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.