Mountains, that Sue first visited years ago while marching with the Arlington High School Band in Leavenworth's Autumn Festival.  She later returned doing some geologic field exercises while at the University of Washington.  Since then, the town has gone whole-schnitzel into the Bavarian theme.  Leavenworth's Bavarian make-over is a huge success, as the three streets were packed with happy tourists wandering between coo-coo clock shoppes, wines, cheese and many restaurants and mountain chalet lodging facades. [no photos available - the camera broke]

We arrived in town early afternoon, and I had the phone number for the "Bavarian Inn" where we had reservations (but no address).  We cruised through town, and found the "Bavarian Chalet", the "Bavarian Lodge", the "Bavarian Bar & Grill" and the "Bavarian Hotel", not to mention the "Edelweiss Inn" and "Heidi's Pancake Haus" -- but no Bavarian Inn.  I stopped to visit Heidi (complete with laced up Bavarian bodice - I love that look) at the tourist info.  I told Heidi of my dilemma, she was stumped until Gretchen asked what phone number I had, and she immediately knew it was really the "Bavarian Lodge" that had our reservations. Dankeschön y'all!.

After checking in, we strolled beneath bountiful flower pots hanging from the street lamp posts and did a bit of window shopping.  Of course, it will come as no surprise to the frequent readers of this blog (all 3 of you, and you know who you are) that it was the Cheese Shoppe that brough us in to do business.  Free samples!  Sue selected a mango stilton.  I warned her that she would have to smuggle that cheese past the TSA in Spokane tomorrow morning, and I added that mango stilton looks suspiciously like plastik, a powerful explosive  preferred by Hezbollah the Lebanese Shi'ite terrorist group.  She was unfazed, as I think that warning sounded like a challenge.  [as a side note: she actually got the mango stilton AND a plastic bottle of water > 1.4 fl oz past the eagle-eyed TSA the next afternoon for our return flight to Dallas]

We had a late lunch that included samples of the local Wenatchee Creamery cheese.  We then wandered to the few blocks to the Wenatchee River Park and walked along the banks of the shallow, crystal clear waters filled with many intertube floaters enjoying the afternoon sun.  We made friends with a chocolate lab who came upon us as she trotted along the trail with a large stick in her mouth.  I gave her the command to drop, she did.  She gave me the command to throw the dang stick into the water, I did.  We played for about 5 minutes then we left.  So she found the next creature that had hands and a decent throwing motion.  I think she lives nearby, but comes to the river every day for a pickup game of fetch in the water.

We enjoyed a wunderbar dinner of schnitzel and wine at Mozart's Cafe.  It was there that we experienced a chocolate noisset (sp?) a chocolate pyramid filled with mousse and liquors.  
Viola!  
The End of a fine Trip through the Great Northwest.

   

Great Northwest Trip - Beach Picnic!

Finding everything in order on our visit to our rental property, we swung back onto I-5 and drove down for an afternoon with Sue's sister, Cathy, husband Eric and Zach, Connor and Emma on the Mukilteo Beach.  While first filling everyone in on our travels to date, Sue mentioned that we were late in getting in the night before because of our jaunt over to the Tillamook Cheese Factory.  Sue explained that she had begun making her own homemade cheeses.  Emma (age 6 1/2) wryly commented; "Well as long as you don't cut the cheese."  We all got her joke and laughed heartily.

Having dispensed with the fart jokes of my 6-year old niece, it was time to head on out for a picnic lunch.  We were able to catch 'em a day before their trip to see the California Coastal Redwoods.  In the meantime, Cathy put together a great fried chicken picnic lunch that we all enjoyed beside the stony beach.  It was a good visit, catching up on the active life of Cathy's young family as we sat on longs , threw rocks into Puget Sound at floating drift wood.  Then the 3 younguns were off to clamber over the play equipment in the grassy part of the park.  A sunny and delightful afternoon next to the water.

Toward the end, I was challenged by Zach to answer the question: "Which came first, the chicken or the egg?"

I said neither, it all begins with turtles.  In fact the world is held up by a turtle.  So what is that turtle standing on?  Not to be fooled by such a clever question, I said it was turtles all the way down.  But as for the first question regarding chickens and eggs, i told Zach and Connor that beside the turtles, the universe is really just an omelet.  This word about turtles and omelets set the two boys off on excitingly developing a whole new cosmological explanation which they felt confident was the long lost unified field theory.  The one simple idea that made sense of everything.  I assurred them they were going in the right direction, one cannot go wrong if you start with turtles.

We got some a chance to hear about Emma's dance classes and how she had performed in a circus themed recital earlier, dancing as a balloon and a zebra, with a chance to see her elaborate zebra costume.  Emma was soon dressed out in her leotards and was about to go to dance class, so we said our good-byes; leaving Zach and Connor writing a script for a film explaining the origins of the universe.  It was a brief but good and fun visit.