Spanish Mission Trail of San Antonio, Texas

South of downtown San Antonio is a chain of four missions built by the Spanish in the middle 18th Century.  We have been to these ancient structures before, and I wanted to return for the solitude and the chance to do some photography.  
These churches are somewhat restored and host active congregations that are a part of the Diocese of San Antonio. We Spent the afternoon wandering these sanctuaries and courtyards before going onto to Fredericksburg, Texas to stay with friends.

MISSION CONCEPCION

MISSION SAN JOSE

MISSION SAN JUAN

MISSION ESPADA

With the setting sun, we come to the end of the Mission Trail and drive west to Fredericksburg to meet and stay with Dave & Teri Ewing.  Dave was my housemate in Austin while we attended the University of Texas.

Remember the Alamo? We do - fondly

The Alamo
Our time in the "Alamo City" of San Antonio, Texas

Me and the wife had been thinking, we should get away to the Texas Hill Country.  I got in touch with my old housemate from my days at the University of Texas in Austin, who now lives in Fredericksburg, Texas - smack dab in the middle of the Hill Country.  I asked Dave if he and his wife Teri would be available to see us while we were in the area.  Dave graciously offered a chance to stay at his place, and we figured the middle of November would work best for all parties.  With Dave & Teri's offer to stay at their ranch house, I decided to turn our trip into a San Antonio + Hill Country rendezvous.

Hotel Contessa
Our First Night Destination

I booked a night in San Antonio for the two of us at the Hotel Contessa on the River Walk, and told myself this was my birthday present (a few days early).  We looked over our options along the plenteous places to dine along the beautiful River Walk, and opted for ease and simplicity to dine al fresco rith there at the hotel's own restaurant, Las Ramblas.  It was good choice.  Our table was outdoors along the sidewalk and the evening air was a calm 70 degrees.  Perfect November ambiance for wine, Spanish cheese and cured meat before salmon and steak.

Dining al fresco with my date

Hotel Contessa
A great launch point for exploring
the River Walk & downtown San Antonio

 

Our Hotel Contessa
Viewed from across the River

Morning stroll along San Antonio's River Walk

Add caption

Marriage Island
Mark "strikes a pose"
My idea was to act like I was proposing marriage to Sue while a Water Taxi
passed by telling the tourist this is 'Marriage Island', the site of many proposals and weddings;
only to have Sue say demonstrably, "NO!!!" as the tourist passed on down the river.
Something for them to remember. 

Water Taxi

We promenaded along the River Walk Circuit and then navigated several blocks beyond our hotel to the Historic King William District of San Antonio, with its blocks of antebellum and varied architecture.

Crossing over the River Walk and on into the King William District
in search of lunch.

We happened upon Tito's Cantina at the corner of Alamo Street and Beauregard Avenue.  

Tito's serves their food with fresh, hand-made tortillas, arena o maize.  It was simply some of the most flavorful Mexican food I have enjoyed in a long time.

Start with chips and salsa

A siesta along a busy boulevard

We walked back to our car and set the navigation to Mission Concepcion, the first of four 18th Century Spanish Missions build along the San Antonio River.

Marion County, Oregon, Gets a Good One

Inga called me last week and even without emojis available on the voice connection, I could tell she was beaming with good news.  

The good news is that Inga will begin working as a tobacco education specialist in the Marion County Heath Department.  Her ambition and focus since her days at the University of Oregon has been to work in the Non-Profit/Public Health sector devising, implementing and teaching public health, with an emphasis on tobacco cessation.  She says the job description for her new position is a near perfect fit to what she has wanted in a career since graduation.  We are all excited for her.  Marion County made a wise and excellent choice in calling inga to fill this position, they will benefit immensely from her ideas and hard work to the benefit of the citizenry.  

Inga spent a year with Multnomah County (Portland) Health Department as a VISTA program participant.  She showed great energy, imagination, creativity and a host of sweet skills in that position and came highly recommended by her co-workers to the staff in Marion (Salem) County.  With a career now launched and a significant paycheck on the horizon, ever the frugal manager of her affairs, she set out to get her hair cut and buy some new rain gear for the coming Oregon winter.  Once a Duck, Always a Duck - and a duck must be waterproof.  Inga is a Smokin' Duck (only figuratively, but not literally, as that would be hypocritical).

Go get 'em Smokin' Duck!

The Nail in the Coffin

It has long been one of my favorite nights of the year.  The Final Day of October, when shadowy Celtic tradition holds that the nether world of the spirits and phantoms draws close to our mortal world, and yet perhaps close enough that the phantoms can and will cross over into our flesh and blood reality.  To me, this night now known as Halloween has been an evening of imagination, a tension-filled mix of earthy trick-or-treat candy rewards juxtaposed with ethereal dark fears bubbling near the surface.  For years I have loved dwelling on this boundary of fear-induced sweat and temptation of free sweets.  My house has always been know as "that house".  Beware!

But for years now, despite pleasant outdoor weather and an elaborate display and show of jello brains, a large spider, a skull and many lit candles arrayed about the foyer, few trick-or-treaters have come to my door. A victim I suppose of an off-the-beaten path kind of street and neighborhood demographics.  I would lie in wait every year, looking and listening for parents and little ones to traipse down my block.  The parents standing back at the sidewalk urging their little ninjas, princesses and hobos to go up and see what happens when they ring my door bell.  All the while the costumed kids begin to think better of the idea and fear that their here-to-fore trusted parents have suddenly lost their senses and now are actively placing them in danger.  "Mommy I don't want to go up there!"  Dad insists the super hero should give it a try, but it is plain that Dad can no longer be trusted to have their best interest at heart.  Alas, fewer and fewer have come this way over the last several years.

This year, I did not buy and carve any pumpkins.  I left my large venomous spider and its web in its Halloween drawer.  I just was not sure I could handle another disappointing Halloween.  I did buy a couple bags of candy, because I just wanted to.

Then Sue got an invitation to go to a chili supper and bon fire for All Hallows Eve from some of the folks at her new church job.  She asked if I would like to go along or stay home to answer the door.  That invitation was the proverbial "Nail in the Coffin".  We left the porch light off and backed out of the driveway gracefully.  No little goblins got a single piece of candy from me this year.  
Sad.  So Sad.

My house in happier terrorizing times
Halloween 2014

The Girl with Stars in Her Eyes

This is a humorous story.
Yet, this is not really a funny story.

The other day, Sue awoke with a shower of shooting stars playing before her very eyes.  A series of flashes in her field of vision with a smudgy gray ring also to be seen in the middle distance.  A bit unsettling.

A call to the optometrist and a description of what she was seeing quickly brought the response of, "How soon can you get in here?"   Pretty quick was her answer.

The congenial Doc took a look and a listen and then he did an ultrasound image of her eyeball.  Hmmm.  Just as he thought; the vitreous humor (the liquid filling inside of the eyeball - that's the 'humorous' part of the story) had pulled away from the back of the eye and this was causing the optic nerve to fire and make a light show for the brain to enjoy.  Only most of the brain was not enjoying the show, but was wondering what in heavens was going on.  

The doctor assured her he had the same thing happen to him, and even he was unnerved (even though he knew what was going on).  He assured her that it would eventually fix itself.  Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday.  What a trip - as the hippies used to say.

So, I did marry a girl with stars in her eyes.  Sometimes at night I look deep into her eyes and look for those stars.  But she tells me those are her stars only, you can't see them and then her eyelids drift down as she slips into heavenly sleep.

From the Pulpit

The message from the Search Committee and the message from Pastor Paul; 

"Sue, you belong among this congregation and we will support your ministry."

This message was delivered to Sue when she started part-time work as Director of Ministry for Children and Youth at First Presbyterian, Garland on September 1, 2015.

Sue hit the ground running as they say, and it was not long afterward when she was approached with the opportunity to preach on October 18, while Pastor Paul was out of town.  She welcomed this opportunity to come.  On the designated Sunday, I slipped into a central pew and joined a family of Sue's fans from her previous church as the introit began.  Sue conducted the entire worship service from announcements to prayers to benediction.

The sermon delivered from the pulpit by Sue was, "To What are we Entitled?"; preaching from the Gospel text of Mark 10:35-45.  Two of Jesus' disciples were asking for special places of honor in His Kingdom, only to cause greater disharmony among the other 10 disciples once they all found out about the inside-job seeking to secure a place of honor.  Using her seminary training and hermaneutical skills, she, like I think any good preacher, wrestled and struggled with the text and then crafted an applicable message relating that most-human interaction amongst the disciples of wanting to be made first above everyone else, and then tied that attitude found in the Scriptures to circumstances of to which we can relate in our very own life.  It was a good message.  I am sure that for God and everybody else on down, all were pleased.

Now, does Sue believe her time in the pulpit gives her a greater reward in heaven?  No, I think she is the type of preacher who practices what she preaches. 

Oh Honey, Do I Look Faaabulous!

Comes a time when even the minimal amounts of hairs on my head get kind of weedy and overgrown.  After I've usually let the growing go too far, I pick a morning and go to the hair shop to get things trimmed back to proper proportions.  I usually see Vicki at this particular hair-shop chain and she does an above average job, though I have never been all that finicky about my hair "style" - though maybe I should have been more particular in my thicker hirsute years when I had my chance.

None-the-less, I step through the door a bit after 9 AM; the ubiquitous Vietnamese young lady stylist is already working on her client, and I am expecting Vicki at chair #1.  I look around for Vicki for just a moment, when stepping out from behind the wall stocked with hair product was a new stylist.  She was 6 foot-3, wore a tight sweater stretched across her prominently displayed boobs, looking as if they were stacked on a shelf.  Her black & white horizontal striped knit skirt was tight and mid-thigh length.  I took in her height,  her clothing, her black and white colored hair-do and a very strong and square jaw line.  She immediately stuck out her hand, which was the size of an oven mitt and greeted me with a husky voice, saying, "Hi! I'm Sabrina, I'll be your stylist today!"  

I thought to myself; I would have guessed your name was Lola.  But no.  We'll just go along with Sabrina.

I'm not the world's most passionate man, and I'm not dumb but I don't understand 
why she looks like a woman, but talks like a man;
well girls will be boys and boys will be girls,
It's a crazy mixed up muddled up shook-up world.
  - The Kinks

Sabrina was attentive to my wishes and quite explanatory of her choices of "stylists" tools to get me the look I craved.  We talked of weather, drought, and the care of homes and the local housing market.  Sabrina told me "they had just bought a cute little pier-and-beam place in East Plano".  She went on to say that the buying a house in these times is just "crazy insane, don't you know it honey!"  But now that her house papers were all signed, Sabrina said that she was a "satisfied wife - how often do you hear that from a woman?" she asked me.  I admitted that domestic tranquility was a beautiful thing.

Sabrina then asked, "How 'bout I just trim those eyebrows chief?"  I thought to myself, this is way too close to what I think they mean by "manscaping", so I politely said I'll just leave my eyebrows as they are, thanks.  Sabrina trimmed my neck and then asked if everything looked acceptable.  I said it looked fine, but really, I was feeling so faaabulous, and I know I just looked maaavalous to boot.

Sabrina did quite a job on my head.  Maybe in more ways than one.

Fridge Movies - The Princess Brie

We are all aware by now that there is a multitude of formats and media that can be downloaded, streamed or otherwise accessed on a large variety of platforms and devices.  Everyone knows that.  But I recently discovered that I can view certain movie clips by opening my refrigerator. I say pretty cool!

I happened to be looking for food when I rolled into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door and found several 1/2 gallon bottles of organic whole milk from Whole Foods Market lounging upon the shelf.  This could mean only one thing, I was about to witness another cheese making extravaganza by my talented wife.  I asked what kind of cheese this batch was going to become, and she said she was inspired by reading a recent novel about a Spaniard who makes a highly prized Spanish cheese, the sheep's milk manchego.  Ah, I said, I can see it now as I looked into the interior of the refrigerator;

   Hello.  
   My name Inigo Manchego, you curd my father.  
   Prepare to dye.

Providence Smiling

I haven't been acting or feeling especially righteous lately.  But isn't that just the way providential grace works.  You don't deserve it, but then again, there it is.  Just give thanks and accept it man.

Sue has been on sabbatical for a year-plus from her work as Director of Children's Ministry.  After many long hours, little understanding or support from fellow staff and contradictory directions born of greater anxiety imbibed by her supervisor, she was feeling the need to catch her breath and catch a break.  I knew it, she knew it, God, Jesus and the Holy Ghost all knew it.  She was offered 30 pieces of silver and the left foot of fellowship and she was done with all that unholy mess at the last vineyard of bitter grapes where she toiled.

She had enjoyed the rest and recalibration that came with the shedding of her herculean responsibilities.  She was not really looking for anything new on the job front, though she would toy with possibilities before smelling a familiar scent of mendacity and anxiety.  She wanted no part of more such church work.  Then a call came from a friend who once toiled in the same vineyard of sour grapes with her.  Her friend, now in a new and much better position, had the occasion to speak with the new pastor at First Presbyterian in Garland.  He and the congregation were looking for some help with running the programs for youth and children.  Sue's friend asked if she could recommend her to the pastor?  Sue figured, wouldn't hurt to talk, right?

What followed was a phone interview with the pastor.  She liked what she heard.  Then a meeting with the committee looking to fill the position of Director of Youth and Children's Ministry.  She says that during the interview, they were finishing each other sentences.  They all shared nearly the same vision, direction and desires for position.  A few weeks later they asked her to come in for a second meeting with the committee and the pastor.  She arrived, they offered her the position and received her willingness to come to work with them with great joy.  Then they offered her a 10% raise above what the advertised position had listed.  God is Good.

She began work on September 1 as a part-time employee, meaning she puts in a half day on Sunday, plus a full day on Monday, Tuesday and Thursday.  Hours are somewhat flexible.  She loves the small church culture at FPC Garland, the congregation is full of volunteers and hard working people.  The group there very much owns their faith and their actions; not needing a staff to do what they hope to have done, but rather, do what needs to be done with support from the staff.  A very healthy sign.  They are heavily involved with local mission, handing out 25 free sack lunches to the homeless and working poor every weekday morning and feed 180 to 200 people at a free breakfast on Saturdays.  FPC Garland has a large contingent of immigrants from the Cameroon and an association with a South Asian Presbyterian Church that is composed mostly of Afghani Christians. 

They are a church excited about rolling up there sleeves and doing the Lord's work.  She has hit the ground running and has offered many ideas for those governing the church to consider.  She is very pleased to be taken seriously and have her counsel and experience held as a positive contribution.  In fact she has already been tapped to take the pulpit later in October to lead worship and preach.  With a second preaching opportunity coming on the last Sunday of the year.  She loves the way providence has smiled upon her and she is ready to join in and do God's good work for His people.

And all the people say, Amen.

Not My Monkeys, Not My Circus

A phrase we have been practicing around here for several months and have now recently come to appreciate is: 
      
      Not my monkeys,
      Not my circus.

It encapsulates the need to hold others accountable for their actions and deny them the opportunity to shirk their responsibilities while entangling you leaving you holding the bag.

In early August we [Sue] agreed to open our home to become a canine summer camp for Diane's two dogs for 10 days while she took a vacation.  After some adjustments on both ends, Bella and Cooper settled in and were a fun diversion for our home life.  Once vacation was over for Diane, Bella and Cooper packed up their toys, leashes and bedding and returned to Diane's home after a grand time at Canine Camp.  It worked out well for everybody - just a it should.

At the end of August, Sue gets a call from Johanna, "I have to leave tomorrow to take my son Jeremiah to Freshman orientation at Cornell University in New York, would you like to adopt his dog?"  Sue asks, "What kind of dog is it?"  Johanna tells her it is a small 'terrier mix'.  Sue says we are really not ready to take on another dog right now.  Johanna continues, "Well, I have some other people that might be wanting to take her next week, but since I need to leave town, would you do me a favor and keep her at your place until I return on Saturday (or maybe Sunday)?"  Sue says out of the goodness of her heart, yes, we can help you out with that for a few days if need be.

Johanna sends her son Jeremiah alone over to our house with his dog Pebbles, and all of her stuff and a small amount of food.  Jeremiah fills Sue in on Pebbles' likes and dislikes and quirks, all needed for her best care and comfort and says an emotional good bye to his pet.  Sue sends me a text at work briefly explaining the situation along with a photo of Pebbles.  The photo on my phone shows a Chihuahua with the added text, "Terrier? My ass". [Lie #1]

Pebbles' water, food and bed are set up in the dining nook of the kitchen.  Pebbles and Sue do not get along well at first.  Pebbles growls and lunges at Sue when she gets near.  Sue resorts to calling her, Cujo.  When I come through the door at the end of the day, Sue has prepared a few pieces of diced cheddar for me to bribe Pebbles with, and as Pebbles runs to greet me, I feed her cheese scraps.  We are fast friends in 7 seconds.  Meanwhile, Sue is still seething from Cujo's threats that continued toward her all day long.  

My preference in dogs runs toward a dog that enjoys sleeping at his master's feet and can be petted with a solid hand across a broad hound-shaped head and stroked with a solid affectionate thump and scratch from my open hand on their side.  Admittedly, Chihuahuas are probably my least favorite breed, they have bug eyes and spindly spider-monkey legs and even my smallish hands encompass half of Pebbles' body.  I do not feel like I am petting a dog, but she is more akin to trying to pet a quick-moving short-haired  lobster.  Not a real dog.  However, Pebbles is intelligent (for a Chihuahua) and she is learning to follow my instructions.  Basically, a good dog especially if you want a small lap dog (which I do not).  Eventually, Pebbles accepts Sue presence and we all settle in to our shared space.  Sue texts Johanna a few updates on her dog Pebbles, thinking Johanna would like to know how things are working out back at home with her pet.  Sue gets zero response from Johanna.  Not even a 'thank you' for helping me out while I am out of town.  Nothing.

We've had Pebbles at our house since Tuesday morning, and come Saturday at dinner, after no messages from Johanna, I ask, "You don't think Johanna has dumped Pebbles at our house, expecting us to keep her from here on out, do you?"  Most of my life I have made it a point to ignore my intuition and hunches about people, instead relying heavily on my intellect to solve problems and form opinions; however over the last few years, I have grown much more comfortable listening to what my 'gut' is saying.  That evening, my gut was saying, we've heard nothing from Johanna, it feels like this will soon become "MY monkeys and MY circus".  I do not like to hear and/or feel that.  Sue assures me that Johanna is a busy woman, and is dealing with a lot, so she may need a rest at home upon her return on Saturday, but she will come get Pebbles on Sunday evening or maybe Monday.  My guts whispers to me, "Buddy, you better prepare to be buying a boat load of metaphorical monkey chow if you think Johanna is coming back for Pebbles".  I am torn between listening to my gut or my wife, but if I were a betting men, my money would go with soon owning the monkeys.  I never wanted to run away and join the circus, but conversely, now I do not want the circus to join me

Sunday: I ask, have you heard anything from Johanna?  Sue says, well I did call her and left a message and I texted her, and I also tried to reach her on FaceBook; but no, I've heard nothing from her.
Monday:  I ask, have you heard anything back from Johanna this morning?  Sue responds a bit defensively, "I have several calls into her and attempts to contact her, and I am waiting to hear back from Johanna".  I repeat what my gut has already told me, "You know, Johanna will not be coming back for her dog."

I come home at 2 PM on Monday in order to meet with the A/C technician who is scheduled to be at our house shortly, but as I walk into the house, Sue is on the phone with Johanna.  I hear Johanna's voice and my 'Chihuahua-sense' is tingling.  Her tone and her wording are knocking my internal BS manipulation detector off scale. Johanna is telling Sue, that she can not take Pebbles back right now because she just moved to a new apartment and has not paid the pet deposit fee, so no way she could take the dog [Lie #2].  Besides, Johanna informs Sue that boarding her dog would be very expensive and a drain on her finances (as we have been saying, Not my monkeys, Not my circus).  "So", Johanna continues "if you could hold onto Pebbles for just a few more days, I have some friends across town who would like to give Pebbles a new home [Lie #3] and they will take her real soon".  And besides, Johanna continues, "It would not be fair to Pebbles to take her from your home back to my place, only to then re-home her at another place, this would be too traumatic for Pebbles and 'I love that dog so much'" [Lie #4].  Sue tells her that we have plans to leave town to visit friends over the weekend, so Pebbles has to be gone before then.  Johanna agrees and promises to pick up Pebbles on Wednesday (or Thursday) [detecting a pattern? Lie #5].  While I deal with the A/C technician, Sue agrees to hold onto Pebbles through Wednesday (or maybe Thursday).

Of course we hear nothing from Johanna on Wednesday, Thursday, or Friday.  Another reason Johanna could not take responsibility for Pebbles was revealed on FaceBook, Johanna flew to Chicago and posted all the fun she was having clubbing in the Windy City.  Meanwhile, our trip to visit our friends in East Texas for the weekend is now torpedoed by Pebbles.  I decide, Sue should go alone while I stay behind to care for MY monkey at MY circus.  I flat out tell Sue, Johanna is NOT your friend, she is a manipulative, scheming liar who is using you time after time.  I refer her to M. Scott Peck's book, People of the Lie.  Johanna is the embodiment of this type of evil that casually spins these toxic webs and entangles and manipulates all manner of people into her webs in order to use them for her own selfish pleasures.  I repeat, Johanna is NOT your friend and unless you handle this boldly, her toxin will poison your life and our marriage.  These are not our monkeys nor is this our circus.

When Sue returns from her solo visit to East Texas, I tell her the plan: you must pack up Pebbles and return her to Johanna at work.  Do not call ahead.  Do not give Johanna any warning and therefore a means of escape.  Show up with the dog.  Leave the dog at her office, and if Johanna is not there, leave Pebbles in her crate on the premises and tell whoever you see that this is NOT your dog, it is Johanna's dog.  Tell them to call Johanna to deal with it.  Then leave.  You owe no explanation, no excuses.  Just flip the back of your hand and say "Not my monkeys, Not my circus".

By Monday morning (day 13), Johanna has not returned any of Sue's messages.  Sue gathers all of Pebbles' stuff and together they ride out to the church denomination administrative offices where Johanna works.  Sue walks in with Pebbles and heads straight to Johanna's office.  Johanna is on the phone.  Johanna's face has the look of "busted" as Sue and pebbles round the corner.  Sue leaves Pebbles in the office then goes out to carry in all of her bedding, bowls and toys.  Johanna quickly smiles and says, "Oh Sue!  So good to see you!  I would have called you, but my phone has been all messed up and... [Lie #whatever].  Sue leaves.

The next day, Johanna's FaceBook is aglow with praise for "my dear friend Sue Suneson with many thanks, who watched my beloved dog while I was dropping my son off at a prestigious Ivy league school in New York..."  This face saving FaceBook post had at least two consequences, first her son Jeremiah was apparently told (lied to) by his mother that the Sunesons were very happy to give his dog Pebbles a new home.  So once Jeremiah got wind of the FaceBook post, he was confused and very sad that Pebbles no longer was at our house as he thought was the plan.  Second, our friend Diane (owner of Bella & Cooper whom we cared for earlier in the month) saw the post and being among other thing a 'dog person' thought she would offer to take Pebbles and do an 'evaluation' with Pebbles and then recommend her for a new home if all went well in the evaluation.  Once I heard that Pebbles was now at Diane's apartment, I told Sue, this will not go well and be very careful, because Johanna's manipulative evil tendrils are coiling back toward our house, do not let Pebbles (Johanna) back in our house!

No good deed goes unpunished.
Ain't that just like a pebble in your moccasin?

I decided to spend Labor Day weekend in East Texas with friends, while Sue had other obligations so she stayed in town.  While I was gone, Sue agreed to take Pebbles back into our house from Diane, so Diane could do a weekend trip.  But Pebbles was very aggressive toward her other 2 dogs, so she could not allow all 3 to remain in the same space.  So Sue had care of Pebbles for Sunday.  Glad I was not there.

I returned on Monday, and I get the story, but Sue gleefully reports that "Diane keeps her word" and that Diane did pick up and remove Pebbles Sunday evening.  But, somehow, Diane went from taking Pebbles for a short re-homing evaluation to getting full custody of Pebbles.  Somebody must've got manipulated.  Sue feels bad for Diane.  But I tell her, lets say this together one more time,

      Not MY monkeys,
      Not MY Circus.

Moving Out, Moving On

The time has come, I could not ignore it any longer.

Actually the time came as soon as last summer, but staggered my the laws of physics that dictates a body at rest will remain at rest, unless acted upon by a force, this property of inertia kept me paying rent at the run-down dump I had been leasing for Sunstone Exploration's office space over the last 5 years.

Sunstone had a spacious office with north and west facing windows on the second floor of the Bank America building in downtown Garland, 3 miles from home.  The Bank moved out in June of 2014, and I had vowed to get out before then, but I did not find a suitable place to relocate.  So I stayed and the place deteriorated something fierce, and the building management refused to return any calls from the 3 of us tenants remaining.  They are slum lords.  It took several forces to act upon me before I finally made the effort to get out.  I have a new space in a 6 story bank building 6 miles from home, albeit smaller, but still sufficient to handle my needs at Sunstone Exploration, Inc. World HQ. 

What I left behind was a space with little to no A/C (it is awfully hot in the Summer around here), elevators the have not worked for many months, graffiti in the stairwell and on the wall and doors of vacant offices, backed-up plumbing in the men's room that the slum lords never fixed and homeless people sleeping in the building.  Once I saw mosquito larvae wiggling in the backed-up sink in the men's room, I knew I had made the right decision to move out. So glad I did.

                   Sunstone Exploration, Inc.

                   1919 S. Shiloh Road, Ste. 235

                   Garland, TX  75042

Change is good.  I have proper A/C, my trash is emptied every single night and I pay less in rent.

I am happy - but I would be happier if the price of oil would get above $45 per Barrel.  Moving on with undaunted courage.

Test Cookies

Dinner preparations were going along just fine, a stir of the vegetables on the stove top burner, and then a peek inside the oven to check on the pork roast... oooh, this can't be good.  Sue calls me in from the living room to evaluate the situation.  I agree, this can't be good.

The bottom element in the oven is flaring a large 5-inch hissing flame and the metallic element is melting as we watch it slowly falls into two pieces.  This is more than a little fat splashed on the burner.  This is a catastrophic failure of a 25 year old appliance.  The top element remains in good condition, so a switch to 'broil' and dinner is served in a few more minutes.  The next evening it is a time to go to Pei Wei and grab a fortune cookie.  Sue's fortune reads, "You are about to eat a stale dessert", I crumble and open my cookie to read my fortune, "Once burned, twice shy".  Upon returning home, I grab my set of ratchet wrenches and unfasten the metal plate that holds the burned out element at the back of the oven,  I disassemble the connecting wires and lay out the charred remains on the stove top.

The next morning Sue heads to downtown Garland to visit Staten's Appliances, a wonderful throwback establishment that has stacks of burners and heating elements and all manner of salvaged cooking and refrigerating appliances crowding the dim pathways under a low-slung roof where all things are orderly heaped according to their kind.  Sue tells Mr. Staten, "I need one of these things" as she holds up the non-functioning part, "only I would like it to be in one piece".  With a wink and a nod, the party of two wanders into the dim aisle of salvaged oven parts and he pulls out a match.  This will be $25.  A done deal.  
The few machine screws that I removed were stored safely in a plastic contained, Sue arrives home and reassembles the heating element, cleans the oven and the two racks and lines the space with bright new aluminium foil.  

When I come in at the end of the day, I notice the destroyed element is gone; I peek into the oven and see a warm red glow on the lower element and a tray of chocolate chip cookies sitting on a newly cleaned oven rack.  Sue smiles and says "Those are 'test cookies'".

Ah, what a woman, repairs the oven, mixes a batch of cookies from scratch and and has it all working.   Love at 375 degrees.  The cookies passed the test too.

That Hot-Under-The-Collar Feeling

It was a Friday Evening.
It is always a Friday Evening - you know this to be true.

It is a Friday evening when one of the children starts to run a fever.
It is a Friday evening when the other child pukes.
It is a Friday evening when you get a severe tooth ache.
This time it was a Friday evening when we were headed to bed, when I made the comment, "Does if feel kind of warm in here?"
It was a Friday evening when I ran my checks on the A/C system; the outside fan was running normally, the breaker box was in an undisturbed condition, but the blower unit in the upstairs closet had a peculiar look.  There was ice coating the copper fittings leading into the condenser coils.  This was not normal.  I applied a hair dryer to the ice coating, figuring if I removed the abnormal condition, the A/C system might be good enough to work through the night.  I figured wrong.

It was a Saturday morning following a sweaty Friday night, when I called the service company.  They roundaboutedly suggested the problem was a dirty filter.  I told them that it is changed regularly, and was last replace one month ago.  She did not seem convinced.  I was thinking the ice was forming from something being off in the PV/T gas law of physics.  Instead, She insisted I needed to turn off the system and allow all the ice to melt.  With a inside temperature at 84 degrees, that would not take long.  Also, since this is a weekend, there will be an additional $175 surcharge for a service call.  I told her we would wait until Monday.  I call them back on Monday, and they will send somebody out that very day.

Monday, Monday, Monday.  Charlo, a French-Canadian by way of Vancouver, and for what is it worth, a descendant of Cardinal Richelieu; shows up in the afternoon.  Charlo pumps in 2-1/2 pounds of coolant to the system, and we are on our way to becoming the cool people we know we should be.  We bid him a fond adieu; as we raise our foils and exclaim, "All for one and one for all!  Be cool!

Cardinal Richelieu
His descendant supplies 1 kilo of Coolant
And we live in comfort again

That Sinking Feeling

Oh that sinking feeling that comes from a quick look under the kitchen sink that reveals that that noise is water squirting out of the plumbing.  This can't be good.

Cleaning up after dinner on Saturday night, enough spoons, bowls and plates have now been used through the week to warrant a run of the dishwasher.  I reach for the box of detergent under the sink and find a small jet of water squirting down onto all of the cleaning supplies that are stored there.  I would normally expect leaks to be coming from fittings, joints and other weak points in the PVC pipes, but not this time.  Water is pouring not from a loose connection, but through solid metal, from the base plate of the garbage disposal fastened under the right sink basin.  Like Moses striking the solid rock for the Israelites in the wilderness, I too just had to put my finger on the jet of water, it is warm, and it keeps coming. This can't be good.

I pull out the cleaning supplies that are being dowsed, and sling them on the kitchen floor behind me.  I have that sinking feeling; for I know that once I tackle a plumbing problem in the house, it is always more complicated than I first feared.  Always.  First assessment, I need a new garbage disposal.  Second assessment, the bucket under the leak should do the job until I get a running start at this problem tomorrow.  I go over to Lowe's and find a 'Badger 5 Under Sink Aerator' (what I have been calling a 'garbage disposal' all of my life).  I bring the Badger 5, half horse power little bad boy home and place him on the counter top and tell him, "tomorrow you will have a new home".

Sunday comes upon me early, as I have dreaded what can and will go wrong for this simple replacement of the garbage disposal.  First step, shut off the stop valves to the sink and dishwasher.  I reach under the sodden and moldering cabinetry, and twist those 25-year old handles to prophylactically seal off the plumbing.  The pot metal, builders grade handles behave as if they were made of peanut brittle.  The grasping handles go to smithereens.  I knew it!  These things always happen to me.  I confirm that sinking feeling.  Now I believe I have to replace the stop valves, before I can replace the disposal.

A couple of times back to the plumbing aisle to discuss my woes with Roy.  The second time back, I have photos on my phone that I call up and show to Roy and ask for his advice on all of these further plumbing configurations and complications.  Roy says, "I'm going to make this easy on you."  I smile weakly, knowing that 'easy' is just another word for "nothing left to loose" (Thanks to my inner Miss Joplin).  Roy tells me to saw off the copper fittings and put these compression 1/4 turn stop valves directly on the pipes once Ihave filed off the burrs.

WHAT! CUT OFF THE ORIGINAL FITTINGS?!! Can I handle this? I know once I do this, I have crossed the point of no return.  But OK, this will be 'easy', what have I got to loose?  After multiple runs out to the garage to rummage through the pile of miscellaneous tools I have hanging on peg boards, or hidden away inside tool cabinet drawers, I have now gathered my arsenal for the project, but I have that sinking feeling, this could go very wrong.  After giving final call for shower and toilet use to my wife, I shut off the water main to the house.  A pistol-grip hacksaw slowly does the trick, the original stop valve falls free.  Then the other valve is sawed off.  I file off the burrs.  Here goes nothing: I push those newly acquired, Roy recommended, compression fitted stop valves onto the raw copper tubing. I sure hope this works - but I still have that sinking feeling.

Next, I read and follow all of the instructions for the Badger 5 installation, in English, Spanish and French.  Did I miss anything?  
As we say in English, "No".
As we say in Spanish, "No".
As oui say in French, "No".

The bad boy Badger 5 is rewired using the old cables (new cables not provided, I don't know why), the disposal is mounted to the underside of the sink and then plugged into the power outlet.  A flip of the switch, and the disposal purrs like a kitten (but it is really has the teeth and heart of a badger, at least according to the label).  Next I twist the stop valves a 1/4 turn to the ON position.  I am tense.

No runs. No drips. No errors.  It works!
In a mood for celebration, I peel out of my damp under-the-sink working clothes, all of them, and perform the traditional plumbers naked victory dance right there on the kitchen linoleum. 

My wife hears some commotion and asks, "How's it going in there?"  
I say come and see!  She does come and take a look, but I think she may have regretted it.

But she is glad the water is back on and for the time being, everything works.

Dog Days of Summer

Literally.

Our friend Diane was going to take a vacation for the first time in a long time, and asked if we could take care of Cooper and Bella for 10 days?  We agreed to open up Canine Camp Suneson.  

Camp Canine came with a big backyard, and Cooper was especially excited to bound outside and run the length of the lawn without his leash, which is always required for outdoor excursions from his second floor apartment.  Cooper was enthusiastic is his chasing of balls and hunting for sticks, which he liked to bring back inside - unless you took it away and threw it.  Oh what fun!  I'll just go get it and bring it right back. 

Bella is small.  If her four legs were inserted into four cardboard toilet paper tubes, her toes would not be able to touch the floor.  Stubby appendages such as Bella's, are not suited for running or gamboling.  Which, I admit makes it hard for me to believe she is a real dog.  More like a fuzzy family-sized mobile meatloaf or a large guinea pig, especially when she grunts rather than barks. Her short stature thus makes it conducive to pick her up off the floor and deposit her in your lap in order to apply petting and strokes; which she lets you know that she often needs.  But the human lap quickly be came secondary to another one of Bella's obsessions here at Canine Camp Suneson.

Bella developed a fast fascination with the most unlikely buddy, as a cross-species dynamic quickly became apparent here at Canine Camp Suneson.  The first time she encountered Isaac (one of our Desert Tortoise), she began to emphatically yap at him.  Isaac, was not bothered in the least.  But quite soon after the initial encounter, she quieted down and just stayed close to the tortoise.  As Isaac moved across the yard, Bella followed.  Cooper would come inside with us, but Bella wished to stay outside with Isaac.  Isaac would turn and start to crawl on Bella, she would move to avoid his trajectory, but only in the slightest.  Bella would come in the house, but then stare and yap at us.  "Bella, what do you want?"  Yap, yap, yap.  "Bella, do you want to go out?", we would inquire as we moved toward the back door.  Bella would dance in circles and kick up her heels.  We would let her out.  She would then stay out.  It was time for all of God's creatures to go to bed.  Sue goes out to find Bella.  Isaac has settled for the night under the Lady Banks rose bush.  That is where she found Bella too.  Sue had to crawl under the spreading canes to extract Bella and bring her inside.

The unrequited infatuation continued.  When we wanted Bella to stay calm and quiet inside, we brought Isaac inside as well.  Isaac would crawl under the kitchen nook secretary and enjoy the cool A/C; Bellas would then splay out on the floor with her nose under the secretary keeping an eye on her reptile love.

My hunch, is that mixed deep inside the Chihuahua-Schnauzer - or whatever, is some distant working shepherd real kind of a dog.  And for someone as diminutive as Bella, herding a tortoise is about a big as she can handle, and Isaac became her "herd" to watch and protect. And that she did for 10 days here at Camp Suneson.

No word from Diane as whether Bella's heart is broken by ending of her summer camp romance.

Bella and Isaac
Fast Friends from Canine Camp

Cooper (in the balck & white coat) and Bella
Keep tabs on Isaac Inside the House

Could it be... Satan?

While doing some work in the Kitchen on Tuesday, I was pestered by three flies buzzing around in a most annoying fashion.  I pulled my 12 gauge fly-swatter from the utility closet hook and I proceeded to whomp on those insects.  I killed the 3 pest in short order - or so I thought.  Maybe I missed with my swat once or twice, because there were 2 more flies landing on the cutting board.  I again took aim and swung my swatter.  That should do it.

Until I was preparing for bed, and there were yet again two flies in the master bathroom sink area.  I dispatched them without my corrective lenses.  

Come Wednesday morning, maybe five flies or more in the kitchen.  "Honey, have you noticed the infestation of flies in our house?"  Of course.  Sue raises the blinds that are keeping the hot Texas July sun rays out of our dining room, and we find a score of flies butting into the window glass on the inside.  We take turns whacking away as their little black exoskeletons pile up on the floor, windowsill, and dining room table.  This swat team action goes on for a day.  Maybe 40, 60, 70, 80 or more as we are quickly racking up the score.  The fly swatter rips after such extreme use, but it is our most effective weapon to deliver us. We're going to need a bigger swatter.

Sue uses a spray can of wasp-killer recently acquired to spray around the outside of the window.  I allow her to do it, but I predict that the wasp and hornet killer is formulated for the hymenoptera order of insects, not our current insect pest, and therefore will not staunch the flow of pesky flies.  Besides, I suggest, these flies must be coming from inside, not outside.  The debate rages, the logic of each argument is presented.  

Mark:  I say, With this quantity of flies already inside the house, the maggots must be coming from somewhere inside, no way would all of these vermin be getting in from outside".  Look within if you seek the truth.

Sue:  "Well, OK then, where is the corpse?  The Writ of Habeas Corpus demands that if you are make such accusations, you should be able to produce the body, where is it?"  These flies must be coming from the outside and entering through a crack in the external masonry.  Not from decaying flesh inside our own walls.

Is the source of the plague of flies coming from within or without?  The debate rages, while we swing away, dropping ever more exoskeletons to the floor.

Or... could there be another explanation?  Let's check the internet for wisdom.  Of course, why din't we think of this before?  Flies are known to be a harbinger of Satanic presence. The obvious answer is that it is so hot in Texas now, that Satan himself feels right at home here in Texas.  The Lord of the Flies.

Up until now, I presumed the fire ants were the state insect of Hell, they are certainly demonic; but I guess flies can follow along with Hell's demons too.

Glad to say Satan and his flies have now gone away.  We are enjoying the angelic bliss of working A/C and few of the six-legged winged misery bugs.

Glad Tidings at Newsy

The word "news" is a relative new-comer to the English language.  Before the word "news" came into popularity, people seeking information would inquire, "What tidings?  Be they glad or ill?"

No doubt the English language has changed, and also to be certain, the way we receive our tidings nowadays is widely varied, including downloadable digital content on your phone.  

Such glad tidings were indeed delivered to me last week the "old fashioned"  way, a voice call to my cell phone from our son Grant.  Grant tells us that he will accept a career offer for full-time employment with Newsy as a 'digital content producer'.  He will summarize and encapsulate news stories in writing, weaving the perspective of several different sources to cover news stories and editing-in associated digital images among his written copy.  His copy will then be read by one of the anchors or 'talking heads' at Newsy and distributed to various major news and entertainment organizations that use Grant's Newsy content on their websites [that's as best as I understand the process].

Since his graduation from the School of Journalism at the University of Missouri this past May, Grant had been working at Newsy on a part-time basis this summer after taking a journalism course from one of the Newsy executives.  She stopped him after class near the end of term and asked about his summer plans, saying Newsy would be interested in having him work for them over the summer based on his good and more-than-competent work he had shown in class.   His summer, part-time status only lasted about a month, before they made him an offer for a career position.

He very much likes the work, and tells us he enjoys the work environment and all his co-workers.  He begins on Monday, July 20th (one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind).  He will be working in Columbia, Missouri, a town he has grown to know well and a place he has become very comfortable.  One of the reason that I liked his selection of Mizzou for his degree, is that we were told that J-School alum could count on the influence of the "Mizzou Mafia", it is said that Mizzou journalism graduates can be found in every place imaginable around the world, and  (a wise word to a good fellow) it is good to be part of the Mizzou Mafia.  I think they were telling us the truth.  It doesn't hurt that his sweetheart will be finishing her senior year at Mizzou this coming year in Columbia too.

We understand this weekend, he is out selecting a new bed for his new apartment and perhaps some other furnishings. I say Blessed be these glad tidings indeed! - no matter on what platform, device or medium they are delivered.

I hear you knocking...

I hear you knocking, but you can't come in...

So goes the lyrics from the classic rock 'n roll tune.  But what is that that I hear coming from the kitchen?  It's a scratching, it's a scraping, it's a thump and a clunk.

It is Isaac, one our Desert Tortoises.  He hibernates under the secretary in the kitchen nook, and he has now concluded that under the secretary is his preferred burrow now that it is 100 degrees out in the backyard.  You might think these tortoises are mere reptiles with not much brain power beyond the the rocks they so well resemble.  But you would be quite wrong.  These torts have personalities, show curiosity and preferences.  Isaac has learned to scratch and punch the back door of the kitchen, indicating he wants inside - just like our dog would do.  

Sometimes we let him in.  Sometimes we don't.  But I'll give him his due; Isaac is persistent. 

Isaac our Desert Tortois at the kitchen door
Let me in!

We will probably let him in again.  He certainly will get to come in to settle in for hibernation in mid-October.