Blog Stew

When I don't post daily, I end up with a mishmash of subjects that I want to write about before I forget the details. Tonight before I turn in, I offer a serving of blog stew.

--No word yet on the UTPA job. From the second conversation I had with the head interviewer, I suspect they're still fine tuning some aspects of the position.

--Mike brought home 5 dozen Einstein's Bagels from his trip to St. Louis. We had to consume some ancient ice cream in order to make room in the freezer.

--I went to the newish Sephora store for makeovers with my friend, Minerva. Afterward, I introduced Minerva to Thai food. :)

--My Sephora makeup artist was/is the first gay person I've met in McAllen. Yay! He said the gay community is pretty closeted/bearded here and he was thrilled about escaping to New York in three weeks to be with his boyfriend.

--Had my first experience of commiseration with a woman from the ward. She called Saturday and vented about insensitive comments from ward people during her long illness. After recounting intimations of how proud/unforgiving/faithless she must be because she is not healed yet and that a woman who was particularly rude to her is her new VT, she burst into tears.

I confessed I had uncharitable thoughts about the RS pres and the new VT companionships she's imposed, pairing working women with SAHMs and effectively curtailing VT opps to evenings/weekends. (I also went one uncharitable step further and used a Texas accent in retelling the RS pres's more exasperating demands. Would it be a stretch to call my uncanny ability to mimic accents a spiritual gift?)

My co-conspirator said it was unrealistic to expect the RS pres to tell me what she wants when SHE doesn't know what she wants. Apparently, she tends toward grandiose but incomplete visions, leaving everyone who works with her in the same bind I'm in. It was nice to know it wasn't some failing on my part, but rather her standard M.O.

Anyway, I gave my co-conspirator a much-needed laugh and both of us felt less alone in our struggles. I'd call that win-win.

Threads That Bind

Regular readers have already been subjected to a couple of diatribes about the micromanaging RS pres. Of course, that won't stop me from waxing cranky about last night's presidency meeting.

We did the usual review of ward members, what direction we're going with various programs and what we'll do for our next Enrichment meeting. Then the RS pres handed us an 8-page packet of things she'd written on various Important Topics that she wanted to put into the RS Newsletter (AKA the bane of my secretarial existence).

Even though it's only been in existence for 2 issues, the RS pres says she "doesn't get much out of the newsletter" and wants to make it more Spirchul. She also wants to start up a Pursuit of Excellence program--essentially Personal Progress for grownups. Maybe it's my California Mormon upbringing, but I can't say I've had spiritual epiphanies from reading a RS newsletter or setting goals.

Anyway, RS pres laid this 8-page Manifesta on us and then started packing things up to leave without clarifying what was supposed to happen with the April newsletter.

I raised my hand grade school style to ask a few questions--what part(s) will go into our TWO PAGE newsletter? "I know you're not going to like this" she says, but she wanted to put ALL of it in there--money management, getting out of debt, food storage, preparedness. Eight pages worth.

It can't ALL fit, I say; how about using one topic each month? Nope. This is important, you can use the money information, everyone can. (Raise hand again). That's true, I say, but we have limited space in the newsletter. Her answer: move everything else to the calendar. (Raise hand) The calendar gets crowded when there are 2 activities on the same day. Again, there's only so much I can fit there.

She natters on about maybe doing a booklet (?) and I still don't understand what she wants to do about April's fetching newsletter, so I raise my hand again. We're talking about a major overhaul--and one that I'm still not clear on. What if we do April's newsletter as usual, discuss these changes in more depth and shoot for an overhauled newsletter for May?

At that point, we were interrupted by the Ed. counselor's husband and in-laws. So RS pres said we'd talk and we quickly wrapped up.

I'm sure my questions came across as combative, despite my attempts at humor. I'm not that attached to the Newsletter, but if we're going to make significant changes, I'd like to understand 1) why and 2) what "we" hope to achieve by making them.

Is it to better serve the women in the ward? Or is it to better serve the RS pres' vision? And if she can't communicate her vision clearly to me so I know what to DO, then maybe she should just do it herself.

Grapefruit Upside-Down Cake

Compliments to Martha Stewart for this delicious way to use a treeful of grapefruit.

Ingredients:

10 tablespoons unsalted butter
3/4 cup packed brown sugar
2 small pink grapefruit (I used 2 1/2)
1 1/2 cups flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
3/4 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon ground allspice
1/2 cup granulated sugar
2 large eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup milk
whipped cream (optional)

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Put 4 tablespoons butter in a 9-inch round baking pan. Place the pan in the oven long enough to melt the butter. Remove pan and scatter 1/2 cup brown sugar evenly over the melted butter.

2. With a sharp knife (serrated works best), peel the grapefruit, removing all pith and slice into sections. Arrange slices on the bottom of the pan.

3. Stir together flour, baking powder and baking soda, and all dry spices. In a separate bowl using an electric mixer (I used the KitchenAid), beat remaining 6 tablespoons of butter until creamy. Add granulated sugar and remaining 1/4 cup brown sugar and beat until well combined. Beat in eggs one at a time, then the vanilla. Alternately add dry ingredients and milk to butter mixture.

4. Pour batter over grapefruit in the pan. Bake 45 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Cool 5 minutes, then turn cake onto a serving plate. Serve warm or at room temperature with whipped cream if desired.

Enjoy!

Is the Front Door Red for a Reason?

Lizards hang out in our front entryway/patio. I imagine they are lured by the swarms of insects that our porch light attracts like a cheap whore.

Sometimes the lizards venture indoors. One eluded PK and scurried into the front hall closet. I figured it would find our coats and papers uninteresting and scurry back outdoors where the living is easier.

A few months ago, I saw that a lizard had met an unfortunate end on our doorstep. Its head was flattened between the bottom of the door and the door jamb. I guess it picked the wrong moment to rush the door.

The missionaries dropped by a couple of weeks ago. As they were leaving, the door didn't seem to close as easily as usual. The next morning when I went to get the mail, I left the door open a crack. When I came back from the mailbox, I saw a splotch of something where the inside edge of the door met the frame.

Closer investigation revealed another dead lizard, completely smashed by the closed door. I scraped the victim off the door frame with a copy of a Spanish newspaper the previous owners never cancelled. Poor sap. That's not a nice way to go.

Mike says he'll plaster up the cracks in the brick from whence lizards emerge. I don't begrudge them wanting to be someplace nicer, someplace cooler, but I hate that so many of them die in their attempts to cross the border.

Bearing Fruit?

Spent a couple of hours working for the physical therapist today. Earlier this week, she moved out of her dining room and into a warehouse-space-turned-treatment-facility. Half the stuff we need is still at her house, so I get to run hither to do filing and yon to enter girth measurements in the computer and assemble a chronology of before/after wound photos for a patient's doctor.

When I got home, there was a message from UTPA. Research Administration wants to talk to me about the job I applied for--Project Effort Reporting Specialist, keeping track of how the University's grant recipients and sponsored project researchers account for their time while they're on someone else's dime.

It was my second choice. Since this is the only real attention my skills have received in the flurry of applications, I suppose I should feel more excited, flattered, grateful. I'd be more excited if I knew what the job paid. Guess I'll have a chat and find out if they can afford me. ;)

Thursday In Review

I had a mixed bag kind of day, but the nice parts are outglowing the annoying parts.

The folks at the newspaper want to send a photographer to the storytelling group I plan to write about. They want to do more publicity for Valley Girl--and I'm not about to object. I'm even getting comments from readers! I have to come up with an idea for next week's column. Maybe attend a Winter Texan jam session, whatever that is.

My friend, Minerva, brought her three girls over for some backyard recreation. (They also brought ice cream bars from the local Paleteria--mine was yummy coconut). Stephanie and Natalie chased the cats and fought over the swing while Minerva and I tried to have a conversation over the baby's head. I showed them our citrus grove; they liked the trees and ended up with seven grapefruit to take home.

I did some tidying around the house. While I was remaking the bed, both kitties hopped on the clean sheets before I could wrestle the duvet cover onto the comforter. Are cats genetically programmed to obstruct bedmaking?

Had 3 people show up for tonight's book group discussion of Barbara Kingsolver's Animal Dreams. Not everyone finished it, but we had a good time talking about it and future reads. I made a grapefruit upside-down cake and grapefruit juice spritzers for refreshments--trying to use up our bumper crop.

Those were the day's pleasant moments. And here are a few of the other kind.

I accidentally pulled Mike's bedside stool down on my foot while making the bed. It still hurts.

Got an email from the micromanaging RS pres, proposing onerous changes to the RS newsletter.

My new visiting teacher came 30 minutes early to book group, so we chatted while I finished the refreshments. She noticed my Housewives Tarot deck so I showed her some of the cards. She didn't find them as amusing as I do.

Will she fear for my salvation? Did she also notice the Fridge of Irreverence, displaying Sunstone memorabilia, a "Jesus Shaves" postcard and magnets saying "What would cheeses do?" and "Guess where I'm tattooed"?

Stop Licking Me!

I say this a lot when I'm typing up a new blog entry and PK feels he HAS to be on my lap at the exact same time. It doesn't matter what I apply--body oil, lotion, sunscreen, insect repellent: PK is all about licking it off. That is, until he gets spooked by the sound of a falling pen and scratches me bloody in an effort to get OFF my lap.

I just finished and sent this week's column about the McAllen Nature Center to The Monitor. Not 20 minutes later, I get a call from the director of Parks and Recreation who told me all sorts of interesting info on the Nature Center and its origins. Must toodle off to revise article.

Before I go, I'll post some pictures from the San Antonio trip. And nudge PK away, now that he's eyeing my lap again.



ME at the Disneyesque Riverwalk. (I've gone native, in that I've started to dress up to travel. Shoppers from Mexico make the rest of us look like slobs).



Yellow wildflowers.




Blurry purple wildflowers.





ME and Mike in front of the Alamo.

Destination: San Antonio

Mike and I hit the road Friday for San Antonio, armed with enough trip snacks for a family of eight. Alas, I forgot to tell Mike to pick up a copy of The Weekly World News--a college road trip staple. Instead, I did a dramatic reading of San Antonio history that Mike had downloaded.

We got into town around 4:00 pm, found a parking garage and headed to the Riverwalk. We took the stairs down to river level. It has a Disneyland feel--unsurprising, since the same architectural firm did a study in the 1960s for the Chamber of Commerce on the commercial development potential of the downtown river area.

We skipped the riverboat tour and squeezed through the riverside crowds for as long as we could stand it (made me claustrophobic) and cut to the stairs. Headed over to the Alamo. The entrance line was long, but moved quickly. We didn't know we could have just gone in the side door. We walked around a bit and hit the gift shop before the site closed and the park rangers started kicking everyone out.

After that, we walked around trying to find a Thai restaurant that was supposed to be close to a downtown hotel. (I scoped out some restaurant options on Chowhound, but the details were slim on this particular posting). After befuddling a couple hotel concierges, we decided opted for one of the Mexican restaurants on my list.

We strolled down St. Mary's to El Mirador. The goodness started with fresh chips and carafe of salsa--smoky and spicy and the only real rival in my affections to Tito's in L.A. Our server described the special: salmon in a white wine cream sauce with shrimp, artichoke hearts, capers and squash blossoms served on a bed of cilantro rice and roasted vegetables. Sold!

Mike ordered one of the house specials--enchiladas with green chiles, crispy taco, beans and rice and homemade tortillas. We exchanged bites. His was good; mine kicked ass.

Why have I never eaten squash blossoms before? They were amazing! While I didn't quite lick my plate it was, hands down, the best food I've had since leaving California. I wonder if there are any Zagat rated restaurants in the Rio Grande Valley? Must research...

We strolled back downtown but decided to skip the St. Patrick's Day festivities in favor of getting home at a somewhat decent hour. Over the din of Riverwalk crowds, we heard the strains of "Amazing Grace" on the bagpipes. It made me think it would be an act of amazing grace if no celebrants ended up IN the river, given the lack of barriers between the drinkers and the drink.

Spring Break for Grownups

If I was 20 years younger and if the weather wasn't foul, I'd be at a South Padre Island beach right now.

BYU didn't have spring break or a fall break either; being done with classes mid-April was somehow supposed to compensate. When friends invited me to join them on their spring break trips to Mexico or Hawaii, I could never justify a vacation that close to finals.

I felt gypped as an undergrad. I didn't have a real fall or spring break until grad school. Fall break was earmarked for the American Academy of Religion's annual conference. That left spring break. And for the life of me, I can't recall a single memorable Spring Break event, trip or party. Not due to overindulgence, but because I don't think I went anywhere or did anything memorable.

Now we're halfway through UTPA's spring break. I went to campus to turn in a job application, chatted with Mike's colleagues, proofread another version of the Global Competencies Inventory and had a dinner break at La Casa del Taco, a notable Mexican eatery near campus. Last night, Mike worked on our taxes and we entertained the missionaries for a couple of hours.

In short, not much different than any other week. We've talked about taking a day trip Friday but haven't decided where. Monterey? San Antonio? A pilgrimage to the closest IKEA (in Houston)?

In the meantime, I have to return some overdue library books, write this week's column and head out earlier in the morning if I'm going to snag one of the famous grapefruit pies at Klement's Grove.

The Last Dog Tale

As Mike and I were heading out this afternoon, I saw the neighbor's dog running loose along Upas. She stopped on the front porch of her house. I walked over calling to her, but she wasn't interested in getting close.

I went inside and called Animal Control. Apparently, the magic words are "loose dog."

I called India to let her know what was happening in case the officer showed up after Mike and I left (but we ended up hanging around for a bit). I returned her container of dog food and she used it to lure the dog back into its yard just as the AC truck pulled up.

The officer was the same one I'd spoken with on AC's first visit. We confirmed that the dog had been running around the neighborhood until a few minutes before he arrived. That allowed him to seize the dog and leave a note for the neighbors instructing them to call AC to claim their pet.

India asked what happened next. The officer said they keep the dog until they hear from the owners, who can either reclaim the animal if they plan to care for it or relinquish it to AC. He assured us if the owners didn't want it or didn't respond, the dog would likely be a candidate for adoption through the Humane Society--and was not in imminent danger of being put down. I hope that's true.

It's unclear whether the dog got out by herself (both gates were closed) or if she was let loose on purpose. If it was the latter, that tees me off. But that also made it possible for AC to take action. Finally. (Sheesh!)

We're hoping this works out in the best possible way for the dog. At very least, she will be getting regular food, water and care for the immediate future.

Nothing Gussies Up the Neighborhood

Quite like a trailer parked on the front lawn.



Thanks, across-the-street house of perpetual construction. We were getting bored.

What About Bob?

I went back to the salon this morning for a recut, armed with my bridal shower photo album to show David's handiwork with my long, layered pre-wedding haircut and some photos downloaded from the Internet.

I explained that the cut had proved hard to work with. The stylist got a little defensive, saying the different bang lengths were so that one part could grow out (oh, is that what we're doing?) and that the layers along the bottom were meant to go all catywampus.

I showed her the bridal shower 'do and she insisted she'd given me the same exact cut, only shorter. Sorry, I'm not buying it.

I figured a bob would be a graceful exit for everyone. Hair as straight as mine shows every mis-snip, so it was still something of a gamble. More so, since the stylist didn't wash, cut and style it--just spritzed on some water and started cutting. (That saved me $20 for a blow dry/style). I wasn't in the chair more than 20 minutes. On either visit. Doesn't artistry take longer?

Perhaps I should just plan on twice yearly visits to Pasadena for some real style and attentive, reliable service a la Bontempo.

Hair Splitting

I'm unimpressed with the new haircut.

The length hits at an awkward spot below my chin and above my shoulder. It's the length you hope will quickly grow out.

The stylist said, "You have a lot of bangs," and proceeded to trim the bangs closest to the front/hairline shorter and left the bangs farther back longer.

This makes them hard to style. The longer bangs don't know they're supposed to magically blend in with my longer hair, not fall forward over top of the shorter bangs like a valance.

I'm beginning to think my stylist was not the salon's expert straight hair cutter, but rather the one who had an opening in her schedule yesterday. (Alas, so trusting was I). Thus my search for a competent, trustworthy stylist in the Valley continues.

I miss David the Hair God, my Pasadena stylist for 10+ years whom I could direct to cut my hair a certain way or let him have his way with my mane and I'd always leave with a fabulous 'do. Sigh.

Six Degrees

My Tuesday went like this:

Trip to the vet with Belita The assistant said the doctor was busy next door with a litter of nine puppies. Curious, I asked if I could take a look. What I saw was a Tub of Puppies: the owner had brought the whole wriggling litter in a 30-gallon Rubbermaid container. The tub of puppies cracked me up. Was not laughing so hard when Belita peed on the yoga pants I'd tossed into her carrier and I had to rinse them out in the tub.

Play Group I don't have small children, but this is my chance to hang out/chat with the young moms from church. This week, they introduced me to a woman they'd met at the library (they all go to storytime on Mondays, too) and invited to play group. She said they'd lived in Japan most recently (Mike just got back from a business trip there) and they'd lived in Los Angeles before that!! At last, someone who really knows what a head trip it is to go from LA to the Rio Grande Valley! I'm totally inviting her over for dinner!

Valley Haircut #2 My hair was way shaggy, so I used the gift certificate from the Scary Feminists to get a haircut. My stylist was also a transplant to the Valley and confirmed that 1) it's like moving to a different country and 2) it takes at least a year or more to get used to it. We had a good laugh about Valley customs while she gave me a bland slightly layered bob. At least it's not a Rachel.

Columnizing For this week's Valley Girl column, I visited the labyrinth and peace garden at St. Matthew's Episcopal Church in Edinburg. Father Bob showed me around the grounds, then introduced me to the rector. After we finished talking about the labyrinth he wanted to know how I'd gotten the blogging gig. He's a volunteer at the Humane Society (I applied to be volunteer coordinator there) and wanted to see if he could give their efforts some good press. I told him who to contact and we chatted a bit more about the spiritual/theological dimensions to caring for animals. An interesting cross-pollination of shared personal and professional interests.

Pack Rats at Work Then I raced back to McAllen to work at Mary's for a couple of hours. The woman who spearheaded the labyrinth/mural/peace garden project was one of her clients. Mary had saved a post card for several years advertising the labyrinth and we ran across it while cleaning out some boxes. Checking it out this afternoon made me late for work--but it was for a good cause all around. I'll take Mary with me the next time I go. So glad she hung onto that post card!

Peppercorny Since my day did not include a trip to the grocery store, I talked Mike into dining out. He was itching for a Red Robin peppercorn burger, but when we got there, it wasn't listed on the menu. Our server asked the kitchen if they could whip one up and they agreed. I went for the bleu cheese burger with chipotle mayo. Mmmm. For all my foodie tendencies, I do love the occasional chain restaurant slumming. That reminds me: one of the jobs I saw advertised was doing cooking demonstrations at HEB. I may give it a shot. Look out, Rachael Ray!

IT Girl

Janet tagged me ever so flatteringly with a Thinking Blogger award. I would wear it proudly if I could get the damn icon to load without messing up my entire sidebar. I'm open to technical suggestions, but will someone answer me this: will it clash with my tiara?

Normally I don't venture too far beyond my friends' blogs and Go Fug Yourself, but when I do, I tend to read these:

1. Exponent II
2. Mind on Fire
3. Pilgrimgirl
4. SunstoneBlog
5. MormonStories

You may notice a certain trend in the selections, evidence of my penchant for religious studies, religious questions and good reading material exploring the same.

If I've tagged you, you're IT! Here's what to do next:

1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think,
2. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme,
3. Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote (here is an alternative silver version if gold doesn't fit your blog).

And as a tribute to Janet for choosing little old me, I'll add a gratuitous cat photo. My cat P.K. looks like Pogeaux because they have the same parents. Belita pounced on P.K. immediately after I took this picture.

Dogged Pursuit

Bumped into India today, who lives in the house west of us, and described the plight of the neighbors' dog to the east.

She'd also noticed the dog's ribs and deteriorating health, but didn't know the neighbors were gone (tomorrow will be 2 weeks). Since I checked Tuesday, someone untied the dog so it's able to roam around the back yard. Thank heavens.

India called Animal Control and they said they'd send someone by. I stayed outside for a couple of hours pulling weeds in hopes of talking to the officer, but I didn't see anyone.

India got a call later, saying AC had gone by and the dog had food in its bowl. The officer described the dog's condition as "borderline" and said to call again if the dog becomes unresponsive. Otherwise, they can't/won't do anything. And after four calls, they may be getting tired of hearing about it.

I put out more water which the dog lapped up. India donated some dog food to the cause and we commiserated over the fence about how to keep the dog fed and watered until its owners come back.

India came up with this:



Duct tape, dog dish, two coat hangers and some ingenuity equals a retractable bowl, suitable for clandestine feedings.

Road Tripping

Yesterday I kept my friend Mary company on the long drive to Houston for a doctor's appointment.

I'd never been out of the Valley going northeast so it was an interesting ride--from the one lane construction luge in Edinburg to the two-lane roads on the way to Corpus Christi and Victoria to the interstate into Houston proper. The retail and the restaurants on the outskirts of Houston made me drool. (Which makes me think, Seriously, ME, you're getting all excited about driving by good retail? The answer: Yes, yes, OMG, yes!)

Mary mentioned there's a Border Patrol checkpoint in Falfurias, which is easily a 90-minute drive from the border itself. This checkpoint throws a wrench in the YW leaving the Valley for Girl's Camp. Apparently, some YW, parents or advisors aren't in the U.S. legally and can't get through the checkpoint coming or going.

This led to an interesting discussion about "We believe in being subject to the laws of the land" vs If God is no respecter of persons, does that include immigration status? And can we be united as a body of believers if some folks get bent out of shape about illegal immigrants in the ward/stake?

We got into Houston early, so we stopped for Chinese food before the Dr. appointment. After a 45-minute wait (a phenomenon not confined to the RGV), Mary was called back to wait another 45 minutes before being seen by a doctor other than the one she'd made an appointment with. The pinch-hitter was unsympathetic, unhelpful, prescribed meds Mary already tried and told her to come back in 6 months. That's all.

The palpable disappointment and frustration made the drive home seem twice as long. After we got out of the city, I offered to take the wheel. Mary was spent emotionally and physically, so it was the least I could do. We were less chatty on the way back, both from fatigue and the let-down. Once home, I posted my column and went to bed.

This morning, I got an email from Mary thanking me for going with her and apologizing for crying and being weak. I wrote back and said there was nothing to apologize for--she was just being human. Like the Kleenex commercial says, tears don't compromise strength.

Breaking News

We're getting a Cost Plus World Market in November!

The Weslaco Chamber of Commerce is hosting the 18th annual Onionfest on March 24!

Mike just woke up from a jet lag-induced 8-hour nap!

I've predicted wrongly on almost every Ocsar!

Someone HAS been at the neighbors' house because now that poor dog is tied to the porch posts, far far away from where I can give it supplemental water or food. Called Animal Control again!

I bought a pair of turquoise cowboy boots!

Internal Babel

Yesterday's gluttony is causing an international incident in my belly. Nothing eruptive, just a general feeling of ookiness all day long.

I did get out of the house long enough to drop off a copy of the newspaper and printouts of my last column at Anita's Antiques as promised. Anita said she's already had one new customer stop in because of the column. Yay!

The Monitor is still publicizing the Valley Girl column with outdated/broken links--something I've pointed out three times already. Grrr. I hope they get it ironed out by next week.

Going to put my queasy self to bed now.

Foodgasm

I went to the Chamber of Commerce 6th Annual International Food Festival tonight and boy, am I stuffed! For $15 at the door, it was all you could eat and drink (including beer, wine and alkapop) courtesy of 30 restaurants--both local and from across the border.

I called my friend, Peggy, to see if she wanted to go with me. Got her answering machine--but I ran into her there. Our stomachs think alike.

My first stop was Thai Red Chili's, the subject of last week's Valley Girl post. After that, I had A Taste of India (knee-knockingly good) and Cabrito's Nuevo Leon. I generally skipped the chain restaurants (Tony Roma's, Outback Steakhouse, Taco Palenque and Hooters) in favor of restaurants I hadn't tried.

Johnny Carinos had a spicy sausage bowtie pasta with sundried tomatoes. As I tried to find a place to stand and devour, I saw Tupinamba's booth. Score!

Tupinamba is a restaurant in Reynosa--one recommended highly by Scott of Dallasfood.org. We were going to go with the kids, but I got sick; they went to Reynosa without me but skipped Tupinamba. Serious mistake, the latter.

I tried all the dishes at their booth--delectable ribs, tender chicken in a green chile sauce, beef in a spicy red sauce and a dense meat in another savory sauce--maybe some kind of organ meat. Between bites I stood there telling myself out loud how great it was. I almost started evangelizing to passersby, it was that good.

Right then, I spotted Peggy and called her over. Finished my plate and steered her toward the Tupinamba booth and later to the Thai booth where she went all googly-eyed over the mussaman curry.

We hung around until they announced the contest winners; Tony Roma's and some gordita place were a hit with the judges. But the People's Choice award went to (drumroll...) Thai Red Chili's! I was ever so thrilled--and hoped my online review pointed a few more people in their direction.

NEXT!

I waited nearly 2 months to get an appointment with the OB/GYN a friend recommended. I stopped by the office Monday so they could copy my insurance card ahead of time.

I've heard horror stories about wait times in doctors' offices around here. I showed up 10 minutes early with my paperwork filled out. I brought a book to keep me occupied and my California protocol: if I don't get in to see the Dr within 30 minutes of my appointment, I complain and reschedule. My time is valuable, too.

Today, I waited 40 minutes before approaching the receptionist who said I was "next." How long is "next" in minutes?

Shortly thereafter, I was called in to talk to a nurse who said the Dr was running late because of a delivery and there were three other patients before me. I told the nurse I appreciated the unpredictable nature of their work, but when they're backed up like today, they should let their patients know.

I asked the receptionist for a new appointment--first of the day or first after lunch. The soonest opening: April 30. The nurse told me to call ahead to do my intake over the phone and avoid the wait for that.

On one hand, I feel good about not caving to the cultural bullshit of indefinite waits at RGV doctors offices. OTOH, I'm another two months away from getting answers and dealing with health issues. I guess that gives me time to shop around for other providers. Still, it was a disappointing introduction to the local health care system.

Not Loving Our Neighbors

The neighbors on the east side of us are renters. We don't see much of them or their two kids, just comings and goings and the occasional fiesta.

We called the police one night when an impromptu party in their driveway (which is 15 feet from our bedroom window) at 11:00 pm on a Wednesday prevented us from going to sleep. So far, it's been a one-time thing.

More bothersome: they neglect their pets. They have a sweet, friendly cat who sleeps in our bushes and keeps us company in the yard. Their dog is less friendly. (If I spent my life chained to a tree, I'd be in a bad mood, too). She has become more emaciated the past few months and no longer barks when I'm in the yard.

What makes me hopping mad is the family has been gone since last Friday and no one has been feeding/watering their pets.

Over the weekend, I watered our plumeria and the dog came over to drink the water puddling on the other side of the chain link fence. I tried to get her to drink from the hose, but she wouldn't get close enough. I flooded the corner of the yard so the dog would get enough to drink.

Monday and Tuesday, I took food over (cat food--the only kind I have) and filled a pie tin with fresh water. The dog made short work of food and water. Poor thing. Probably time to call Animal Control.

Change of Address

No, not us. The Rio Grande Valley Girl column has moved. The Monitor's website got a major overhaul and the new site launched Monday. It's a nice 'do, but it changed the URL for the blogs. Thought I'd repost the new links so you can find them again.

www.TheMonitor.com for the main page.

http://blogs.themonitor.com/ Read the blogs section here.

The blogs are under the Multimedia heading, which doesn't draw much attention to them. I had to go hunting for them and the page dedicated to Valley Girl posts is not functioning.

We're also using a new program to publish the blogs, which I'm sure is making the online editor's job loads of fun right now. I should probably let him know that all the links/publicity the paper has done so far for my column has been undone by the redesign. Whoops.

Friendly Overtures

Today's the first day I haven't been sore from Wednesday's tennis match. I play tennis with a 90-year-old and I end up feeling like one--a sign that exercise needs to become a more regular part of my regimen.

I had a slug day Friday--just rattled around the house, cleaning, putting up drapes, and slipcovering the couches. Watched the kitties pounce on each other. I'd take pics of them cavorting, but the digital camera is in Japan with Mike.

Today, I got out of the house with two women I know from church, both young moms. At church last week, one suggested we go to the movies while her soon-to-be ex had the kids Saturday afternoon. The other mom overheard and we invited her along.

We went to see "The Pursuit of Happyness," though we missed the first 10 minutes or so waiting for mom #1 to arrive. Afterward, we compared notes: why aren't there more movies like this about single moms pursuing their dreams? Are the obstacles in our path really as big as we think? If we put our minds to it, could we achieve the kind of success in our dream pursuits as Chris Gardner did?

In the movie, Gardner's son, Christopher, tells a joke about a guy treading water and refusing rescue from two boats, saying "God will save me." When he drowned and went to heaven, he asked God why he didn't save him; God said "I sent you two boats!"

Over lunch (at a cafe that made us feel we were NOT in small town, TX), I thanked my lunch companions for being my "boats." I was glad to have people to talk to and compare notes with. It's really easy to isolate myself, to not go out exploring--especially when Mike's not here.

Both moms said they feel that way, too--isolated or that their lives revolve around the kids to the exclusion of things like friendships with other women or pursuits they enjoyed before marriage.

It was groovy to make plans for an afternoon out with the girls, to see an inspirational movie and to feel like I can relate to at least a couple of women as more than just acquaintances. That's comforting.

V-Day Rundown

My V-Day started early, thanks to an invitation to play tennis.

Bro. Miller, the 90-year-old charmer who made a variegated wood cutting board for us, asked if I'd play with him and his wife and another woman from the ward. One of their usual doubles players was out of town, so I agreed to fill in.

Usually the Winter Texans are out in droves, but the am temperature of 45 degrees was something of a deterrent. A few games in, I started to warm up. My serve still needs work and I can be an inelegant player, but I come through often enough to be dangerous. :)

After 3 matches and partner switches, we got cold enough to go home. The Millers loaded up Spike, their double-sweatered, longsuffering Jack Russell and gave us bags of grapefruit as parting gifts.

I got home just as Mike was leaving for campus. Kiss, kiss, I love you, Happy Valentine's Day. Call me when you're headed home.

I showered and got cracking on this week's Rio Grande Valley Girl column--on finding Thai food in the RGV (www.themonitor.com/valleygirl). Sat down to watch a Netflix movie and then it was time to pick up the giant, decorated V-Day cookies the YW had made for a girl's camp fund raiser.

Mike was late getting home, but arrived with mushy card and gift: a keychain-sized stapler so I can attach business cards to my RGVG notebook. We went out for Thai food earlier in the week, so this was a nice surprise.

Then I helped him pack for his business trip to Tokyo and drove back to campus with him to fetch the Japanese business cards he'd left at the office. Logged a few hours of cuddling/sleep before dropping him off at the airport.

Not fancy, but satisfying. Besos, mi amor!

Martha I'm Not

I got a bee in my bonnet to have the missionaries over for dinner this week.

The elders assigned to our area dropped by our house on Super Bowl Sunday--clearly, a slow teaching day--and chatted with us for nearly two hours. One is from a Salt Lake City suburb and the other grew up in Watts, so we have some So. Cal. common ground. Learning more about them takes them out of the missionary stereotype and makes them seem like regular folk. I don't know if that makes sense to anyone but me.

Anyway, I planned to roast a couple of bacon-wrapped chickens. I prepped the chickens as usual and stuck them in the oven while I chopped veggies. Soon after, I smelled smoke, then saw smoke curlicuing from the top of the oven door.

I thought the bacon might be spattering onto the heating element, so I tented the chickens with foil, added the vegetables and turned the oven down a bit. I also placed a frantic call to Mike, as my kitchen gaffe had filled the house with smoke and I hadn't yet tidied up or cleared space for us to eat at the table.

Mike called back to say he was en route and did I want him to get some roasted chickens at HEB on his way home? NO, I hissed, I need you home ASAP and I'm already committed to these chickens (which I hoped would be done in time for dinner).

Mike, the yin to my yang, calmly added another leaf to the table, moved our partly- assembled LOST puzzle to one end, set the table, opened windows and set up a fan to get rid of the smoke. After the missionaries showed up, Mike set them to work on the puzzle which bought the chickens more roasting time.

As far as I know, the slightly underdone chicken didn't kill/sicken anyone. But I'm in the market for a new meat thermometer after sticking it into chicken #2 and putting the pan back in the turned off oven while we ate. Now the dial is warped and the hand is stuck at 160 degrees. Any recommendations for a moderately priced replacement?

Bookishness Meme

Hardback or trade paperback or mass-market paperback? No strong preference.

Amazon or brick and mortar? Both, although brick and mortar options are severely limited in South Texas. I lean toward Amazon for descriptions and thriftbooks.com for super bargains.

Barnes & Noble or Borders? I never thought I'd be so happy about a Barnes & Noble.

Bookmark or dog-ear? Both. I'll dog ear things I want to come back to. Bookmarks are typically a folded square of toilet paper. I guess that gives me away as a bathroom reader.

Alphabetize by author or alphabetize by title or random? I'm anal, but not that anal. I group by section: Literature/poetry from those English major years; religious studies; feminist theory; reference; magazines; cookbooks; book group selections; and genre-crossing favorites I want close at hand.

Keep, throw away, or sell? Mostly keep, unless I'm moving and exasperated with the number of books I own. I gave two boxes of fiction to the school where I tutored. I just found the one used bookstore in town where I could sell/recycle the books I'm not that attached to.

Keep dustjacket or toss it? Keep.

Read with dustjacket or remove it? Read with dustjacket unless/until it starts to annoy me.

Short story or novel? Typically novels or popular non-fiction. Occasional forays into short stories.

Collection (short stories by same author) or anthology (short stories by different authors)? I own three collections and probably two dozen anthologies.

Harry Potter or Lemony Snicket? Love Harry Potter. Bought all hardbacks for an ex-BF and kept them after the breakup. Liked the Lemony Snicket movie, but not greatly tempted to read the series.

Stop reading when tired or at chapter breaks? When I'm too catatonic to turn the page.

"It was a dark and stormy night" or "Once upon a time"? Huh?

Buy or Borrow? Buy. Or library borrow. I rarely if ever loan my books out and I'm not good at returning borrowed books, so I don't like to do that, either. I still have two books I borrowed from a grad school friend (although one was her boyfriend's and after they broke up I had no inclination to return the book to his sorry ass).

New or used? Eh, I have no problem with used books if they're in good condition.

Buying choice: book reviews, recommendation or browse? Recommendations from friends, usually. Like to find treasures while browsing.

Tidy ending or cliffhanger? I'm more of a tidy ending gal. I hate it when a story (book or movie) just STOPS.

Morning reading, afternoon reading or nighttime reading? Afternoon and evening. I'm not much good in the mornings.

Standalone or series? Series faves: Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, Anne of Green Gables, Sue Grafton's Alphabet murder mystery series. More standalone or books by the same author.

Favorite book of which nobody else has heard? Genius by Patrick Dennis.

Favorite book(s) read last year: The Shadow of the Wind by Carols Ruiz Zafon.

Favorite books of all time? Small World by David Lodge; Auntie Mame by Patrick Dennis; A Town Like Alice by Nevil Shute; Prodigal Summer & The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver; Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston; Song of Years by Beth Streeter Aldrich; Angle of Repose & Crossing to Safety by Wallace Stegner; Ceremony by Leslie Marmon Silko.

The (not so) Good Shepherd

Mike and I caught The Good Shepherd at the discount theater recently.

It was a dank, dark film and frequently uncomfortable to watch as the main character (a pulseless Matt Damon) sold out his college mentor, deaf girlfriend, accidentally knocked-up fling turned wife, the son they conceived, and various co-workers, co-conspirators and Communist arch rivals.

By the end, there were precious few people this guy hadn't ravaged or screwed over. It was easy to empathized with the screwed, but much harder to care about the guy doing all the damage. Plus, the film contained one of the most horrifying murders I've ever seen on the silver screen, indirectly the work of Our Main Character.

Before the credits were done rolling, I said, "I feel like I need to take a shower now. Let's go!" Mike concurred. IMDB says it took Robert De Niro 10 years to bring this project to movie screens. Why work so hard on a film if it makes people feel dirty for having watched it?

I read a few reviews to see if there was something I missed. Some panned, some raved. Perhaps De Niro's point was to show how poisoned a person could become while doing what he thought was the right thing. How lies beget lies and how secrets devour their keepers. The movie gave me the heebies, intentionally or not.

Hmmm, how about a nice, frothy antidote...say, Music and Lyrics?

The Other Rio Grande Valley Girl's Debut

After some late-night email exchanges with the online editor, my first Rio Grande Valley Girl posting is up at The Monitor!

To take a look, click here.

This is the URL for the space I have all to myself. I'll post new entries every Thursday, with occasional "Finds of the Week" or other bonus entries if I run across something too good to keep. Like this tidbit:

Yesterday, I stopped at the ONLY used bookstore I've seen here. They had a small section of regular fiction, classics, Westerns, young adult books, and a larger selection of mystery novels.

The other 8-10 aisles were romance novels from every publisher in the biz: Harlequin, Silhouette, Regency and all their permutations (with icons indicating Virgin Bride or Sex & candy). Plus historical romance, Western romance, Sci-Fi & Fantasy romance. There was a whole grouping dedicated to Fabio-covered novels. Seriously.

I was agog at the selection. Apparently, they have a steady stream of repeat customers who buy a few books and sell them back until they've read every volume by an author or in a series or section.

I've never seen a bookstore that catered to romance novel junkies. I shudder to think what kind of melee erupts when the shop is crowded. Wonder if they do brisker business near Valentine's Day?

Fully Vetted

Belita needed a second round of shots and PK was due for his, so I called the vet. Mike followed me so he could help wrangle kitties at yesterday's appointment.

The wrangling started earlier than that. Belita clawed her way out of the cardboard carrier not even halfway to the vet. I lured her into reach at a stop light and held her while I drove. I stuck her back in the box at another red light, but she scratched me and wriggled away again before we got to the vet.

PK was subdued during the drive, ensconced in his sturdy plastic carrier--subdued until we tried to get him out of the carrier for his exam and shots.

My California vet would tie a bottomless Dixie cup over PK's head so he couldn't bite and put him in a kitty straitjacket that had a Velcro opening at the neck and zippers at each leg. Once trussed, he'd stop calm down enough for the exam.

I asked the technician at the new vet if they had something similar to deal with combative animals. After he saw PK in hostility mode, he left to get their cat bag. Only it was nothing like the straitjacket.

Instead, their cat bag was a rectangular metal frame covered in blue mesh fabric that opened and closed like a pair of salad tongs. The cat is sandwiched between the two mesh panels at one end and the metal frames at the opposite end are lashed together so the cat can't escape. I took pictures with my cell phone, but they don't capture the full indignity of the apparatus.

Since PK could see through the mesh and shift around inside the bag, he did not calm down much. The vet had to redo one of the shots because the needle didn't go all the way in and PK spat and swatted at him. Poor vet was puzzled; Abbys are supposed to be amiable. This one, not so much.

Both kitties were subdued the rest of the day. Tonight, they are back to their usual selves, tearing around the house and tackling each other with gusto.

Going Live!

A promotion for my new blog ran in the Sunday paper--a photo and short article about my background and the idea behind the online column. I'll scan it in so you can read for yourself. There was one boo boo: somehow, the author got confused about where I got my MA. What is UCLA? Bzzzzt. No, the correct answer is, "What is Claremont Graduate University?"

Several people from church mentioned the article, one a little confused that I am using my birth name. That's the only name I'm published under, so it seemed like the obvious choice to me--but not to the people who know me as Sister Stevens.

I finished my introductory post a few minutes ago and sent it in for review, even though it's not due until tomorrow and won't hit the blog until Thursday morning.

For my non-local readers, you should be able to go directly to my posts here: www.themonitor.com/valleygirl/ The link isn't working right now--probably because there's nothing posted yet. I'll check/post again Thursday to make sure no gremlins are mucking up the technology.

I'm tickled pink! And I hope people write in with oodles of suggestions.

Mindless Friday Fun

Took this quiz for giggles.

You Are a Visionary Soul

You are a curious person, always in a state of awareness. Connected to all things spiritual, you are very connected to your soul. You are wise and bright: able to reason and be reasonable. Occasionally, you get quite depressed and have dark feelings. You have great vision and can be very insightful. In fact, you are often profound in a way that surprises yourself. Visionary souls like you can be the best type of friend. You are intuitive, understanding, sympathetic, and a good healer. Souls you are most compatible with: Old Soul and Peacemaker Soul

What Kind of Soul Are You?

Not quite converted

When we adopted Belita, the Humane Society sent us home with a kitty care package. It had samples of cat chow, cat treats, a couple of toys and a sample sized bag of Feline Pine cat litter.

Feline Pine isn't dusty like other cat litters are. It's made of sawdust compressed into small, thin cylindrical pellets that absorb liquid. After two weeks of being peed on, the pellets turn to sawdust and can be composted or used for mulch.

Solid waste clumps loosely enough to get scooped and flushed down the toilet. Flushing is far preferable to scooping, bagging and hauling kitty waste to the backyard trash cans.

I had visions of Feline Pine revolutionizing the Robertson-Stevens household. However, this otherwise fine product doesn't live up to all its billing.

Where does it fail, you ask? It handles the ammonia smell well, but it doesn't do as well with malodorous stool. Put plainly, the shit still stinks whether it's buried in pine sawdust or not. And if you don't scoop/flush right away, forget about odor control in an enclosed space.

I really wanted Feline Pine to work. I love being able to compost kitty litter and reduce waste. But, BUT I don't want a house that smells like a sawdusty poopateria. Especially since our feline population has doubled.

Grouse is in season!

Got up on the wrong side of 6:30 am, thanks to old kitty wanting breakfast early and new kitty trying to claw her way under the spare bedroom door.

Groggy most of the morning. Crabby in afternoon during/after grocery shopping. Newspaper vending machine took my quarters but wouldn't open to give me a paper.

Saw during an afternoon surf that the newspaper has a copy editing/page design opening. I'm happy about doing the online column, but it feels a little icky to see they have an opening for the kind of job I originally approached them about.

And this evening--when I had accomplished a mere fraction of what I needed to get done today--the RS pres emails to ask if the RS newsletter will be done by tomorrow. (Not bloody likely). And she wants everyone in the RS presidency to be a visiting teaching district supervisor.

I emailed her back privately to say I'm already feeling overwhelmed with my two part-time gigs, looking for FT work and taking a class at the university, plus the secretary duties and the newsletter. I just can't see how I could be a district supervisor, too.

I already have to process VT stats as secretary. Get someone else to collect the data or get someone else to do the newsletter. This plate is already full!

What I wouldn't give to be on a west-facing beach right now...

The high, the low and a possible cold front

The meeting at The Monitor went well! I chatted with the deputy managing editor to get an idea of what they're hoping to accomplish with the online initiatives (including Rio Grande Valley Girl online) and the time frame for introducing the column. They're launching a website redesign Feb 5, so they want to promote new content after that.

I also met with the managing editor, herself a transplant to the Valley, and explained what I saw the column doing. We chatted for a bit and then I met the online editor, talked to him about some column ideas and gave him some additional writing samples.

At $20 a pop, I won't get rich writing an online column, but it will be fun to have cause to go exploring every week and to ask readers to send Rio Grande Valley Girl on assignment. And other perks may come from being associated with the paper. I'll be on the cutting edge of this new initiative and it will be fun to see what this might grow into over time.

That's the high, obviously. The low was having the RS pres appear at my doorstep to take issue with the first book we'd chosen to read. I was on my way out so I didn't have time to get into whether geisha are artisans or prostitutes or what church approved literature she'd rather have us read.

Mike saw the micromanager coming; I didn't. If she insists on vetting the book selections because it's a RS-affiliated enrichment group, then I'll make it extracurricular. Have it at my house, invite who I want and not have to appease people who read through a Mormon filter.

And then I think, duh, why didn't I do that in the first place? I guess I was spoiled by years of being in the Pasadena Ward book group which rocked.

Anyway, I'll have to call the RS pres tomorrow to discuss the matter. That's where I'm predicting a cold front.

Top 10

Top 10 relatively harmless ways not to get invited back to babysit:

1. Teach kids vulgar new vocabulary words.

2. Magic Marker black eyes for everyone!

3. Use Bedazzler as ear piercing tool.

4. Leave copy of "Two Moon Junction" in VCR.

5. Play Tattoo Shop with Sharpies.

6. Shave everyone's head.

7. Feed kids all sugar on premises.

8. Promise to come back in an hour with their free puppy.

9. Put all CDs or DVDs (whichever they have more of) in the wrong cases. Oops!

10. Say to parents, "If my parole officer asks, I was here doing yardwork."

There were a couple of hiccups during the day. The older kid refused to eat his breakfast eggs. The younger kid tipped over and bonked his head while I was supervising the older one's post-toilet handwashing. Thankfully, he recovered quickly and without a telltale lump (though I guess neglect would be another way out).

The mom needed a sitter so she could do some cleaning work for her husband's construction business. It was satisfying to know she wasn't out having oodles of fun while I wiped up poo and wondered why they don't get regular TV. But I'm still not happy about subsidizing their family business with my free labor.

On the plus side, I picked up another side job--editing a dissertation on the Civil War written by a guy in the ward. His wife brought the first five chapters to tonight's book group (the only person to show up) and said specifically they weren't looking for a "Mormon discount" on the editing job but did want to keep an eye on the costs. I said I'd do a quick proofread of his first draft and save the fine-tooth combing for after his committee is done with it.

And tomorrow morning, I meet with the editor about my online column. Yay!

I need to find work so

People will stop asking me to babysit their kids. All day. For free.

My friends' kids--they're a different story. I enjoy their company. The most I expect is to be pleasantly exhausted at the end of the evening (although some parents feed me well, which makes hanging out with their offspring for a few hours that much more pleasant).

But what I'm liking less are the assumptions that because I'm not working that I must not have anything else to do and I'd be willing to babysit for 6 to 10 hours for anyone who calls asking.

My first babysitting gig was for a woman from church. I didn't mind because her youngest daughter was in the hospital and she didn't have any support system but church people to help with the other two kids.

This time the request is coming from a woman in the RS presidency who lives a couple of blocks away. She has a nanny/babysitter two days a week, but I guess her usual person is unavailable and she called me. She said she felt bad about asking at the last minute (but didn't feel bad enough not to ask). Why me? Why not someone she knows better, who knows her children or someone who has small children and could entertain two more much easier than I can?

Since I didn't have anything scheduled (and tomorrow's RS presidency meeting is canceled because this same sister is unavailable), I said OK.

So I'm passively/aggressively bitching about being a pushover rather than saying no. Or, more accurately, saying "I can, but I don't want to because there's a difference between a compassionate service request and a 'please be conveniently available for me' request." I did have enough sense to request this gig happen at their house. Mine is not childproofed or equipped to entertain children at length.

So, instead of having the day to tidy up and get ready to host the first book group meeting tomorrow night, I'll be babysitting. Pfffbt.

Test

For the past two days when I've tried to pull up Rio Grande Valley Girl, I get a blank pink screen. What gives? Uploading test post to see if it shows up and/or simultaneously revives all other RGVG content.

Is this because I haven't switched over to the new Blogger?

Bienvenidos, Belita!

Here are pictures of our new addition to the family, Belita. AKA Sneezer, thanks to the cold she came down with a couple of days after we brought her home.

Her sweet disposition makes PK, the crabby Aby, suffer by comparison. He's stopped hissing at the closed door to Belita's room, but when he chances to see her as we enter and exit the room, he starts up again. This introduction is going to take a while...

I'm sure you'll understand why we're besotted:

An Offer I Can't Refuse

I got a call last night from the assistant managing editor at the local newspaper. I met with him last month, gave him my resume and writing portfolio, and asked if there were any openings on the copy desk.

I'd also pitched him an idea for a column. Since I'm new in town, I could ask locals, Winter Texans, and other transplants to the Valley to share their best-kept secrets with me, Rio Grande Valley Girl, and I could write about the expeditions that readers send me on.

Henry was calling to follow up after a staff meeting regarding Internet initiatives. They want to run with the column and would like to meet to discuss the details such as frequency, content, and what they'd pay. Yeeee haaaaw!

I need to call Henry back and brainstorm a few ideas to bring to the meeting, such as ideas for where Rio Grande Valley should go exploring first. Something that will draw readers in and keep them coming back.

I'll still blog here, natch, but this looks like a fun way for the Rio Grande Valley Girl persona to get some exposure beyond my circle of friends and family. And get paid for it--how cool is that?!

Blue Crossed Wires

When I got married, I didn't realize I would become a dependent in so many different ways. After being independent for many years, it's been something of an adjustment.

Until I start working full time or my sporadic hours working for the physical therapist get regular, I'm dependent on my husband's income. I know I'm damn fortunate to be in this position, but it still makes me uncomfortable to a degree.

And then there's the health insurance. Again, I'm fortunate to have it; but now that I'm trying to actually USE it, I keep hitting road blocks. And I'm peeved that I don't even get my own name on the card.

Like today: the Blue Cross/Blue Shield customer service center is closed due to severe weather conditions. Yesterday when I called, they were closed for the holiday. So I try the web site. It won't let me in.

I call tech support, but since I'm not the subscriber they can't do anything. I would have to call Mike to have him call BX/BS and they would call me back or some wacked out permission-getting scenario like that. Technician says he'd get fired if he let someone other than the subscriber have access--nothing personal.

I've gotten into the web pages before. In fact, I set up online access! I told the tech, I know you can't do anything, but this is asinine! I'm COVERED by these benefits; there should be a way that maintains security for the subscriber but ALSO grants appropriate access to other adults covered by the same policy. Match the call to our home phone number like AM EX does. Something more sophisticated than making every spouse play "Subscriber, May I?"

Sheesh!

Called to Swerve

Tomorrow's a big day at church. After 6 months of having the counselors run the show, we're finally getting a new bishop. I already feel sorry for how swamped he'll be with a 6 month backlog to tackle--assuming it's not one of the counselors.

I have a new calling: Relief Society Secretary. I've pimped my office skills over the years, but never like this. It involves a lot of paper work, a lot of nose counting, a lot of data entry.

The Visiting Teaching coordinator hasn't been functioning lately, so the VT reporting/nose counting also falls to me. And they want me to do a newsletter, which I'd be more excited about except that I did the newsletter in my last ward for SIX YEARS.

In my last ward, this amount of work was done by three people. I'm already worn out and I've barely started. I'm sure my face registered shock in this week's presidency meeting when the RS president initially suggested a weekly newsletter.

I tried to don a poker face when she had us recite the RS motto together and asked us to think about reciting it in RS every week. Gack. And I squirmed at the suggestion that we think about going to the temple as a presidency.

So far, my role appears to be mainly stenographic. I thought I'd get to teach the first Sunday lesson, but I'm not in the rotation with the rest of the presidency.

I also transgressed by wearing pants to the presidency meeting Thursday. Apparently, we need to be in church dress in case we go visit women after the meeting. How much does wearing a skirt matter to God or the women we're visiting and trying to serve?

Some friends have suggested that I'm there to loosen up a wound-tight presidency and unrigidify some of their views. Can I do that wearing pants?

Worth a Thousand

Rush hour on the International Bridge.





Mike and the kids go to Reynosa, and all I got was this picture.






Brad and Nicole are swingers! Seen here bonding with the neighbor cat, Oliver.






Nicole and Brad, signage and a stuffed fish named Gill.





Colorful, but what are they? A closer look reveals....






Yup, each craftily painted shell houses a hermit crab in varying degrees of embarrassment.






Photo op at roadside tourist trap.

It's a Girl!

But it's not what you're thinking, Heather and Janet. ;)

On Friday, we're adding another cat to the family!

I stopped by the Upper Valley Humane Society this afternoon and found a kitty. Called Mike so he could come meet her, too. We've stopped by several times, but never found a kitty who seemed to want us as much as we wanted her.

She's a white/gray Lynx point (so says the Humane Society) with bright blue eyes, a dark gray stripey tail and a pleasant disposition. I spent 30 minutes with her in the "meeting room" and she never stopped purring. She also likes being held and cuddled.

She got a little skittish when Mike came in, but calmed down and came right over to sniff him. They got to know each other while I filled out the adoption paperwork. She gets spayed Friday and we'll pick her up when she's done. We plan to call her Belita.

We'll keep her separated from PK initially and plan on a long, drawn-out introduction. I figured PK would probably take better to a younger female than having another male cat in the house, even if neutered.

Will post a picture once Belita comes home!

Visiting Kids, part deux

Brad and Nicole--Mike's two oldest children--have been here for a week. We've gone more places with them than we did with the younger girls.

On the way home from the airport, we stopped at the new outlet mall. We had dinner at a Mexican restaurant near our house. I took Nicole vintage and consignment shopping before going to the salon for her first ever pedicure--very girly. We had a belated Christmas with presents for the kids from us and their Grandma Sue.

Mike took the kids on a drive-thru tour of Reynosa. We shopped in downtown McAllen, which is almost like going to Mexico minus border guards/homeland security. Nicole found a Jesus on a cross on an anchor she couldn't live without and is also going home with a pair of Texas-issue footwear from the Boot Jack.

Brad wowed us with his drumwork at the local Guitar Center. He's also a great orange picker and we enjoyed the juice of his labors. He and Mike caught up on their vacation sports watching, including the embarrassing trouncing of the OSU Buckeyes by Florida.

PK was disconcerted by more new people in the house. Brad and Nicole had been briefed about the cat before their arrival. They alternated between befriending and teasing poor PK, answering his agitated meows with their own. Sunday afternoon, PK jumped up and sat on Brad's lap. I tried to get a picture of this momentous event, but when I called to PK to get him to face the camera, he jumped down instead.

The kids did make friends with the neighbor cat, a semi-Siamese blend. His people don't give their pets much attention, so Oliver comes over to visit while we're out in the yard and naps in our rock garden. At least there's another source of kitty love.

We spent our last day heading to South Padre Island. It was warmer/less windy than our first trip. We stopped at one of the huge seashell stores with a giant reef sculpture out front and photo op sharks, dolphins and conch shells near the front door. Ah, kitsch!

We drove across the bridge and found a place to park and walk to the beach. We picked up shells for a while before heading out to find food. Ended up at the Padre Island Brewing Company for calimari with spicy dipping sauce, seafood ceviche salsa, and other pub fare. Nicole and I conked out on the drive home while the menfolk listened to the game.

After a morning of errands, leisurely breakfasting and fine televised entertainment, we'll be heading to the airport. It will be strange to have the house to ourselves again, but I think PK will be a little happier about that.

Blech

Downed by a trifecta of ailments: physical, emotional and material.

Physical: I woke up last night suddenly vomiting. No warning, no time to get to the bathroom. Just pow, awake, urp. And once I got to the bathroom, I was just as suddenly no longer vomiting--just that one bedside yak. Left wondering: What the hell just happened?!

Since I'm still feeling iffy, it puts the kibosh on me going on our trip to Mexico today. I told Mike he and the kids should still go. However, the departure time has come and gone and, until a few moments ago, Brad was the only one showered, awake and ready to leave. Can only wonder how this will play out.

Emotional: I heard back from a job lead. Asked me to email my resume and writing samples. Trouble is, most of my journalism portfolio isn't in electronic format. I replied with my resume and explained the clips would follow once I got them scanned. In the meantime, I sent three RGVG posts (put into Word) that I felt showcase my writing skills.

The response? "The blog posts are cute, but do you have any hard newswriting experience? I run a weekly paper."

READ my resume, nitwit. Page two. Besides, good writing is good writing, regardless of where it's published. Scanned and sent portfolio nonetheless. Predicting I'll not hear a peep back. Bummer to have a promising-sounding lead go sour.

Material: Don't know when or how it happened, but my cell phone got a crack in it that got worse every time I opened the phone. I hadn't had it long enough to be eligible for a free replacement, so Mike checked our account and he could get a free/low cost replacement and give it to me.

Of course, I still wanted to fix my phone. (DC Rush Hour has some experience with my fix-it trait). We bought some superglue and I attempted to glue the cracked part back together. Unfortunately, a too-large glue spurt covered the entire hinge. I swore and frantically tried to blot it up before it dried. When I checked a few minutes later, my phone was glued open. Which is better than glued shut and completely unusable, but not by much.

Conclusions: Replacement phone is supposed to arrive today; squelch urge to MacGyver things back together.

Mexico is still out, although I could drink the water with no ill effects if already ill.

I'd rather be unemployed than in the employ of someone who belittles my work right out of the gate. Who gets their hard news from a weekly paper, anyway?

Maquila!

John, of Mike's colleagues in the business college, arranges a field trip the last week of classes. Interested students, faculty, and hangers-on (like myself) sign up and we cross one of the bridges into Reynosa for a tour of several maquiladoras or manufacturing plants.

Getting to the Pharr International Bridge was an adventure in itself. Since we were going to Mexico on business, we had to park, fill out extra paperwork, and pay $20 to get processed. New stamp in my passport! After that, we tailgated John so we wouldn't get lost on the way to the first tour.

First stop: Nokia. We surrendered our cell phones and paperwork at the front desk, donned white lab coats, and filed into the conference room for cookies, coffee, and bottled water before the management presentation. I kept peppering them with questions about the gender balance among entry-level employees and management, about benefits for workers and whether they do any recycling. Then we walked around the (HUGE) 130,000 square foot facility checking out the different products being assembled and shipped.

Next stop: Black & Decker. This time we got protective eyewear, ear plugs and had to remove all jewelry above the waist before entering the maquila floor. We watched workers create and inspect plastic injection molding of tool housings. I burned my finger touching a drill handle hot off the presses. The earplugs and noise level made it difficult to hear our tour guides unless you were right on their heels. B&D was the only maquila we toured that employed disabled workers. The post-tour presentation was low-tech compared to Nokia's, but they were forthcoming in answering questions about their work force and business practices. Yes, they recycle. Just toss any wonky plastic part back in the melter.

Last stop: Corning. Not the cookware, although they're part of the same family. This was Corning Cable. By that time, we'd been on our feet about six hours and I wasn't quite as interested. They trotted us around the factory floor showing us cables and boxes and explaining how much data their products can carry. I cornered one of the tour guides to ask about gender balance, employee turnover and what they do for/with pregnant workers. He said the pregnant women wear pink smocks and are assigned to lighter duties and get 6 weeks maternity leave. We finished the tour right at the end of a shift change and I'd never seen such a stampede to punch out! We were herded into a conference room overlooking the plant floor and asked a few questions. They seemed befuddled by my question about recycling.

The three maquilas we toured--Nokia, Black & Decker, and Corning Cable--are considered employers of choice. They provide transportation, health services, free/heavily subsidized meals and treat their employees like valuable human beings, not disposable commodities. Even though all three reported significant turnover among entry-level employees, they don't have trouble filling openings. It was an interesting behind-the-scenes view of what goes into manufacturing and assembling cell phones, power tools and fiberoptic cables--items we rely on with provenance we don't often think about.

After the tours, dinner! We luged through Reynosa trying to keep up with John--no easy task even on the U.S. side. I was glad Mike was driving--and doubly glad he could explain to the police officer directing traffic why he'd pulled a U-turn on a bridge when we accidentally made a turn John didn't and were trying to catch up.

Aside from that incident, we arrived at La Fogata in one piece and enjoyed a nice dinner with a handful of folks who'd lasted to the bitter end. We crossed over the Hidalgo bridge, got stuck in traffic leaving a concert at Dodge Arena, and I didn't wake up until Mike pulled into our driveway. Looking forward to next semester's tour!

After Christmas

As pictured in a previous post, we had a great time with the girls on Christmas Eve/Day. We had a pair of missionaries and the fellow we pick up for church come over for Christmas dinner--turkey #2, christened "Monte" by the girls. We sent Richard home with full stomach and a quart of eggnog, a treat hard to come by in the Veteran's Home where he lives.

We also celebrated Jessica's 14th birthday with breakfast in bed--including homemade waffles by Jackie with whipped cream and other decadent toppings, fresh squeezed OJ from our trees, and the requisite bacon and eggs. After our brunch, we hauled our cookies over to South Padre Island for some beach blanket tooth chattering.

The water was cold, and the air even colder. Playa-ing was only fun for an hour and then the girls wanted back in the van where it was warm. We drove until the road/island ended, then turned around to cruise back through town.

Jessie wanted Taco Bell for birthday dinner. Luckily, SPI has one and we saw it in time to pull over and chow. Mike did some embarrassing dad tricks, i.e. singing "Happy Birthday" and presenting Jessica with two Hostess cupcakes with matches stuck in like candles.

After that, we drove back to the island's one movie theater just in time to catch a showing of Night at the Museum, which was actually kinda fun if compulsory.

Alas, the girls opted to go home a few days sooner so that Jackie could play in some basketball tournament games. Jessica didn't want to travel alone, so she left when Jackie did. The field trip to Mexico and a return visit to SPI will have to wait until next time.

We spent our last night eating leftover Monte and birthday cake and taking turns kicking each others' butts at Uno. Then the girls had to pack for their appallingly early flight out of Harlingen the next morning.

All told, we had a grand time. Got to know each other a little better. Enjoyed Christmas cheer, good food, and good company. What more can a blended family ask for--except more of the same fun now that Brad and Nicole are here?

Now that's more like it!

Our other tree.




The girls gave me The Devil Wears Prada--so cool!




Even PK got a treat in the form of whipped cream--a guilt indulgence after we locked him in the laundry room during Christmas dinner.




Mike and his girly girls!




Bring it, Santa!

The extent of our decorating so far

Tis the Season

It's 1:30 pm in McAllen. I've been up since 10, worked out, showered, ran to the mailbox place, bought spices at Sun Harvest, and ate breakfast. It's raining. The cat has made himself comfortable on my lap and I am finally getting around to a blog update.

Mi esposo is sawing logs down the hall. The girls are still in bed, too, although Jessica ventured to the loo a while ago.

I'm not used to being the up-and-at-'em one! In my teenage days, I was the one sleeping to/past noon on weekends and holidays, stirring only to catch The Twilight Zone or The X-Files marathons.

Maybe I should have stayed in bed today, too. It's certainly more inviting than the great outdoors right now. Methinks I'll make a cup of tea and curl up with a library book for a spell. After a 4-day house cleaning marathon, I'm due to put my feet up.

At some point, we'll go get the Christmas tree. Mike was going to do some last-minute shopping with the girls. I have Christmas dinner to assemble/cook. Hoping that the turkey will be sufficiently defrosted by the time it goes into the oven.

In case I don't have another chance to sit down in the next couple of days, here's wishing y'all a warm, wonderful holiday season!

Tagged: Six Weird Things About ME

Only six?

1. I've traveled to faraway places alone, yet I HATE walking into a bar by myself.

2. The way I eat Petrillo's Pizza. ONLY Petrillo's gets this treatment and then only around family. Remove sausage, pepperoni and mushrooms and eat. Remove layer of cheese and eat. With fork, separate sauce-covered top of pizza dough from crusty bottom. Roll up soft part and eat. If hungry, eat crunchy crust part or give to dad.

3. I collect frogs. Windchimes, jewelry, pot holders, picture frames, arty objects, etc.

4. People who meet me as an adult have a hard time believing I was a cheerleader in high school.

5. I keep the lid and seat up (like a guy) so my cat can drink out of the toilet but not walk on the seat which comes in contact with my bum.

6. I bought a $13 pound of coffee for its packaging (by artist Lane Twitchell).

Donor Fatigue

I got assigned to visit teach a woman only for December. Someone else covered her until November and she's moving this weekend.

Flocks of people showed up to paint the house inside and out, but now fewer people are heeding the call to service. In fact, last Saturday, it was ONLY me and my VT companion helping at the house. Carol gave me a key to the house, perhaps to ensure our return.

A small crew is headed over this morning. We'll see how much we get done. I'm tired. Not helped by yesterday's rush to get Christmas packages in the mail or the fight we had in the post office parking lot.

And tonight, it's the Hispanic MBA Association's Christmas mixer. Tomorrow, decorating and bringing hot cocoa to the ward Christmas party. Whew.

Relationally Aggressive Barbie

At last week's babysitting gig, I leafed through a copy of BYU Today that was on top of the magazine pile. It had a short article describing a BYU study that found relationally aggressive behavior in girls occurs in pre-school--much earlier than was once thought.

The behaviors that fall under the umbrella of "relationally aggressive" were excluding other girls, withdrawing friendship, isolating and manipulating others into following suit. (What surprises me is that some women never quite grow out of this).

Anyway, when 5-year-old Stephanie got home from school, she pulled out her backpack of Barbies. Eight in all. We clothed the naked ones and decided they were going to see a movie.

As we were seating the octet in front of the TV, I put the Barbie in the white dress next to one Stephanie was playing with. Immediately, she said re: White Dress Barbie, "You can't sit with us! You're not our friend!" Huh? All eight were in the backpack together, but now there's segregation?

I tried to get a neutral Barbie to vouch for White Dress Barbie, saying, "I know her. She lives on my street. She's nice." That didn't take. After a few minutes, Pink Dress Barbie topped the Sh-t list. I tried to get Stephanie to explain why one Barbie had to be on the outs, but she didn't/couldn't. But at age five, she's tuned into these dynamics. Eeek.

Eventually, all eight Barbies sat down together (following some shuffling after Capri Pants Barbie was accused of not sharing her popcorn) and finished watching the screening of Blue's Clues. Reading about relationally aggressive behavior is one thing. Having it acted out with a five-year-old and her Barbies was a real eye opener.

Plumb Wore Out

Just got home from a near-12 hour long babysitting gig for some church folks. Warmed up some leftovers and started a pot of chili to ward off the day's cold rainies.

The family I was babysitting for has their 2-month-old daughter in the hospital. Mom stays with her during the day and needed someone to watch the 3-year-old and the 5-year-old after school. When dad gets done with work, he spends the night at the hospital with the baby. In the morning, lather, rinse, repeat.

The mom ran late tonight because the dad apparently was in a car accident on the way home--as if they need more trauma. Mom was still trying to line up a sitter for tomorrow and came home teary. Rough week. I'm booked tomorrow, unfortunately.

And pooped tonight. Otherwise, I'd ruminate on the changes in the Barbie clothes I played with tonight--vastly different than the ones from my youth--and my new awareness of relationally aggressive behavior in girls. More on that later.

Take that, Tostitos.

We saw these in HEB and couldn't pass them up.














They went well with the guacamole, Kinky Friedman's Politically Correct salsa and the BLTs + avocado we had for dinner last night. And, although not optimal, they were an adequate conveyance for onion dip as well.

Of course, once we were halfway through the bag, the trick was finding an intact specimen for the photo op.

The Rio Grande Valley is right where my thumb is touching the bottom part of the chip. This is how to get students' geography test scores up. Edible lesson materials.

Proud Larry

On my drive to Walgreens, there was a truck with a bumper sticker I hadn't seen before. It read, "ASSHOLE. Not just a word. A LIFESTYLE."

The guy behind the wheel seemed eager to share his lifestyle with the rest of us on Second Street. He burned rubber to get a head start at every green light, cutting off cars, jackrabbitting and weaving around slower traffic.

For all the showboating, he didn't get anywhere any faster. I caught up to him at two intersections and got a good look at the bumper sticker and the F-150 pickup to which it was affixed.

I wonder: did he buy the sticker himself? (If so, where?!?) Was it a gift? Or did someone acquainted with his habits slap it on the rear bumper unbeknownst to the driver?

What kind of person would proudly call himself an asshole? And why proclaim this on a bumper sticker when his driving effectively communicated the same thing in less than a block? Was he just trying to beat us to the obvious judgment?

Also wondering: Is being an asshole a choice, a lifestyle, or are some people just born that way? I wonder how the scientific community would explain it...

Dude, Where's My Sweater?

We had a cold front blow in and it actually IS cold for here. A daytime high of 50 degrees and lows predicted in the 30s tonight. I thought So.Tex didn't get that chilly. I have a sizable collection of sweaters and jackets. If the cold front persists, I may get a chance to wear some of them!

I hope my tomato plants live through the night. And the citrus--should I be smudging the orchard like they do in California when the temperatures dip? Alas, I am too many generations removed from the farm to know.

I shivered through a lunch date and some Christmas shopping before going home to put on a sweater. And a jacket over the sweater when Mike and I went to see The Guardian at the Dollar Theater, hence the titular Ashton Kutcher reference. And poor Kevin Costner. You'd think with a performance that wooden, he would have floated.

Still Gobbling

Is there anything more heavenly than Thanksgiving leftovers?

I made turkey noodle soup last night and made a batch of chocolatey brown stock from leftover pan scrapings, carmelized vegetables and the carcass of Lorena Gobblit--that chick just keeps on giving.

Today I had two bowls of soup with stuffing dumplings. And two major foodgasms. Mmmmm.

Domestic Products

What I made for post-Thanksgiving dinner:




Lorena Gobblit





Veggies




Pumpkin Pie




Dressing to Excess (serves 12-16)

Sometimes you just gotta say, "What the cluck!"

I am proud to report that my first turkey turned out FAB!

I had good instructions which helped immensely (thanks to Dr. Lala and DC Rush Hour!) and I did a little improvising, too.

I microplaned a head of garlic and mixed it in with the melted butter I rubbed into Lorena Gobblit's breast. I wasn't sure if I was doing the rub-with-butter part right. The butter kept sticking to my hands and falling off the turkey in chunks, rather than staying ON the turkey where I wanted it. All that work and I just end up with savory hands?

After ending up with carbonized vegetables with my roast chicken, I opted to put the veggies in with the turkey for the last hour of cooking. Just right!

I mixed up a salad my mom makes (lettuce, hardcooked egg, sliced olives and mayo), made some tarragon marinated mushrooms, whipped up a pumpkin pie and made enough stuffing for 16 people. I should have halved the recipe, but I'd dried enough bread for a full batch, so I felt committed. Mike made a fourth batch of potatoes (mashed then riced) to great effect.

I'm still fine-tuning the art of getting everything done at the same time (and giving the turkey 30 minutes to rest), so we sat down to dinner close to 9:00 pm. We had intended to hit the 10:00 pm show, but cleanup took longer than expected.

We watched a couple more episodes of The 1900 House and let the meal settle a bit. Then we whipped cream in the KitchenAid and smothered slices of pumpkin and pecan pie with it. YUM.

All in all, a successful endeavor. One that I might try next year on Thanksgiving, instead of the day after.

Turkey Day

I was a bit nervous about doing a whole dinner by myself on our first married Thanksgiving together. Rather than cooking under pressure, Mike and I potlucked with five other families from church.

Even though we weren't cooking the whole dinner, there was a learning curve with the side dishes. The green beans with almonds and the cranberry-orange glazed sweet potatoes turned out fine. Not so the mashed potatoes.

We learned that the KitchenAid is the wrong tool to make fluffy mashed potatoes. We stuck them in the oven, thinking it would cook off the glueyness. Instead, the potatoes grew a skin on top and the gluey, goopy mass below remained.

Mike made a late-night run to HEB for more russets (and something to soothe the frazzled chef). Batch two turned out better, what with using the right implements and adding some roasted garlic.

We made a third batch Thursday morning to make sure there was enough for the potluck. Somehow, the potatoes were slightly undercooked and turned out slightly lumpy--something I didn't discover until I was spooning them into the serving dish alongside batch two. (D'oh!)

When we set up the buffet, I turned the serving dish so batch two faced forward. Even with the fumble, people chowed down and offered compliments.

It was nice to spend time with folks outside of church and get to know each other better. I was sad to find out that the Primary president (the one who looks like Swizzies) is moving to Reston, VA in January. She seemed the most kindred of the church ladies, even though I only see her in passing at church.

I called the 'rents when I got home to ask how their T-day had been. They were going to eat dinner at the rest home with Cousin Shirley, but she wasn't feeling well and begged off. They ended up eating at The Trough instead. ("The Trough?" I asked. "The Golden Corral buffet," mom said.) Brother John made Cornish game hens in lieu of turkey this year.

Mike called the kids and his mom and we finished off the evening with the requisite post-Thanksgiving dinner nap. We ended up sleeping through the 7:00 pm and the 10:00 pm movie. (I know. We're such party animals).

Moniker Lewinski

One of the Scary Feminists From Hell emailed the rest of us with her secret recipe for amazing turkey. Instruction #2: Give your bird a name.

Since we're newlyweds in the process of establishing holiday traditions of our own, I told Mike we needed to come up with a name for our turkey.

After a few false starts, we came up with Lorena Gobblit. Yes, after that notorious-for-cutting-off-her-husband's-penis Lorena.

We're potlucking with two families from church on Thanksgiving itself, but I bought a medium-sized turkey for me to practice on. It's the first time I'll be cooking a turkey by myself. If I slather Lorena with enough butter, I can't go too wrong, right?

In the interest of science (applicable to next year's turkey): fresh or frozen? How much does it matter?