Got 'em in Spanish?

I got a call from the Breast Cancer Prevention Fund soliciting donations for mammograms for women who can't afford them.

A good cause, but would my donation go to someone in MY neighborhood, where the incidence of breast cancer is quite high? The solicitor said it would--they're based in Dallas. I'm not anywhere near Dallas; wouldn't I be better off donating to the American Cancer Society in my town if I want my support to stay local?

The poor girl thumbed through her script; I guess this part wasn't covered.

She asked for me using my first name and married last name--not a combo I use--so I asked where she got my number. She couldn't tell me. She said how much each mammogram cost and wanted to know how much I planned to give so she could send the "right envelope." Just send me the forms and I'll decide how much I can kick in, OK?

She offered to send me free self breast exam shower cards--did I want any? I asked if they had the cards in Spanish. Ummm, I don't know, I'll have to ask my supervisor.

I said the population here is largely Hispanic/Mexican/Spanish speaking and that's who's getting breast cancer. If their organization doesn't have resource materials in Spanish to distribute within Texas, they're doing a disservice to the women who need them most. DUH!

When the donation forms arrived a few days later, there was a note from the solicitor saying she was going to speak with HR about getting Spanish shower cards.

I'll send them a check. I'm also going to follow up on those shower cards...

Blogspit

Tried to log in and post a new entry to find The Powers moved me over to the new version of Blogger without notice!

Yes, what I need is more change and upheaval right now.

Easter in the RGV, Part IV: The Jaw Dropper

I vented to the good organist (who was home sick Sunday) about the non-existent Easter in the McAllen First Ward. She's a former Episcopalian, likes good Easter programs and typically attends another church on Easter, that smart cookie.

She told me that the ward is planning an Easter program for April 15--the Sunday AFTER EASTER. She and her husband are the speakers.

There's just not a font big enough to express this, but WTF?!?

I AM APPALLED. Having an Easter service a week late is not BETTER than dissing Easter on Easter.

If I have this right, fast & testimony meeting is important and must proceed as scheduled. No matter what.

Easter is important, too, but we can just celebrate it some other Sunday when it's more convenient.

What, like it's the most significant event on the whole Christian calendar?

Easter Feaster

We had a beautiful Easter dinner: grapefruit & avocado salad with mustard poppyseed vinaigrette and cedar plank salmon with a thyme/brown sugar/red pepper rub. And potato salad to use up some hard cooked eggs.









Alas, one of these dishes made Mike violently ill the next day. And even though we ate the same thing, I was fine.




Of course, there was a basket of goodies.

There's More! Easter in the RGV Part III

If you're rolling your eyes and asking, "Girl, what is UP with the three posts about Easter? Give it a rest already," I'll understand. Nonetheless, there's still more to say about Easter in the RGV if you feel like reading further.

First: Don't go shopping during Holy Week. Every Mexican national with disposable income is in McAllen buying stuff. I spent 45 minutes in the checkout line at Ross on Good Friday afternoon wondering if Mass was anywhere near as crowded.

Second-and-harder-to-accept: the Mormons here don't do a bleeding thing to celebrate Easter and no one seems to notice or care.

Since our ward has the 1-4 pm timeslot this year, Mike and I decided to alternative services Easter morning. I'd written a Monitor column about St. Matthew's peace gardens & labyrinth and talked with the rector a couple of times, so we decided to go there for their second Easter service with music.

It was a good call. There were Easter lilies and flowers decorating the sanctuary, beautiful music, an intelligent sermon, welcoming people and--best of all--palpable Easter joy.

I had to sightread most of the hymns. I enjoyed the selections from the Book of Common Prayer and the interactive Peace part of the service, during which people greeted each other enthusiastically and wished each other peace.

The rector announced the church's upcoming Holy Smoke BBQ, which gave me the giggles. And I met the woman who planted the peace gardens who was a client of the physical therapist I worked for on whose desk I found the postcard about the labyrinth and peace gardens which is how I learned about St. Matthew's in the first place.

Several people invited us to stay for coffee after the service, but we had to dash back to make it to our ward. We should have quit while we were ahead.

The assistant organist was mutilating the opening hymn when we walked in and I made an unfortunate pew choice which put us in front of the mission president's wife who sings loudly off key, bless her heart.

Mike nudged me and whispered that there were NO Easter hymns on the program. I knew there weren't going to be any choir numbers, but no congregational hymns, either? The bishop got up and announced it was Fast & Testimony meeting. My surprise turned to dismay then to shock and disbelief and then to RAGE.

I sat there seething and wishing we hadn't come at all, since being pissed was crowding out all the good juju from St. Matthew's. So I grabbed the hymnbook and sang all the Easter hymns to myself. Meanwhile, a couple of testimony-ers mentioned Easter in passing and others not at all.

I thought about going up and bearing my own rip-roaring testimony of Easter in Pasadena Ward with resplendent choir numbers with pipe organ accompaniment and last year's program focused on the women in the Easter story. Alas, I was too PISSED OFF and didn't trust what I might say with an open mic in front of me.

Instead, I read the Easter/resurrection story from all the gospels. Finally, the bishop stood to wrap things up--and called on ME from the PULPIT to say the closing prayer! If he'd had ANY idea of the murderous anger in my heart about testimony meeting trumping EASTER, I'm sure he would have asked someone else.

But he "asked" me and I got the last word. I asked that we'd ponder and grow in our understanding of the Easter story and the risen Christ--and I worked in a little something about the women who found the tomb empty on resurrection morning.

After SS opening exercises were done, I turned to the SP and tried to get some kind of explanation, saying "I don't remember the last time Easter was on a Fast Sunday--I mean, I know it has to happen, but I can't recall the last time it did." He explained (like I was four) that last Sunday was conference, so testimony meeting got bumped back a week. No apology or acknowledgement that this completely dissed Easter.

The rest of the meetings were equally void of Easter. According to several ward members, no one gives a rip about it and the ones who do are tired of fighting to get good music onto the program or wrestle people into attending choir.

I just don't think I can let this slide without officially registering how appalled I was that THE foundational event in all of Christianity was treated like any ordinary Sunday. Makes me HOPPING MAD.

I don't know that it would do any good, but at least it will explain our absence from on any/all subsequent Easters the ward chooses not to recognize.

Easter in the RGV, Part II

After weeks of temperatures in the 80s, we're getting a drizzly, cold Easter weekend. Puts the kibosh on what I'd planned to wear tomorrow.

It also put the kibosh on our ward's Easter Picnic this evening. Instead of picnicking on blankets in the park adjacent to the church and hiding eggs outside, we retreated to the slightly warmer cultural hall for Easter festivities.

There were the requisite pastel sprinkled and bunny-adorned cupcakes, lemonade and watermelon slices but the main dish was something unexpected: Frito Pie. Cuz nothin' says Easter like chili on Fritos!

I'm sure someone could torture this dish into a spiritual object lesson: the Fritos lose their hardness when doused in chili--like hearts being softened through repentance. (Like how I put that in passive voice?)

Or Frito Pie is like our ward family: the Fritos and chili and sour cream and shredded cheese can each stand alone, but we're much stronger--and much more delicious--when we're together in the same bowl!

Considering the weather, chili was a good call regardless of whether any deeper meaning can be derived from Frito Pie.

Fishing for Comments

Actually, I just wanted to see if comments are enabled on this new post, since something is awry with the Easter post.

Easter in the RGV

The only antique mall in town is closing its doors, so I went to scout for bargains. In the parking lot, a trio of women were sitting under a beach canopy with Easter wares spread out around them.

Pre-dyed and decorated Easter eggs were $4.00 for 18. There were pre-assembled Easter baskets and Easter Bunny piñatas. Because nothing captures the true spirit of Easter like beating the daylights out of the Easter Bunny, right?

For parents contemplating holiday gift fowl, Wednesday's front page story warned about the samonella danger of handling live Easter chicks. Because we can't enjoy holidays without some type of attendant scare--razor-laden apples at Halloween, the spontaneous combustion of Christmas pajamas, turkey-induced comas after Thanksgiving dinner. Watch out, that Easter chick could KILL YOU.

More intriguing, the article mentioned that a local company sells dyed Easter chicks. There was a psychedelic photo of said chicks accompanying the article. Why?!

Sadly, this will be my least musical Easter in a decade. The ward choir here pooped out after one number at Christmas. Our organist (a former Episcopalian who understands the NEED for good music) will be playing some jazzy prelude and postlude music, but that's a FAR cry from the musical feast we had every year in Pasadena Ward. We're thinking of visiting an Episcopal church in the morning to get a musical fix.

That, and we're not sure if we can get reservations this late for Easter Brunch--a Robertson family tradition.

Sigh.

Please, call me Project Effort Reporting Specialist

PERS for short. UTPA extended and I accepted the offer to work in Research Administration in the above mentioned role.

I will provide oversight and act as the main contact for time/effort reporting for faculty/others working on federally-funded grants, contracts, cooperative agreements and sponsored projects.

More simply, I keep track of, assist and train faculty how to keep track of their work/progress when they're on someone else's research dime.

Mom is the litmus test of how well I explain my job description. I think she kinda got it when I told her tonight, but I may have to reiterate. Or refine the description as I figure out what I do. Gotta love those new job learning curves during which you frequently feel like you're asking every stupid question there is. :)

I start April 16. They aren't sure where I'll sit permanently, but said it may be possible for me to do some work from home. I'm planning a little celebratory shopping to supplement the work wardrobe and maybe an outing for Thai food. Mmmmm.

Adios, Life of Leisure?

Came back from playing tennis to find a message on the machine from the head interviewer. A decision has been made and the rest is bogged down in personnel. I should get a call from them in the next 24 hours.

She didn't say I got the job, so perhaps I shouldn't assume. Stay Tuned; I should know more in the next few days.

Gee Whiz

Apparently one--or both--of the felines in the house is annoyed and is registering said annoyance by peeing outside the box.

So far, the protest sites have included our bed (a small stain on the white comforter cover; grrr) and the guest room where we keep a litterbox so we can sequester either misbehaving kitty.

Belita gets locked up when her manic laps through the house get unnerving and PK had a time out when I hosted book group. Either one could be pissed and/or pissing.

It's hard to tell who's the culprit or what the problem is--resentment for bringing a new kitty into the house? A shared hatred of Feline Pine? Come to think of it, I've only noticed peeing outside the box after we switched over. Hmmm. Maybe I should try that clumping wheat litter.

I picked up a bottle of Nature's Miracle and saturated guest room carpet. Moved the litter box into the guest bath during the cleanup. The good thing is even the cats can't do much more damage to the guest room carpet than the previous owner's two sons did. Still, I'd prefer the kitties didn't try.

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.