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?

Lunch with Archie Bunker

Mike and I watched Hotel Rwanda last night. Of course, I cried like an infant. I was depressed at the end; it's not like there's been swimming progress regarding genocide in Africa.

I was still lucid at the end of the film, which is more than I can say for when I saw Schindler's List (on a first date; bad idea). Or when I saw the film, The Killing Fields, and toured the Yad Vashem Holocaust Museum as a 17-year-old exchange student in Israel--the summer of my rude awakening to some of more horrific events in world history.

If you've seen Hotel Rwanda, you'll recall the slur the Hutus used to describe the Tutsis: cockroaches. As if this was self-evident justification for slaughtering them.

Today, while I was having lunch with a couple I know, the husband launched into a diatribe about the proposed border fence. Hurry up and build it! Electrify it! If someone gets zapped, too bad; they were trying to cross illegally! Those people are cockroaches!

Of course, he couldn't have known the impact of that word on me. Or how far my opinion of him plummeted in that moment.

Or how guarded I'll be when I see him at church from now on.

Each time I hear church people spout opinions like this--and it happens a lot--I feel alienated. Like I'm never going to have real friends here.

Instead, I'll have a slew of church acquaintances who supposedly share the same set of religious beliefs, but whose opinions, biases or bigotry detour them off the Christian path.

I feel reluctant to share my whole self (including my vastly different opinions, biases, and hatred of bigotry). And I feel physically queasy to hear a guy I go to church with refer to other human beings as cockroaches.

Wednesday in the Park with Jorge

I don't have much experience squelching unsolicited male attention.

I turn into Polly Polite, congenitally unable to stop the solicitor in his tracks or formulate an excuse not to take the proffered phone number or the invitation to dance. If I'd ever lived in NYC (or watched enough Sex and the City), I'd have the right comeback. Would have saved me from gawky 14-year-old boys at church dances.

Halfway through my first lap around Zinna Park this morning, a Hispanic man said hello and stopped to introduce himself (in Spanish so I responded in Spanish). Jorge said he'd like to be friends--he could practice his English and I could practice my Spanish. Could he give me his number?

I hesitate. He asked if I was married (Yes, YES! Doesn't that mean I'm exempt!?) but he was undeterred. He said he'd go to his car for a pen and I kicked myself for the rest of lap one for not forcefully declining.

Jorge intercepted me by the car park and I (stupidly) waited for him to write down the number. Just then, one of the young marrieds from church walked by, so I excused myself to start lap two.

I'm sweaty, unshowered and slathered in sunscreen and DEET. The opposite of alluring. I thought the wedding ring meant I wouldn't have to fend off this kind of attention. How do I shut up my inner Nice Girl? Is abominable rudeness the only way to go?

Resume the Position

I thought being able to fit regular bras would be a good skill to acquire, given my long-range plans. So I hoofed it over to the mall and put in applications at Macy's, JCPenney, Dillard's, and Victoria's Secret.

It's been 11 years since I applied for new a job and more than 2 years since I updated my resume. Needless to say, the application process has changed.

Three out of four had on-line applications. JCPenney was the most security-conscious, obscuring the applicant's Social Security number and personal data on the computer terminals in HR. JCP asked a few questions about what type of person/worker you are--do you finish what you start, do you like talking to strangers?

At Macy's, the employment kiosk was located in Customer Service and personal information was visible to whoever walked past at the right moment. Not cool.

Dillard's only had one (unsecured) terminal in the HR office that was in use when I arrived, so I went downstairs to talk to the lingerie department's manager. (No openings now, she said). I completed the application anyway.

Dillard's application included a 95-question personality assessment. Mike used to create personality assessments for a living, so I called to ask what D's would do with the results. (I gave socially desirable answers to some questions, hoping this would compensate for my lack of retail experience).

All require background checks. The applicant is informed they'll talk with previous employers, family, neighbors, friends to inquire about your "mode of living," among other things. Dillard's was unique, including a disclaimer that they are not liable for any loss or damage to my clothing or personal property during employment.

Victoria's Secret does applications the old-fashioned way: on paper. The biggest chore was finding a place to sit down to fill it out. I was unprepared to say much about my last job before JPL. I had the name of the school district and the woman who interviewed me, but not the district's address or phone number. (My bad. Then again, that was more than 10 years ago).

So far, I haven't heard anything. I did call the newspaper and they have a more promising option. As much as I'd like to be a bra fitter, the thought of acquiring this skill set in the 2 months before Christmas kinda scares me.

Work in Progress

November is my month to get serious about finding work. So far, there are several options.

I revisited the tea shop. The proprietor remembered me--and she just lost an employee, but the shop isn't busy enough to require extra help right now. I said I could help jump-start a proper afternoon tea since they're still planning to do that and I've been to soooo many. (Didn't think to pinch a menu from the last tearooms I visited in CA...) She took my name and number and said she'd call.

Substitute teaching is another option. The local school district needs subs and the application process is fairly simple. It also pays $80/day--not as great as CA, but better than most jobs around here.

I've also thought of trying retail, though I'm loath to work that hard for so little. If I go this route, it would be in the service of a larger goal--one in which some fresh retail experience would come in handy.

The larger goal: I'm plotting with a local physical therapist to open a business that would provide goods (mastectomy bras, breast protheses, lingerie) and services (physical therapy, workshops, exercise programs, lectures, coaching) to breast cancer patients and survivors.

Few such resources exist in the RGV, despite the high rate of breast cancer in the area. Some patients drive to San Antonio or Corpus Christi rather than go to the local shop for a bra/prosthesis fitting. (I visited, so I know why women feel that way).

Of course, this is part personal quest as well. I'm tired of losing loved ones to cancer. And for those who don't live in a large, urban area like LA and don't have as many options for medical supplies and aftercare, providing those services is something I can throw my whole heart into.

In the meantime, I still need to find a paying job until the larger venture starts taking shape.

Backyard Safari

After 3 miles on the walking path Tuesday, I decided to go home via the back way. That means I bypass La Vista Park (hasta!) and keep going south to where the walking path intersects with the drainage canal behind our house.

As I left the path and headed for the dirt road along the canal, my presence disturbed a trio of turtles sunning themselves on the concrete canal bank and they ran (yes, ran!) for the safety of the water. I think the slope of the bank aided their descent, but they moved faster than I've ever seen a turtle go.










A couple of herons hang out around the canals. They take my breath away every time I see them, but they were gone by the time I got back with the camera.

Flocks of butterflies make their winter home in South Texas. Those little airborne divas don't hold still for photos, either. I'll keep trying.


I stopped to look around the garden and found this guy chomping on one of the plants. (See: everything's bigger in Texas).






Further investigation turned up other leaf damage and wriggly culprits.











I guess that's the price one's garden pays for the butterflies. At least they're not eating my basil.

Purchasing Power

I bought a little something in California to help me adjust to my new role.



I'd always wanted a tarot deck and now I have one--one that's delightfully specific to being a housewife! The box has dividers for the major and minor arcana--and each divider tab has a recipe on the back.

Did I score or what?