This is Christmas 2014

We usually get a bit of decent December weather sometime in the middle of the month.  This is nature's way of signaling me that I need to stoke up my ambition an hang those old C-9 exterior Christmas lights on the eaves, yes, the ones I inherited from my parents.  The very ones that were hung on my house in gaudy 70's.  These lights are 40 years old!  I lay out the strings on the grass and plug them in before hanging them up.  This year, another string fails to carry the current to light up.  I salvage the blue and green bulbs and throw that old wire string away.  As I am half way across the first window peak with my decorating efforts, Jane from two doors down, stops at the curb and pokes fun of my high-wire act and effort.  She suggests that I could get a modern set of lights and just easily throw them on my bushes.  Easy Peasy.  I tell her, even the Cratchet family made an effort to celebrate Christmas.  But as she pulls away, I have to ask myself; who am I trying to impress? 

Suneson's Christmas Home - The way it is supposed to look
Back when all of the light strings functioned

Perhaps on some small part there is the tug of obligation to the civic religion to have one's house decorated for Christmas (I've heard even some Jewish families feel this obligation); at least I can honestly embrace roots of Christmas.  Who wants to have a 'Bah Humbug' house? - as our neighbors back in the 60's self proclaimed their house.  But I think that this year, mostly with both kids coming back home late in the Christmas Season, I mostly wanted the place to look kind of like old times.  So, the peaceful blue and green bulbs softly shine through the dark nights of Advent - and will purposely do so through the 12th Day of Christmas, January 6.

Grant had arrive the week before Christmas with Kaileen from Mizzou.  She spent 2 nights and a day with us before Grant drove her on to her home north of Houston, Grant returning the following day.  Inga had a week with us, arrivng at the stroke of midnight on the 20th at Love Field in Dallas.

Sister and Brother made plans to go have BBQ in Fort Worth.  Other than that, it was generally hang around the house, do some shopping, check social media.

Below are a few photos of the Suneson's 2014 Christmas:

Strider lays before the kitchen door watching his pack
Inga, long gone from the pack, tries not to drop her laptop
while stepping over the old dog

Inga helps with dinner

All of the stockings were hung with care...

Sue with a spot of tea comes to join her daughter
before the mid-winter blaze

Grant pulls a few Santa goodies from his stocking
Christmas Day

Stider is discombobulated to find a cat residing under the Christmas Tree

Grant checks out the label of a Portland specialty bres
A gift from his Portlandian Sister

Inga is amused by what is revealed
once the wrapping paper is removed
Christmas Morning

Sue collects another Laura Ingalls-Wilder book
while modeling her gift infinity scarf

Inga & Sue roll up this year's Christmas Dinner Dessert
A Buche de Noel (trans from French as 'Yule Log') -
a light cinnamon cream filled ginger sponge cake roll 

Inga and Grant
Home for Christmas, 2014

Fade Out of A Christmas Tradition

Every thing in its season.
There was a time in the Suneson Family that when the days shorten to almost their lowest ebb, and the air chilled and the leaves upon the neighborhood trees browned and began to fall before the cold breezes dropping upon us from the north, that we could look to the coming of the Christmastide.  This Season of Christmastide, heralded by quickly fading afternoon light brought with it the illumination of the 1970's era strings of blue and green Christmas lights strung from our eaves outside our home.  While inside the parents would bring up the subject of planning when to take our annual trip to Kadee Farms as a family to select and cut our Christmas tree.  Usually a weekend was chosen, not too soon so as to not have the cut tree dry out on us way before Santa arrived, and hopefully not too late to still have a good selection from which to choose the perfect (or best under the circumstances) specimen.

For me, the hunt was the best part of the ritual in finding an evergreen to bring home.  Each family member would fan out through the rows of Virginia Pine and shout out to the others if they found a worthy candidate to consider.  The clan gathered and discussed; height, color, neatness, did it have a good top and have a straight trunk (no fork).  Was this the one?  A vote was called, and we either unsheathed our bow saw, or we kept going to find and cut a better one. 

Once all had taken a turn in pushing the saw blade through the sappy trunk, the pine was felled and taken back to Kadee Farmhouse.  While our Christmas tree was shaken to remove much of the dead needles before being bound by a nylon net and mounted and tied to the roof of the SUV, we gathered around the crock pot of heated spiced apple cider and sipped.  This was how it was for nearly two decades.  The 60 mile return to Garland, mostly through rural Texas, usually had us stopping for a barbecue dinner at some smoke shack in one of the towns between there and here.

This year, Christmas 2014 the family gathered for Christmas, but not until Inga flew in from Portland, Oregon late in December, held in place by work obligations and adult-world kind of things.  Grant too, arrived well nigh unto Christmas after finals at the University of Missouri, too late to make a trip to the old Kadee Christmas Tree Farm practical.  So, in order to have a tree up for when the "kids" did arrive home, Sue and I got a late start as urban Christmas tree shopping goes, and drove the half-mile to Lowe's and looked over their picked-over lot.  We found a 6' Douglas Fir as a fitting symbol to represent hope and renewed life of the Christ child in our home.

Now, a Doug Fir without argument is a superior Christmas tree to the old Virginia Pine found growing at the verge of the East Texas province, but picking a tree out of a bin, just the two of us, has me feeling a bit hollow.  For me, it is more than just the tree, it is the event, the tradition.  It's just not the same as driving an hour in anticipation of hunting and finding and cutting your own tree with the whole of the family.

To everything there is a season.  
There was once a part of the season of Christmas that included the traditional tree hunt.  I see that part of the Christmas season has now faded, the family dispersed, and the tradition but a memory.  Such are seasons.

A wish for a season of fine old memories and may it be filled with fresh and pleasant new ones as well.

Christmas 2014 Douglas Fir
Evergreen a traditional symbol of hope and renewal
representing the spirit of the coming Christ Child

  

Holiday Travels

It is a 9-hour drive from The University of Missouri, Columbia to Garland, Texas.
The trip back home for the holidays can be buoyed by the fact that one is done with finals.  But how long can the euphoria last, when there is another semester to work through and then it is out into the 'real world', job or no job.  This reality has to be tempering.

My suggestion: get a girlfriend.  That should make the drive a lot easier and more fun.  Actually, I did not need to make this suggestion to Grant, as he already figured it out on his own.  Smart kid.

Grant and Kaileen finished finals on Tuesday.  Kaileen lives on the north edge of Houston, another 3 1/2 hours south on I-45.  Grant brought Kaileen home to meet the parents (us).  As it has been for every generation, I suspect that Kaileen got the download on all the perceived family quirks and how to interpret and handle 'the parents'.  I am thinking I did OK for the first meeting.  We certainly enjoyed Kaileen.  They arrived on Tuesday night, and we served the requested chicken in buttery lemon-white wine sauce over pasta with some homemade focaccia bread.  Grant and Kailene toured the museum district and lunch in downtown Dallas the next morning.

Thursday, they were off to Kaileen's home dispatched with a plate full of Sue's homemade Christmas cookies.  Grant stayed overnight, and returned to Dallas in the evening, just in time to join us to Love Field where we met Inga, arriving from her home in Portland.

 I can not but help enjoying each stage of life.  Good to see Grant and Kaileen together and enjoying themselves.  This is what I have come to treasure most about the holidays.

Sly Mr. Grant and Kaileen catch up on social media.
Kaileen's major is Journalism that emphasizes the convergence
of all digital and traditional forms of communication

  

My Nephew... The Doctor -

My nephew - The Doctor...

(Well, technically not a doctor; but he is a graduate of University of Texas, Southwestern Medical School)

Nephew Brian arrived in Dallas 18 months ago from San Diego as one of 13 in the Prosthetics and Orthodics program.  We had him over to our house occasionally and (as promised to his father) every Thanksgiving.  He did well, graduated at the top of his class and landed an internship in Olympia, Washington, only 26 miles from his fiancee's school.

Brian allowed as how graduation was anticlimactic after working so hard.  He was just ready to pack up an leave Dallas to get near Amy.  His mother (my sister) and his father flew into town to see the graduation event and help pack up and drive him up to Olympia, via California.  We, of course offered to host and help in any way we could.

First order: Dinner on Saturday once everybody was assembled in Texas.  Dinner was barbecue.

Wendy joins Sue and Brian with a plate of pulled pork and ribs

Sunday, December 7th, a day that will live in infamy...  oops.  

Sunday, December 7th, a day set for graduation from UT Southwestern P&O Program.  We joined Brian, Wendy and Barth in the mostly packed apartment and then drove over to campus for the ceremony.

Brian receives his hood

We took Brian's last scraps of remaining food, and headed home to turn the items into a spaghetti dinner.  Once Brian's place was all packed into the U-Haul trailer (pre-planned and diagrammed by Brian), they came by for dinner and night's sleep.

Off they drove in the early morning, destination: Grants, New Mexico for night 1.

Well done Brian.  We hope to join you in the Northwest someday.

CONGRADULATIONS!

Around and About the Big D

All dressed up at the Perot Museum
A Dapper Dinosau
Festive for the Holidays

We missed feasting with Bill and Susan on Thanksgiving.  We had originally planned on going to Wichita Falls as T-Day guests.  Then Grant made plans to leave for Missouri right after the meal.  Then the Cook's table had a few more additions....

And then it was decided that we would get together the day after Thanksgiving.  We would host them in Dallas, ride the DART train to downtown, eat from the food trucks in Klyde Warren Park, see the Perot Museum of Nature and Science and return to our house for a pot roast dinner.  But not just pot roast -- Sue had been saving the tomato aspic for just such an occasion.  The T. aspic was not served to under appreciating guests at Thanksgiving, but was held back because only true members of the Cook Clan can savor tomato aspic at Thanksgiving time.

Group Portrait in Downtown Dallas
Mark, Sue, Susan & Bill

Bill & Susan at Asian Fusion Food Truck
One of the lunch offerings at Klyde Warren Park

Bahn Mi Vietnamese Sandwiches all around

The Ancestral Photos
Now who is that?

Hey Lookee at this. I did a Fancy!

After correcting the under-rising cornmeal yeast rolls that I made the night before by making and baking a second batch on Thanksgiving morning, I was casting around for something to do.

I pulled the how-to book on folding fancy napkins from the shelf.  I thumbed through instructions for folding cloth napkins into shapes such as sailboats, octopi, roses and lillies.  I thought a palm would pair well with the green napkins I had laid out.

Hey! Look what I did!!!!!!!  Aint it fancy?

That colorful corn you see in the background; that's "Pirate Corn" -
because it costs a "buck an ear".

The GoldilocksTurkey, Kith and Kin

Goldilocks went shopping for Thanksgiving.

The first turkey she came upon was 8 lbs.  "Oh my! This bird will not do, it is too small."  So she left it in the freezer case.

The next turkey she found was 18 lbs.  "Oh my! This bird will not do, it is way, way too big."  So Goldilocks left that turkey in the freezer case also.

Then Goldilocks found a 12 lb turkey.  "Oh joy!  This bird is just right."  So she (and all her sisters) lifted the 12 lb turkey out of frozen display case and took it to the cashier to buy it - thus emptying the entire selection of middle of the road turkeys.  [Yes.  These 'middle-of-the-road' sized turkeys never did make it across to the other side of the proverbial road]

We went shopping after Goldilocks.  We found plenty of turkeys that were too small, or way, way too big.  But the case where a 12 pound bird would be "just right", was empty.  "Ha!  Somebody has been shopping for my turkey and she bought all the 10-12 pounders, leaving nothing for me, cried the baby bear."

A recheck of the store a day later showed that birds had been restocked.  With the selection of a 12 pound bird, we were set to host son Grant (home from college for a few days), nephew Brian (2 weeks away from finishing post-grad college here in Dallas at UT Southwestern Medical School), and friend Jeff.  That makes a table of five.

I was in charge of the cornmeal yeast rolls.  I did not use enough yeast in the batch made the night before.  So I had a do-over on Thursday morning.  Otherwise, the turkey roasted nicely and on schedule, the citrus cranberry relish, the bread stuffing, the mash potatoes, the green beans and the sweet potatoes all turned out "just right".

The pecan and pumpkin pies turn out more than just right.

12 lb Turkey makes it into the oven on time

My little sweet potato

Grant was back on the road to Columbia, MO (635 miles) by mid-afternoon in order to be able to attend his final Mizzou football game the following day [Univ of Missouri was victorious over the Arkansas Razorbacks, 21-14]

Grant gets a pecan pie for the road back to Missouri

Sue's brother Bill and his wife Susan, opted for family Thanksgiving feast in Wichita Falls; but would join us the following day to tour Dallas.

Any meat scraps for the dog?
Strider looks for some counter-top goodies - but please, NO gibblets

Blowing Birthday Bubbles in the Mud

Ah yes, another birthday.  Where has that charm of "my very own special day" gone now?  After some decades the big birthday day now often seems like any other day.  Don't get me wrong, I am grateful for each day, a day I can raise myself up out of bed and do the things a guy has got to do.  But, doing all the things, just isn't as charming as having that one special day.

With the nationwide cold snap now moved back to its rightful place up in Minnesota and points north, the morning sun was out, the breeze was mild and for my birthday day to begin I pick a shovel from the shed and head for the soggy spot around the valve in Line #1 of the lawn irrigation system; here lies one of those things to do that a guy has got to do - birthday or not.  The spade makes a gurgling sucking sound as I pry up a sodden lump of sticky black clay and dump it a few feet away.  Muddy water seeps into the hole and I pry up another lump of wet clay and laboriously scrape it from my shovel blade.  I dig carefully until I reach the white PVC pipe buried about 1 foot deep at the edge of the garden space.  I enlarge the hole and pull a used dog food can from the recycle bin and use it to bail out the muddy water which I toss over my wife's pea plants.  I have been here before.  This is a repeat repair job from a few months back, where I cut out the old valve and spliced in a new valve and couplings.  Apparently, my first go at repairs did not last long.

Once I have bailed the muddy water sourced from an earlier rain and a leak in the connection between the main line and the valve to Line #1, I discover that my pipe dope cemented splice connection is leaking.  I swab the male and female connection once again with liberal amounts of PVC cement and recouple them and hold them together for a few minutes for good measure.  

I return to the water main in the front of the house and open the valve to turn the water back on.  The leaking connection now seem to be sealed, but then I see another leak.  There is a small spray is coming from the threaded connection at the up-stream end of the valve.  What the H-E-Double tooth-picks; let me get a wrench and see if I can tighten the threaded connection a quarter turn tighter.  I give it a twist.  Then I go sprinting for the main valve shut-off at the front of the house.  Everything has just gotten worse.  I'll just blow bubbles in this mud puddle.

What do I want for my birthday?  I desperately want a 1" PVC end-cap.  A short jaunt to the Home Despot and I find what I need of $0.78.  Happy Birthday to me!

I move up the line about 4 feet from the vexing valve dig a new hole and cut out a 5-inch section of the main PVC line.  The hole naturally fills with water that drains out of the pipe and I lie on my belly to bail.  I think to myself, now I'll really blow bubbles in the mud puddle at the tip of my nose - that will be my birthday celebration [poor me].  Instead, I bail and then tap the cap over the 1" PVC line with my rubber mallet and seal off the problem (temporarily).  I will get to back to this seemingly simple repair some other day.  For now, my pipe dreams have become pipe nightmares, it looks like I have "mud on my hands". 

But the indoor plumbing is restored to the house and I have staunched the leak. And that allows my wife to bake a dazzling rum cake for my birthday.

Light the candles! I guess this birthday is not so bad after all.  

Rum Birthday Cake
For the "muddied, but not beaten" plumber

Grant, home for the Thanksgiving Holiday that coincides with
his Dad's birthday.  Grant brings a gift wrapped in a 'playful kittens'
bag - A History of the Civil War in Missour.

Returning 2 by 2

Saturday, November 22 the hope and expectation that after a prolonged dry spell, the heavens would open and 1 to 2 inches of rain would fall upon the heads and windshields of those in North Texas.  Coincidentally, we received a text from Grant that he would leave Columbia, Missouri on Saturday and drive to Dallas with his girlfriend, Kailene.  Where she would rendezvous with her family, driving up from Houston area.  This would save Kailene airfare and (though unsaid) make the 9 hour drive for Grant more pleasant than usual.

We arranged to all meet at Cantina Laredo.  Grant suggested a reservation time of 6:30.  Then, later in the afternoon a text arrived saying that the reservation should be moved to 7 PM.  The dinner participants were to arrive two by two through the down pouring rain.  Elder Sunesons were first to arrive - as it should be.  We skipped through parking lot puddles and falling drops and were seated at the reserved table.  A few minutes later, Greg and Glenda arrived with son Connor (High School Junior), thus throwing off my two-by-two theme.  But, we welcomed Connor in with the rest.  We exchanged pleasantries and basic information as the Mom's checked their phones for updated texts on the ETA for the final pair.  Around 7:30, Grant and Kailene walked in and exchanged hugs all around and we sat for dinner.  Most ordered tacos and enchiladas, but I opted for the superior carne asada.  None better than Cantina Laredo's.

It was a good time.  Fine folks all.  We parted ways after Kailene unloaded her laptop, clothing and voluminous homework.  It is a 4 hour return trip to Houston home base for Kailene's family. 

The next day we all began to settle into the Thanksgiving Break routine.  Grant had some work for an online class to complete as well as some dialog adjustments to make as part of his screen writing class.  Grant says we could read his screen play if we want, but did not seem over eager to share his work.  I understand.  He did warn his mom, the plot is "R rated".  I understand.

Meanwhile, back at home for 5 days, he catches up on free laundry (!), homework, and spends a day with a friend.  He plans to have Thanksgiving meal with us (requested it to be served early, ~1 PM) and then drive back to Columbia Thursday night to be able to watch the final Missouri Tigers home game vs Arkansas Razorbacks on Friday afternoon.  A Mizzou win means the Tigers win the SEC Conference East Division, and will play Alabama for the Conference championship in Atlanta the following week.  Missouri comes from behind and outscores Arkansas 21 to 14.  Gridiron joy for Grant's senior year.

All arrived two-by-two, but Grant left solo.  He will pick up Kailene at the Kansas City airport when she flies in from Houston on Sunday.  We have given thanks, and everyone goes back to their appointed places and waits for Christmas.

Grant works on his ever-present lap top
while home for Thanksgiving 

A Dead Night of the Dead

Halloween.  As I have documented hear in years past, a favorite of mine.

For 2014, Halloween, the Night of the Dead, All Hallows Eve.  A night when the ancients believed that the world of the living drew so very close to the mystery that is the world of the dead.  In fact, so close that it was possible that spirits from the "other world" could cross over into the world of the living.  A night to seek shelter and to watch your soul.

I never know what to expect; but this year Halloween was on a Friday.  Also the weather was clear and very pleasant.  Should be a good turn out, right?

At my house, I put on a pretty good show.  I make those trick-or-treaters earn their candy.  I put up the usual large spider and web in front of the porch light.

My Halloween spider is ready to crawl down and
pounce on visitors who turn their back to
the danger on my porch.

I was late in getting the rest of the set ready, but I left work early in the afternoon to enclose the entry hall in white sheets hanging from rope lines.  I set up a small table with a 5 burning candles on a silver candelabra, plus a grinning skull also lit with a candle in the cranium.  I had an ax in a chopping block surrounded by bloody rags.  The night before I had poured pink Jello into a brain mold and put the brain on a plate that covered the bowl of candy beneath it.

This year I donned a white gauzy skull mask and cloaked myself in a black robe and a black cape.  My plan was to stick my skull masked head between the white sheets, almost unnoticeable in the back of the hall and hide my dark body behind the sheets.  Once a victim wandered up to the porch and rang the bell, I would gargle gutterally and violently throw apart the sheets and appear before them to quiz them as to why they disturbed the dead.

I was just getting set up at 6:40 (still light outside) when the Mario Brothers came calling.  Did not really have a chance to put on the full theatrical production.  Then I waited and waited and waited.  Finally Jayden, the neighbor kid behind us, came by with his whole family.  He knew what to expect from previous years, so he was bit jaded.  Grandma took a couple of photos on her iPhone before they moved on.  Next was a couple of kids that paused in front of the house and stared in to the spooky candle-lit hall scene.  They said, "Oh, this is the house!".  Dad then said, "We're not going to stop and debate this time.  OK, just keep going."  Mom, suggested that maybe they should go up to see what happens.  Instead (nobody listens to Mom), they quickly walked past.  Mom shouted into the open door, "I love your house every year, but my kids are always chicken.  Sorry."
After a long wait, the little girl from next door was carried by her father up the front walk.  "See, it is only Mr. Mark, he won't scare you.  Here we come Mr. Mark.  Now, he won't scare you."  Drat.  That was it.  I had 5 bags of good candy and only 4 customers.  This Halloween Night is DEAD.  

I had a good show ready.  I was going to offer everyone "a piece of my mind" as I held out the Jello brain.  After they turned me down, I would then offer then a nice "e-bowl-a  [Ebola] candy".  I even thought I might make the gold standard this year, a pants-wetting event.

Finally at 8:20, Sue, who placed the Papa Singh Take-n-Bake pizza in the oven.  I disrobed down to basic dark sweats and a T-shirt, blew out the candles in the jack-o-lanterns and took down the sheets, extinguished the candelabra and turned off the porch light.  Three bites into the pizza, the bell rings at 8:40.  I get up from the well lit dinning room, flip on the porch light and hand out a piece of candy to a Raggedy Anne high school girl.  I turn off the light and go back to dinner.  One or two bites later, there is some Seuss character at my door.  He gets a piece of candy.  I douse the porch light again.  Almost immediately, 9 Asian girls come to say "Happy Halloween".  I scowl, then one of the more acculturated ones tries out, "Trick or Treat".  That brings out the candy bowl and I ask them if they want to touch my e-bowl-a candy?  One girl laughs at the pun, and I giver two packets of M&M's.  But no one got to see the full scale production and no one wet their pants.

This Night of the Dead was really D-E-A-D.

I went pumpkin shopping at the last minute, the evening of October 30.  But I found pumpkins for 99 cents each.  I wanted to buy all they had at these prices.  But I decided on just four.  They were carved late in the afternoon of October 31.

Gruesome Grouper
Hiding in the corner of the porch

Lantern Jaw
A toothsome watcher from the bushes

The Madisons, Jack and Dolly
Host family along the front walk

Red to Yellow - Kill a Fellow

Memorization has fallen out of favor.  I hear the cry of the newly enlightened, "Don't teach to the test", "true education is not about memorizing a set of dates and facts".  I understand these broader points of the enlightened.  Never-the-less, I find their is a distinct pleasure in having memorized some bedrock facts and holding them indelibly in one's memory for years.  These items committed to memory may one day come from the dim reaches of the mind to serve you well.

A few years back I decided to commit to memory Poe's wonderful poem, Eldorado.  That simple task of holding poetry for its own sake was satisfying merely in its own right.  And yes, I have a few salient points of theology committed to memory from the Gospels and The Book of Romans, among other Bible verses.  But going back to my first love, reptiles and amphibians, I was a first grade scholar on such matters, especially the snakes.  I dwelt on snakes and all things serpent. I fantasized about snakes.  Their brilliant and beautiful skins, their strikint, coiling, climbing, and constricting.  It was all part of a marvelous world that kept me facinated for some years.

As I read through every 'Reptile and Amphibian' book stocked in the Rancho Elementary library and most of the tomes from the city library, I became well versed in the debunking of the many fearful myths surrounding the snake and without even trying I absorbed many facts.  I fear I've now forgotten more snake lore and knowledge than I can now readily recall.  But, at least one memorized fact has remained:

Red to Yellow - Kill a Fellow

Red to Black - Venom Lack (He's all right Jack)

This simple mnemonic was handy in differentiating the oder of the color bands between the venomous Coral Snake, and the non-venomous Scarlet King Snake.

Coral Snake: Red touches Yellow to Kill a Fellow

To me, the Scarlet King was the most treasured specimen I could hope to spot and capture.  Many a silent wish for the capture of a Scarlet King preceded the blowing out of the burning candles atop my birthday cakes; "this year let me catch a Scarlet King Snake" was my fervent, but unrequited plea.

While in the woods of East Texas of Labor Day, it was reported that a small Coral snake was spotted outside the house under some oak trees.  I rushed to search, and among the three of us men, we found this beautiful creature weaving under dead leaves and followed him as he pulled himself above the dust and up the coarse bark of the oak.

Sure enough, "red to yellow" easily dropped from the dim reaches of my memory and was there on my tongue to correctly identify this bedazzling specimen.  Though venomous, he was way too small to be remotely a threat and even if he was much larger, say 2 feet, I recall being told that a Coral Snake would almost have to gnaw on you in order to inject enough neural toxin to do you any harm.  I treasured the experience at having met him, took a few fan photos and allowed him to depart in peace, wishing him all the best and a long life.

I Did A Trick!

Beaming son Grant.  He would soon announce, "I did a trick!".

Some 19 years ago, the young man shown above was tucked into his crib in his upstairs room on warm Spring evening.  As a vigilant young parent, I sat and watched him for awhile until I felt I could tip toe from the room without raising alarm from my 2 year old son.  I made it downstairs and settled into some grown up task in the living room, when his mother and I heard a clatter, a rattle and a serious thump [apparently he nailed the landing!].  The next sound was a triumphant and very pleased voice announcing to the world; "I did a trick!".

We jogged back up the stairs to find Grant standing on the floor, beaming.  He had just earned the right to take us shopping for a "big boy bed".  The crib was history.  Those baby crib bars could not hold him any longer. Indeed, he had done a trick.

Desert Tortoise cooling off in the kitchen
after "doing a trick".

The comparisons between my son and my two Desert Tortoises is limited - but in this one case I do see a similarity.  The end of July finds a multitude of things on Sue's to-do list, yet only a single item on Chomper's to-do list.  For Sue, one of the items is to get the 2003 Toyota Camry spiffed up and detailed and ready to sell.  For Chomper, the only item is to prowl the perimeter of the backyard iron picket fence and look for a loose picket or weak spot and make it to the outside.  Freedom!

We had recently swapped cars with son Grant, attending the University of Missouri.  He got Mom's 2009 Camry. Mom chose to keep and drive the 2006 Hyundai Azera (picked up at a good price by my Dad).  I swung by MIzzou driving the 2009 Camry after attending the wedding of Sue's cousin in Nashville, TN.  I drove the older 2003 Camry back to Texas with plans to sell it.  While Sue was toiling away in the drive way to remove the deposits of desiccated french fries and numerous soda stains on the seats - a testament to who knows what Spring Break adventures that took this Camry from Missouri to Florida and back, along with a couple of roommates the past two years.  AS Sue toiled on the interior of the car, Chomper was toiling away at a loose fence picket near the gate.

Sue watched him for a while and thought, "Mark needs to make sure that part of the fence is secure."  But, she felt confident that Chomper's shell was wider than the space between the 2 secure pickets.  It is a surprising but true fact about Desert Tortoises: They love to climb, and will go out of their way to mount and todder atop objects such as stacks of lumber left in the yard.  Also, they are quite curious creatures and can be persistent.  Even though Chomper, and his brother Isaac, are but plodding reptiles, these tort traits should not be underestimated.  In fact, we did underestimate Chomper's persistence and will to go beyond the wire.

Shortly after arriving home for the evening, Sue confronted me with the fear that Chomper had escaped.  I did not believe it.  I search the usual hiding spots in the yard, and did a second loop.  No Chomper.  Sue told me about her observations of his efforts to push aside the picket that afternoon.  I then had to agree with her fears after finding the broken weld at the base of the picket.  Chomper had found a loose picket, confirmed to his satisfaction that this was a viable escape route, managed to hook his front legs through the opening and pull himself up and over the 18" of hog wire I had placed at the base of the fence to prevent just such shenanigans.  He had to turn himself 90 degrees on edge in order to fit his shell through the open space and land onto the drive way and mosey his way across the alley and stroll between two houses.

Realizing we had a runner, Sue and I split up in the twilight to hunt for Chomper.  I was sickened at the idea of loosing him.  I crossed paths with out neighbors behind us and told 7-year old Jayden that Chomper had escaped and we were looking for him.  Jayden immediately began calling out, "Chomper!  Chomper!"  His mother (a native of Germany) tried to reason with her son Jayden; "Da, Chomper ost just un toor-tell, he does not haave eears like un dog.  A toor-tell well not come to your voice Jayden".  Jayden persisted.  They saw an AC repair man working next door and told him they were looking for a big turtle.  The AC guy said, "I saw a big turtle right over there about a half hour ago - I was thinking of taking him home myself."  Jayden checked under some nearby bushes and found the wayward tort.  

When I returned from my search, empty handed and heavy hearted, Angie said that they had found Chomper, and had him in the back yard.  I thanked them profusely and asked for the details of the hunt.  Jayden spelled it all out for me, and then asked, "Do I get a reward?"  I though, yeah, you sure do.  I pulled out a $20 bill and handed it to the kid.  His mother was mortified, but I reasoned with her, that when Jayen is my age, he will still remember the night that he successfully hunted down the wandering tortoise and got 20 bucks for the effort.  Well worth it, all around.

I quickly quadruple wrapped electrical tape around the base of the loose picked and with a song in my grateful heart.  I returned the tortoise back into his rightful pasture.  But I have to admit; man did he ever do a trick.    

The Blog I Didn't Write & The Blog I Wish I Didn't Write

The Blog I Did Not Write

I was going to get around to posting a blog, maybe titled, "The Fall of the House of Crack".

We live on a quiet street.  Tucked in an out-of-the-way quadrant of a middle class subdivision.  We have neighbors that are Indian, Vietnamese, Hispanic, black and of European descent.  This is America.  The house next door we referred to as 'the crack house' - though in all honesty I can only vouch for the use of cannabis on the premises.  It was a Section 8 house, rent subsidized by the tax payer so low income people can live in places they otherwise could not afford.  The landlords are Nigerian and I only saw them once when they bought the house.  The house was not physically maintained. People came and went at all hours. If I could feel the bass of a car stereo on the street, it was always a car going to the crack house.  At some point felonious Robert moved into the house.  It was at about this time that the place slid into our reference as "the crack house".  I was never really certain of who else was supposed to be there, as I could never keep track of who actually lived there and who was just staying "for awhile".  I called 911 one time when I heard the sound of kicking and breaking glass.  The 911 operator told me they had already had a call from that address, and police were on the way.  Felonious Robert was drunk/high and a teenage girl alone in the house called for help when Robert decided he did not cotton to being being locked out.  There were numerous times when police appeared at the crack house.  Mrs. Phillips who lived at the crack house seemed to have a job - no one else there seemed to be employed.  Thus allowing people to pull up at 1:20 AM and continuously honk the horn waiting for Kendrick to come out.  I'd sometimes get out of bed and go out and confront these indecent noise makers and tell them that sounding the horn at this hour in this neighborhood was not acceptable.  They shouted back at me, "Don't touch my car!"  Their ghetto sensibilities did not belong in our neighborhood.  

For awhile, I frequently found empty hard cider and liquor bottles sitting on my back lawn as I would go out to mow the lawn.  For awhile I would dutifully recycle these empties.  But I got tired of cleaning up trash tossed onto my property from the back porch of the crack house; so one Saturday, I picked up yet another bottle of Mike's Hard Lemonade and tossed it back onto the patio from whence it came.  It landed with a satisfying shattering whomp.  I did not ever clean up another empty from the crack house.

Steve, who lives behind me, says that felonious Robert broke into an house that was between owners at the end of the block and did about $10,000 worth of damage to get $15 worth of copper pipes for salvage.  Felonious Robert would be seen pedaling his bike up the alley mid-morning with one hand on the handle bars and other gripping a brown paper bag containing a cylindrical object that would hold maybe 8 to 12 fluid oz.  He'd see me and say "Hey neighbor".  I'd way wave him on as he peddled on by me.

On several occasions my heart would lift as I'd seen a large delivery type truck parked in the driveway of the crack house.  I hoped they were moving out.  But the truck would eventually leave and the smell of weed and the loud visitors would remain.

Early this year the lights of the crack house went dark.  Were they gone at last?  Alas, no. Felonious Robert and others were spotted at times coming or going from the crack house.  I learned that the power had been shut off for non-payment, but some were still living there without power or water.  Sue went out front one late winter's evening to fetch the mail and thought that the crack house was on fire.  Thick noxious greasy smoke billowed from the side of the house, but upon closer examination, she saw it was coming from the chimney.  Felonious Robert was standing in the shadows and noticed her staring at the house, so he explained it was his fire.  When she reported what she had seen to me, I figured felonious Robert had gathered some trash and lit it on fire in order to provide some heat.

At some point in the Spring, the Nigerian landlords changed the locks and moved felonious Robert out of Camp Crack House.  They repainted the exterior, gutted the interior, including appliances, and put the refurbished crack house on the market.  As of late August, despite a red hot real estate market in North Texas, the house remains unsold.  At least the sketchy characters and small hour visitors have been moved out of our neighborhood --- or so I had believed... (to be continued)

The Blog I Wish I Didn't Write

Over there is the refurbished 'crack house'.  For Sale.
Here is the defurbished 'cracked house'.  Forsaken. 

July 22, 2014.  Sue was off on her roadtrip, somewhere between LA freeways and Brother Mike's Phoenix place refuge from scorched earth of the Sonoran Desert.  I stayed home a bit late in the morning, wrapping up a few household business items.  I walked into the garage and gave Strider a solid look as he laid splayed out on the cool wood floor between kitchen and living room, and reminded him, "I'll see you tonight.  Hold down the fort while I'm gone big fuzzy guy."  With a solid slam of the tight-fitting door into the garage, I backed out of the garage and drove to work.  I thought about coming home for lunch, but decided to work through lunch instead and have an early dinner.

About six I gave the usual hard right turn out of the alley while simultaneously hitting the automatic garage door button.  As I coasted into the garage, I was embarrassed to see that I had left the iron gate between driveway and backyard ajar.  With two adventurous tortoises dwelling in our backyard, I have a second level of security to prevent escapes; I have a couple of "tort boards" secured across the base of the two gates with access to backyard just in case I happened to leave a gate unlatched.  I was thinking, "how could I have left that gate open?  I am always very mindful making sure the gates are latched, I'd hate for a tortoise or two to wander away.  Despite the gate being open, the tort boards were in place and a quick checked showed so were the reptiles.

I began to walk through the garage to enter the house when I noticed the door into the house was not closed tightly.  I knew I had slammed it completely shut around 10 that morning.  My mind then clicked and released a 50 pound weight that fell right to the pit of my loins.  I then knew what I would see when I pushed open the door.  

The back patio door had been kicked hard enough to force the double deadbolt through the interior side of door jamb.  Allowing access to $4000 worth of mostly small and sentimental items of moderate monetary value but irreplaceable heirlooms.

Split door frame on back patio door.
Thieves kicked double dead bolt door
until they forced the bolt through
the back of the wood door frame

A sickening feeling enveloped me as I looked around the inside of the house.  
The flatscreen TV gone.  
Sound system gone.  
Our master bedroom, trashed.
He/They had taken a pillow case off the bed pillow in our room and used it to stuff Sue's two jewelry boxes from her dresser top into the sack.  They emptied her dresser drawers onto the floor and taken a few other items.  The same for my dresser top boxes of tie tacs and treasured sentimental items plus my passport.  They also got Inga's jewelry box (inherited from Sue's mother) and a guitar amplifier from Grant's room.  I called the police and they came by in about 50 minutes to write the report and call out the forensics unit to dust for prints.  They got some good ones from a DVD case that had been thrown to the floor while stealing the TV.  

Officer May said that bad guys will continue to do bad things until they are caught.  Then if the prints match, they can be tied to this crime.  Or, maybe they'll find a match on record (or maybe those prints belong to me and we have no link to who did this).  I did a check of the nearest pawn shop the next day and found nothing.  Others searched Craig's List and ebay on our behalf for some of the distinctive jewelry that had been passed down to Sue from her great grandfather.  Just despicable.

I removed the shattered door jamb and grabbed a scrap 2x4 and nailed it to the stud framing the patio door, drilling two holes and remounting the strike plates so that the door could be closed and secured (minimally) until full repairs could be made.

I know many of the neighbors around me, and of course the PD squad car and forensics van was noted by many that evening.  So, I told my story of woe to Jane, Michael and Donna, Steve, Angie and her son Jayden, Jim and Shea, Dorothy and Sam, the Scotts and the Bishops.  Many of these folks are around most of the day, so I am surprised and sorry that no one noticed the nefarious intruders.  But perhaps my greatest disappointment is with Strider.

Strider is 70 lbs and not all that friendly.  In May the UPS delivery guy delivered a package and to the doorstep, rang the bell and beat a retreat back to his doorless truck.  I opened my door and picked up my package just before he got inside his brown machine and he smiled at me and said, "I remember this house and your dog from a few years ago!" as he sped away.  That was then - this is now.  Strider in his younger days would hear something at the front door and he would hurl his body into the door, rearing on his back legs to show his fanged face out the door window as he barked vociferously.  That was then - this is now.  Now his back legs are atrophied and feeble and more often than not, he is not roused by noises around his premises. I trusted him as the ultimate line of defense.

So, I had to sit down to have a hard talk with old Strider amid the jetsam of our strewn-about possessions that were dumped by the thieve(s) onto his doggy bed next to Sue's dresser.  He looked back at me and said, "Well you would not believe the kind of of unsettling day I had today - some guys threw a bunch of people stuff onto my bed".  Though he was inwardly quite chagrined to admit that he had not really done his job as a trusted watch dog with a mean countenance. Yes, I had counted on him to scare away anybody that rang the bell or showed up with black hearts at our back door.  I am hurt and disappointed that he was not such a deterrent after all.  I have to ask what is he good for, other than shedding copious amounts of "Strider down" - fine black fur onto floor and furnishings.  Well, I told him, "I am afraid after this big let-down, I am going to have to award the 'Good Pet' ribbon to the tortoises".  He was sad, but understood.

Steve and Michael both told me that they had seen felonious Robert still hanging around in the neighborhood.  They said he was now driving a small red pickup truck.  He no longer has a place to stay since he was removed from the 'crack house' in early March.  So why was he hanging around the neighborhood.  Michael is adamant that it was felonious Robert who knew the rhythm of the block and he was waiting for an opportunity to steal from us.  Steve and Michael could be wrong - but they are not.  

I would rather rejoice that the 'crack house' was filled with good neighbors, but instead I write that the crack house remains empty and the lawless and debauchery that I thought had left the block was only waiting for the opportunity to do what they had probably contemplated for a long time.

This is the blog post I wish I did not have to write.