a little bit of texas (no football, promise)

Husband and I spent our 20th anniversary in San Antonio.  Some random pictorial highlights:

First things first.  Thanks to Karen for her restaurant suggestion.  Homemade hot sauce with roasted .. peppers or tomatoes, or both... was superb.  Cheese enchiladas... perfecto.  Margarita... excellentay: Sweetly sour, salt around the rim and stout.

A word about the corn tortillas.  When it comes to restaurant tortillas, Sam always orders corn and I order flour.  But here?  When I reached into the tortilla holder, I grabbed the flour tortilla on top.  Halfway into my soft taco Sam noticed I was eating one of his corn tortillas.  Thin and mashed very fine, I didn't taste the difference.

I had an instant feeling of love in the women's room.  Lots of great prints by Mexican artists here and throughout the restaurant.

Sautillo tile floor in the bathroom, plastic slipcover on the couch.

In the ladies room stall.  Way to make a woman feel, well, like a woman.  I want this print in my home bathroom.

Because I've never taken a picture of myself in a mirror. 

Husband Sam used to visit his grandmother in this house, King William District, back before it was gentrified.  It was a four-plex back then.  She lived in the upper right hand side.

I wonder who lives here and has a loved one overseas.

View from E. Guenther St. of the Pioneer flour mill.   Sam could see this tower when he looked out his grandmother's window at night. Used to scare him.

I could look at the King William District architecture all day.  Beautiful front porch made for sipping lemonade. Or margaritas.  

Love the board and batten siding and the standing seam metal roof.  Sam pointed this house out to me, said he thinks someone from New Jersey must live here due to the single candles in each window (my hometown tradition).

Relaxing back in our hotel room.  Yes, that's prickly pear cactus juice in the pink drink.  I'm seldom without my prickly.

Holiday lights on the Riverwalk. Arched footbridge in the center of the trees.

Flags atop the Tower Life Building on the Riverwalk.  They've got their priorities straight.

Love the way the tower is lit up at night.

Flowering Spanish Olive tree beside the Alamo.

Fuzzy olives. Security guard said they sell the olives in the gift shop. Wish I had stopped to get some the next day, but then, you can't have your Alamo olives and eat them too.

View of lights as we sat shivering at Waxy O'Connor's eating fish and chips.

In case the night view wasn't clear enough, that's an Aggie flag atop the Tower Life Building.  Owner is a big alum.  One spring break a few years ago my husband and kids went to the Riverwalk.  We were invited to walk up on that octagon balcony at the top. Very cool views of San Antonio.  Can see for hundreds of miles.

Enjoying Texas Sized margaritas at Rita's on the Riverwalk.  Driver, Sam, ordered his Jersey Sized.   That's my high school friend in red and her daughter who were in town for a wedding.  Tempting picture of the margarita taken by Middle Age Mom, here.

Hope you enjoyed my motley crue photos of San Antonio.  I didn't take too many because it was (1) cold and (2) my anniversary (better things to do).

oatmeal sex

A potential solution slash compromise to the sad and dangerous state of the state of Texas as vented loudly upon previously:

Thanks to The Oatmeal for solving the riddle sucky ass Texas Education Code's* bogus answer to the sex ed problem.

*Section 28.004

state of the state of texas

I'm none too happy with the state of Texas right about now. And I'm not talking about our current drought or the record setting heat wave. Did somebody say 23 days of 105 or hotter? I only thought it was hot two years ago.

No, what I'm p*ssed off about is man made. Woman made. Ignoramus made.

I ranted before about how Texas' public school kids are getting lousy information when it comes to pregnancy prevention. This time it's more serious.

Here's the conversation between my son and Daring Daughter (DD). We were in the kitchen. I was cooking dinner. The kids were getting a snack. I can't remember how it started but eventually they got to arguing about safe sex.

Older and Wiser Son: Condoms prevent AIDS.

DD: No they don't. Nothing prevents AIDS.

O&WSon: Um, you're wrong. Condoms work. They work really well! Go look it up!

DD: I don't need to look it up. Nothing protects against AIDS except abstinence. That's what they taught us at school!

O&WSon: (Fanning me as I lie on the kitchen floor.) That's right, Mom. That's what they teach in school. You know, abstinence education?

How can this be happening? How can the powers that be, the State Board of Education and their mutant cronies, be allowed to perpetuate, to legislate, to TEACH to our CHILDREN information that is clearly a lie? A lie that kills?

And why are we all just lying down taking it? Do we need to wait for the next wave of HIV epidemic before we put a stop to this dangerous policy?

sweet thumping

Every year in Luling, Texas there's a Watermelon Thump, where thump equals festival.

Every year I say I want to go and every year I miss it for one reason or another, usually because I forget all about it when the weekend arrives. This year we had just returned from vacation and I opted to stay home and luxuriate in doing nothing.

It's called a watermelon thump for an important reason. Choosing a good watermelon, a ripe melon that isn't overly ripe, is all in the thump. After reading one of my favorite bloggers, Mrs. Brightsides Friday Fast Ones give advice on watermelon selection, I remembered a funny story.

Sam was told by a guy who used to sell watermelons on the side of the road that it's all in the stripes. Pick a melon with stripes that blend and blur into each other rather than distinct stripes.

One day earlier in the summer I finally remembered this advice. Came home ready to see if the proof was in the melon. Sam picked it up and asked, Did you feel this?! All accusatory like.

Turns out one end was soft and squishy like a nerf ball. Rotten on one end. Over ripe. I was so busy looking at stripes that I didn't feel the damned thing. BFD. Where D = Duh. I could have kicked myself.

With these:

So when I read Mrs. Brightside, I was curious and went to youtube. Watched a slew of experts (produce managers, farmers, Ag extension service dudes). None mentioned stripes. Only one mentioned color but it was general, bright color recommended rather than dull.

They all mentioned the thump, however. Hollow, echo sound to the thump. Dull thud means over ripe. They also said to pick one with a yellow resting spot, not white.

And? The hotter the weather the sweeter the melon. Silver lining given the summer we're having. Last week we beat the previous record of 21 consecutive days of triple digit temperatures with 27 days.

So, as it turns out, now's the perfect time to get out there and thump. There's some sweet watermelon waiting.

the scream, redux

If Edvard Munch were still alive, a photographer, in Austin, and sitting on my side porch in the 108 degree heat, here would have been his inspiration for The Scream.

It is that hot and it isn't just my candle that is melting around here.

can you find the roadrunner?

Not that kind.

This kind.

The real deal.

Geococcyx Californianus.

I've lived in Texas for over 25 years and have only seen a handful of roadrunners. The first one I saw was in Big Bend National Park. Sam and I were vacationing, no kids at the time (what? is that possible? a vacation by ourselves? surely I dreamt that up). We were walking up one of the many trails and between us walked a huge roadrunner. Friendly guy, he came within a few feet of us and let us admire his long tail and brown spotted plumage.

Fast forward to the past few months. We've been spotting one in our yard, again and again. The next door neighbors have, too. We've all been wondering what's up.

Wonder no more. Sam was sitting in the throne room one evening recently, looking out his window to the magic kingdom that is our backyard. The window he insisted on designing our master bath around. It was one of the few features of our house that he was adamant about. He wanted that passenger side view.

He saw our roadrunner scuttling up a stand of Live Oaks trees. When he left his observation post, he went outside to see where the roadrunner was headed. He spotted a nest.

In all these years, I assumed roadrunners were ground nesters. Turns out they nest in cactus, low bushes and short trees.

Here's another factoid I was very happy to read:

The roadrunner eats anything it finds, such as scorpions, lizards, rodents, and other birds. It is one of the few birds fast enough to prey on rattlesnakes. It attacks a rattlesnake by grabbing the snake by the tail, and snapping the body so that it beats the snake's head against the ground or a stone until the snake is dead.

Having just had dinner with friends who told me their dog was bit by a rattlesnake, I hope the roadrunner sticks around and rears up many little ones.

See if you can find the roadrunner in her nest:

No?

Try again:

I tried to get closer. If you don't believe me I've got a fire ant bite on my middle toe to prove it. By the time I swatted the fire ant off my foot, I looked up and the roadrunner had taken off.

We've since learned they lay as many as 12 eggs but typically only 3-4 live to make it to the ground. They will be parented for two weeks and then they will be on their own.

We can't wait to meet the baby roadrunners and introduce them to our other exotic backyard bird family,

Mr. and Mrs. Flamingo.

Update: Approximately three weeks later Mr. and Mrs. Roadrunner appear to be the proud parents of baby roadrunner chicks. We don't know how many but we see proud momma and papa running back and forth from the nest carrying darling little gifts of lizards and other foodstuff. We are waiting to see the chicks hopping around on the ground and hoping to get pictures.

are you there god? it's me, texas.

You may have seen the story on the national news. A wildfire burnt 100 acres in southwest Austin last Sunday. Five homes were burnt to the ground, twenty homes damaged.

Apparently enough smoke and ash made it's way to our fair Governor's temporary mansion that he felt touched in the head enough compelled to issue an official proclamation.

Governor Good Hair proclaimed the next three days official Days of Prayer for Rain in Texas.

Yes, you read that right.

Days of Prayer for Rain.

Now call me a cynic, but I had to read it for myself, word for word, on the Governor's official website to believe it and take three shots of tequila to keep from pulling every single hair from my pretty little head.

Here's an excerpt:

"WHEREAS, throughout our history, both as a state and as individuals, Texans have been strengthened, assured and lifted up through prayer; it seems right and fitting that the people of Texas should join together in prayer to humbly seek an end to this devastating drought and these dangerous wildfires;

NOW, THEREFORE, I, RICK PERRY, Governor of Texas, under the authority vested in me by the Constitution and Statutes of the State of Texas, do hereby proclaim the three-day period from Friday, April 22, 2011, to Sunday, April 24, 2011, as Days of Prayer for Rain in the State of Texas. I urge Texans of all faiths and traditions to offer prayers on that day for the healing of our land, the rebuilding of our communities and the restoration of our normal way of life."

This auspicious proclamation lead me into deep embarrassment thought:

1. Does a rain dance comply with the proclamation?

2. Did Governor Perry check the doppler radar before issuing his proclamation?

3. Surely it will rain somewhere in the 268,820 square miles of Texas before the weekend is out, right? But that leads me to wonder: Does it have to rain during the next three days to deem the proclaimtion prayers officially answered? Or can it rain, say, a month from now and still count? A year? I mean, God has a lot on his plate right now what with answering the prayers of victims of tsunamis, war crimes and cancer. It would make sense if he were to put off a mere drought. Right?

4. Is it true that there is no term limit applied to the governorship of Texas? Can we maybe pray for the state legislature to work on changing that?

5. How the hell did Texas elect this bass-ackward governor?

and I was told Aggies never cheat

nor tolerate those who do.

Last night the Fightin' Texas Aggies beat #9 Nebraska. If you watched the game you saw this scene: Husker, Ben Cotton, drawing two consecutive 15 yard penalties after this pile up. The video clip gives a whole new understanding of that Cotton kicking Cornhusker.

I hear this kinda thing goes on all the time in football pile ups but I sure don't like to see it, least of all from the Aggies.

Onward to Thursday:

Gig 'em Aggies.

Saw varsity's horns off!

(Minus the butt pinching.)

time for another segment of let's ridicule riddle

She's at it again. Debbie Riddle, un-esteemed State Rep. (R) from Tomball, Texas, won't be shamed out of her relentless pursuit of anchor babies and terror babies in this here grand state. Apparently Texas can't let Arizona beat it at making racist headlines.

Intent on proving everything is not only bigger but also stupider in Texas, Riddle camped out all night at the Texas Capitol on Sunday so she could be first to pre-file her clone of Arizona's racial profiling immigration law for the upcoming legislative session.

In her words the bill, “gives law enforcement officers additional tools, if they have the reasonable suspicion that there is a violation of a law, to inquire into an individual’s immigration status.”

She is that serious because terror babies are that big of a threat, yawl.

I used to think it was really odd that the Texas legislature met only once every two years. With legislators like Riddle, I now think it's a godsend.

another texan tells a tall one

Gather up,

cowgirls and cowpokes.

You don't want to miss this.

The latest in a long line of Texas' finest

guv-mint 'fishals

spoutin' off at the mouth.

Without further ado, I inner-duce you

to one of Texas' State Representatives,

Debbie Riddle, Republican from Tomball, Texas.

Don't know whar Tomball is?

Why it's just east 'o Waller, down the road a middlin' from Stagecoach.

Whut? Don't know whar Stagecoach is?

Ok-doke.

It's up the road a piece from Houston-town.

So go 'head on. Watch the clip.

Where Anderson Cooper gets all swole up talkin' to Rep. Riddle on her claim that,

pregnant women are coming to the U.S. as tourists, having babies, and then going back home, quote, with the nefarious purpose of turning them into little terrorists who will then come back to the U.S. and do us harm as part of an organized terror element.

Terrorist babies. Now if that don't put pepper in yer gumbo!

Rep. Riddle goes on to spin a yarn that "it is common knowledge" that 81% of babies born in one Houston hospital are "anchor babies."

You know what that is, don't chee? Anchors are babies born to illegal aliens (undocumented immigrants to you and me) in the U.S. so they can later brang more immigrant relatives to soak up our well-far (tax payer supported health care).

But these anchors want more than our well-far. They're gonna be trained terrorists who come back to the U.S. and blow up our cars an' buildings an' ever'thang!

Contacted by staff from the Austin American Statesman, Riddle stated she "shouldn't have talked about the terror babies."

Whut? Nuh -uh! Of course you should, Missus Riddle! We Amaricans have a right to be cattle-prodded into voting booths out of fear of infant terror cells spewing out in our very own hospitals.

Who cares that Riddle's facts don't squar?

Facts she got from an opinion piece written by fellow republican and State Senator Dan Patrick, R-Houston. How 'bout that? Another republican't. Well, I'll just swaney!

Truth is, where truth equals fact published on paper, closer to 60% of mothers giving birth in Houston hospitals are undocumented. That's a sobering statistic, to be sure, but it ain't nowhar close to no 81%.

But hold yer horses. Only "a few percentage points" off, according to State Senator Patrick.

Hell fire f-ck, that man does some wondrous 'rithmatic.

But I'll swan that Riddle and Patrick know what their fellow Texans have to say about opinions:

They're like assholes. Some are just louder and smellier than others.

click here to see what this picture of "W" is made of

Dad'gum right.

Here's the clip again if you want to take a gander. Worth every one of them thar eleven minutes.

I love the way, at the end, she figgers out she's bitten off more than she can swally so she lapses into the usual clap-trap, "The people of Texas are demanding that our border be secure!"

Do you think by we Texans she's including the 37% that's hispanic?

P.S. I tried to embed the clip. "Embedded disabled by request." Hmm. I wonder who doesn't want this clip going viral?

what a heat index of 110 looks like

In one particular backyard in Austin.

One flower bed of parched and brown-leafed zinnias.

One evaporated and moldy bird bath.

Three forgotten and forlorn koozies.

AKA huggies, if you are blonde and live in south Jersey.

One empty and discarded beer can.

Too hot to pick it up.

Don't judge.

It's that hot.

And south Austin's official sign of a heat index of 110?

One downed pink flamingo.

Flamingo's have been known to revive when provided a bucket of ice and Corona Light. Or, I'm pretty sure that's what international flamingo expert, Debbie, told us. But only when there's a zesty lime wedge balanced on the rim of a long neck, I think were her exact instructions. Or was that for the revival of a heat-zapped landowner? I can't remember.

I do know one full-proof method for beating the heat:

Add more heat.

do not disturb

Seriously

excellent

reading

in

progress.

For weeks now, I have been patiently pacing the floors waiting for my local library to deliver my hold request.

And Thursday?

Deliverance.

So now, after numerous distractions (volleyball game, two-night visit from mother-in-law, school carnival pick ups, sleepover drop offs) I am, to use a phrase I know the East Texas author would approve of, happy as a pig in sh*t.

If you are looking for a fascinating, disturbing, engaging, and inspiring memoir, or series of memoirs, which in my mind's eye is evah so much bettah, I invite you to read my absolute

favorite series by Mary Karr.

Begin with Liar's Club. Natch.

It's about her Texas childhood. Daddy working the oil fields. Momma working the bipolar. Both working the bottle.

In her words, "A dysfunctional family is any family with more than one person in it."

Follow Liar's Club with Cherry. Karr's adolescent years. Where she unwittingly follows in her mother's footsteps. Isn't it always the way? We're running away from our parents but running right smack into them at the same time.

And finally (oh hopefully not) the sequel to the sequel, Lit.

When I read Karr's memoirs, I feel as if she is sitting by my side, talking to me. An intimate conversation where I'm thrilled I've found a new friend who will tell-it-like-it-is. No sugar coating. No holes barred. Emotional, gutsy soul barings. The stuff typically reserved for the confines of a shrink office.

The way Karr describes her confused, distressed, approach-avoidance feelings regarding her mother is deep, from-the-core, inside turning out.

And her marriage to the wealthy, waspy New Englander. The same. The subtle twists and turns that can steer a married couple right into the ditch. And the way the hurts stick with us, "the shreiking fight or the out-of-character insult endures forever, while the daily sweetness dissolves like sugar in water."

But mostly it's her insights about herself. ""For me, everything's too much and nothing's enough." Yep. Especially when I'm reading her books.

All this to say I may be even less present in the blogosphere than my poor attendance record of late.

But I know you understand.