The Woman Who Couldn't Apologize

Even when she yelled, "Fuck you! I'm never coming back here! Good luck!" slammed the door and stormed out on Christmas eve, not caring that my 9 year old daughter was watching.

Even when she said to me, "You're mean and hateful. You make everyone around you miserable. You need help."

Even when she said to me, "I feel sorry for your husband and your daughter having to live with you because you're such a bitch."

Even when she told me my house was "disgusting," and a "torture chamber" for my child. Even then.

She would not apologize. Or rather, she could not apologize.

She couldn't understand how heavy her words were, how they bruised and beat me.

She doesn't understand the role she had played in the fracture of our relationship. In her mind, I've built the chasm between us. It is all my fault because I am just such an awful, uncaring person.

She will never admit that she might be the slightest bit wrong, even though she is the only person on this planet who believes all these horrible things about me.

This is what she thinks of me, and she will never, ever apologize for the damage she's done.

Memorable Thanksgivings

The first one away from family. In Chicago. I made my mom's cornbread dressing and took it to a big potluck hosted by some dudes living in a crazy house in Pilsen. The dressing was unevenly cooked--done around the edges, mushy in the middle. My boyfriend tooke a mincemeat pie from the grocery store. We all drank a lot, got loud, and had a blast.

The right after my stepdad had been moved from the hospital to the nursing home. I convinced my mom to come down to Austin for Thanksgiving. We, and two of my friends who weren't traveling home, went to a fancy Thanksgiving feast at The Driskill. It was really nice, but there was an undertone of sadness to the whole event. My stepdad died the following week.

The one right after I'd moved back to Austin with my fiance. We had another couple over, and between the four of us, we cooked up an amazing feast. While we were in the kitchen cleaning up after dinner, our Siberian Husky made off with the turkey carcass that was still on the dinner table and had a feast of his own. We'd smoked enough pot to think it was hilarious.

One at my grandmother's house when she'd purchased all the meals from the junior college's band booster club. They came in styrofoam containers--turkey, a scoop of dressing, green beans, sweet potatoes. My mother and aunts supplemented with pies and Parker House rolls. All the grown ups were pretty lit, so it wasn't a surprise when the rolls spilled out over the too-small pan in the oven and looked like slightly burnt scrotum sacks. Someone took pictures. Everyone thought it was hysterical.

The last one I had with my dad.

The one the first Thanksgiving the BH was living in Austin. Hosted my mom and four friends who were not traveling. The food was magnificent. I specifically remember having rhubarb pie for the first time, and loving it.

The one in Galveston. I was in college, and my mom, stepdad, and aunt, uncle, spouses and cousins all rented a place near the beach. We had shrimp instead of turkey.

The one with my dad where I found a wandering dog with a collar on on my way to his house. When I arrived, stray dog in tow, my very intoxicated father yelled at me for bringing the dog to his house. He was furious with me. I left with the dog, crying. Went back to my mom's house and eventually found the dog's owner and took the dog home to them. I left town that weekend without speaking to my dad again.

The one at my stepfather's mother's house in Athens, Texas. I ate a lot of coconut cream pie that had been sitting out a bit too long. The next day, I had my first case of food poisoning, and as I was in the feverish throes of vomiting and shitting myself silly, I tearfully begged my mom to let me die.She started to cry. I was eleven.

The one that we had at Mom's house when I was home from college. Mom, my stepdad, my grandmother, my Aunt and her husband. It was the first time I'd taken on some real cooking duties. I wanted everything to be so nice. I read up on how to properly set the table. I really focused on the presentation of my dishes. I think it was one of only about 10 times that dining room was used during the 20 years we lived in that house.

The one where I silently got up and left my dad's house after he'd said the word "nigger" more than I could handle while watching the Texas vs. A&M game.

Last year. Hosting BH's crotchety old dad and BH's two sons.Purchased a new gravy boat. I ordered the turkey, but cooked everything else. I finally got Mom's dressing right. A strong, windy cold front blew in while we were eating, dropping the temperature by at least 20 degrees.

A scratchy throat, a report on parasites, and a holiday bitch fest. You're welcome.

Yes, it's been actual weeks since my last post. Believe me, I wish I'd had the time and inspiration to create some posts, but both of those things have been sadly absent from my life. And now I'm sick. Sort of. I mean, I'm not sure what's up. I'm blaming allergies, but basically it's a feeling of general-worn-outedness (more so than normal), banging hangover-like headaches, and the rawest, sorest throat ever. Of course all of this is coming on when I'm wildly busy at work and I've got actual social events on my calendar. Of course.

On the domestic front, after never having them before, The Geej has contracted lice twice since September. The most recent lice-fest began this past Tuesday when she nonchalantly mentioned at the breakfast table, "My head is itchy." And sure enough, looked at her sclap and there those nasty bastards were. I beelined it to Walgreen's and bought a remedy that lands on the effectiveness spectrum somewhere between scalp napalm and tap water. So far, so good, but WHAT a pain in the ass. I kept her home from school that day while I cleaned everything that had come into contact with her noggin for the past week and treated her scalp, twice. We're still treating her each night and looking for those goddamned nits, but the fucking school and aftercare that she attends better be doing THEIR part to check for infestation, or it's all for naught. I alerted both of them about our situation on Tuesday and got a couple of vaguely reassuring emails about their policies, etc., but I think they should put that shit on lock-down until they are sure that shit's under control. Blech. I guess the ONLY good thing about getting lice in this day and age is that there it is far less stigma around it than it was when I was a kid. I got lice in 5th grade, presumably from the new, non-English speaking student I was tutoring in, no kidding, a broom closet. Her name was Ofelia, and she was 14 years old. I was 11. Our school was utterly unprepared to handle the needs of a student who didn't speak a word of English, so they enrolled her in 5th grade (instead of 7th or 8th, where she should've been age-wise) and then assigned a "gifted" student (moi) to sit in a broom closet with her and go over books that were intended for pre-schoolers. During that period, I got lice. And not only was my mother HORRIFIED (I might as well have come home with a lamprey stuck to my face), the school kept it all on the down-low and treated me and Ofelia like we were radioactive. I was so ashamed to have gotten such a "dirty" ailment, and my mother put a stop to my daily broom closet rendezvous with Ofelia and we were, instead, allowed to sit at a small tabel in the corner of the classroom for our tutoring sessions, which meant we weren't quite so close together. I eventually got over my lice, and Ofelia eventually left our school.

Next week is Thanksgiving. I fucking love Thanksgiving. It's during my favorite season, it focuses on my favorite kinds of food, and there are usually copious napping opportunities. Something I do NOT love? Traveling during the holidays and/or traveling on IH-35, both of which I get to do for this coming Thanksgiving holiday. We're actually going to be at my mom's on Thanksgiving Day, which is a short, non-busy drive and will involve her cornbread dressing, which is truly one of my favorite foodstuffs in the world. So that's good. But the next day, you know Friday...Black Friday...the busiest travel day of the year? We're loading up the car with all three kids and heading to "The Christmas Capital of Texas," Grapevine. Sigh. This whole thing is the brainchild of BH's mother, Dixie. And I love Dixie. Really, I do. And I love my brother and sister-in-law and their kids, who are also going to this family gathering. But OMFG, I am not looking forward to the travel. And also? We're going to be staying here, which means that we'll be dealing with the other thing I despise: holiday crowds. I know that The Geej is going to love the shit out of it. And like I said, I really do love BH's family, so I'm just going to have to focus on that. Because if not? I may lose my shit. BH feels the same way about this whole endeavor, btw. Hopefully we'll be able to keep each other from committing sepuku.

Some happier news: It rained earlier this week. Not a whole lot--about 1/2 an inch at our house--but it was still nice to see. And despite the fact that small rains like this (we had another one about a month ago) certainly perk up the grass and plants around town, the drought is showing no signs of letting up. Fucking drought. I blame Rick Perry. Not because I really think he's at fault, but because I hate him.

Alright, I'm signing off for now. Hopefully it won't be another 3 weeks before you hear from me again.

By the way, that there is a disgustingly real looking turkey cake I spotted recently at HEB. Ewww...

Bittersweet

I've long had a complicated relationship with where I come from.

Northeast Texas is somehow laid back and uptight at the same time. It's steeped in--and sometimes paralyzed by--its own tradition and history. The small towns that dot the landscape are utterly charming to me, but also stifling and depressing. It's where some of my best memories were made, but I have no desire to return there in any kind of permanent way. I can so solidly identify with so much of the culture of northeast Texas but, at the same time, I am sometimes shocked and bewildered by it.

Maybe it's because I'm now in my forties, but for some reason it has become important to me that The Geej understand where her parents come from. That is part of the reason that I wanted her to accompany me to the annual reunion of my dad's side of the family this past weekend. 

When he was alive, my dad was fairly disconnected to his Kilgore-based, very Southern and staunchly religious Pentecostal relations. We would head to my dad's much older sister's house for the obligatory Christmas visit and sometimes see my uncles and cousins there as well, but we were definitely not what I would call a close-knit bunch. They didn't even know how to treat me when my dad died, and I didn't know them well enough to lean on for support.

I headed to the family reunion the summer following my dad's passing because, I don't know, I needed to feel connected or something. It was awkward, but not altogether unpleasant. I was introduced as "James's daughter" so people could place me, and I was offered lots of condolences by those who had known him. They were all happy to see me and called me by my first AND middle names--something unique to this group and oh-so-Southern. Much like my connection to northeast Texas itself, my connection to this group of people felt simultaneously familiar and strange.

Sunday's family reunion attendance was my first since then. It had been eight years. Everyone was so happy to see me and especially to meet The Geej. There were around 50 people in attendance, and about 2/3 of them were in their late 60s or older. Much older. The Pentecostal women with their enormous buns and shapeless dresses all look just alike. They scurried around getting the tables set and the covered dishes overflowing with bad-for-you home cookin' all laid out. The drink choices were Dr. Pepper, sweet tea and water. We stood in a circle and held hands as my dad's eldest brother, my Uncle Roy, offered a blessing before the meal. We ate and chatted and everyone asked The Geej how old she was and commented on her beauty. After lunch, some folks gathered around the piano and sang patriotic songs and hymns together.

I was saddened by how frail my aunts and uncles have become, and thought to myself that this would most likely be the last time I would see some of them alive. However, the drawl of their accents and the sincerity of their love and warmth will always be a part of me and I hope that, in some small way, The Geej felt a connection to it as well.

The Geej and my Aunt Mary Lois

Things Hosting Thanksgiving At My House Taught Me Or Reaffirmed For Me:

• I love cooking for people
• I'm really good at cooking sides, but not the main course or the desserts
• I would rather buy really good desserts
• And cooking the main course is too stressful for me
• Timing is everything
• Prepping the night before is time well spent
• Digestive enzymes are helpful
• So is Ativan
• Even if you're also Tweeting and drinking wine while cutting up vegetables
• Few things annoy me more than a t.v. that's a) up too loud and b) on when no one's watching
• A t.v. constantly tuned to Fox news makes me stabby
• We really need a dedicated guest room
• We could also use another bathroom.
• Or at least a half-bath
• I love how quiet our dishwasher is
• My daughter is very squealy
• Our pets are lazy-asses
• My husband is very different from his father
• Quiet and solitude are very underrated
• Replacing our old, crappy oven was a smart move
• I like having a dining room, even if it only gets used for dining a couple of times a year
• My mother's cornbread dressing recipe is the best in the world

Thanksgiving memories

WARNING: I am about to get all kinds of maudlin up in here, so if you'd rather not go there on this lovely holiday, then look away and come back tomorrow-ish.

Thanksgiving, 2002
Setting: My dad's house, Longview, TX

My dad is dying. He's got stomach cancer. My dad, who is one of the best cooks I've ever known and who has a passionate love affair with food, can no longer swallow solids. The tumors are now shutting off his esophagus, and he can't swallow anything thicker than an Ensure. There is so much food on the table and all over the kitchen, it's overwhelming. Everyone gets their plates and starts loading up. My dad gets a salad plate, and goes through the line putting little spoonfuls of all of his favorites on his plate. I am watching him, but trying to be subtle about it. What is he doing? He knows he can't eat this stuff. There are too many of us to sit around the table in their crowded kitchen, so we all take our plates and sit where we can, balancing our plates on our laps. I sit on the floor, my plate beside me on the coffee table. My dad sits in a chair near me, and pulls up a t.v. tray and places his little plate on the tray. His wife quietly brings a small trash can over and sets it next to the chair. As we all eat our meals, talk, and laugh, I see my father out of the corner of my eye. He is taking small bites, chewing, savoring the flavors of these classic Thanksgiving meats and side dishes, and then quietly spitting out each bite into the trash can.

When I left Longview that weekend, I hugged him tightly, and told him I'd be back in a few weeks for Christmas. The next time I saw him was in the funeral home. In a dimly lit room, I saw his cold, unembalmed body. It was the last viewing by family members prior to his cremation. I kissed his lifeless cheek and all I managed to say was, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Thanksgiving, 2004
Setting: Austin, TX

My stepdad had surgery at a hospital in Houston to repair a bulge on his aorta on Father's Day. The surgery had been a success, but something had happened in ICU recovery. He'd had the oxygen to his brain cut off for a little too long, and so there was some significant damage. Plus, his emphysema from a lifetime of smoking ensured that he would never be able to breathe 100% on his own again. After a long time at the hospital in Houston, he'd been moved to the hospital in Longview. And then, after a long time there, he'd recently been moved to a nursing home. The toll of the long-term stress on my mother was evident. She'd not allowed herself to leave his side for more than a few hours at a time since the initial surgery had taken place back in June. But somehow I'd convinced her to come to Austin for to spend Thanksgiving with me. My aunt, a nurse, would be checking in on my stepdad for my mom, and I think that was the peace of mind she needed in order to get away for a couple of days. I arranged for us to have Thanksgiving lunch at The Driskill and invited a couple of my friends. It was lovely. The next evening, we were having dinner at Chez Zee near my house, and mom's cellphone rang. It was my aunt. She was with my stepfather, and was helping him with the phone so that he could talk to mom. He was more "with it" than had become the norm, which was nice. He asked to speak to me. He was wheezy, hard to understand, but he asked very clearly, "Are you going to Russia?" I answered, "Yes! In a couple of weeks!" And he said, "Go get that baby."

It was the last time I ever spoke to him. He passed away a few days later.

Thanksgiving, 2010
Setting: Our house, Austin, TX

At around 1:45, we sat down to eat. Me, my husband, our kids, and his father. I'd worked my ass off prepping and cooking, and here we were, gathered together. I sat at the head of the table, and looked at the wonderful bounty in front of me: great food, three healthy, wonderful kids, my amazing, handsome husband, and my grumpy-but-lovable father-in-law. As I enjoyed this meal and this time with family, I thought--as I do each Thanksgiving--about the men who are no longer in my life. My father. My stepfather. And I miss them terribly.

Be thankful for those you love. I am.

Thanksgiving 2010

Now that the shopping is done*, I'm actually getting excited about all the cooking that's about to go down here at Chez Pine Curtain. BH's dad is, in fact, coming for a visit, so our dining room table (which seats six) will be full on Thanksgiving day. Here is Le Menu (with apologies to my vegetarian/vegan friends):

A Greenberg smoked turkey, a.k.a. "The Holiday Aristocrat"
Cornbread dressing (recipe courtesy of my mom)**
Sauteed sweet potatoes and sage***
Sherried green beans and mushrooms
Camembert mashed potatoes (I know that dressing + sweet potatoes + mashed potatoes = a shit ton of starchy carbs, but I don't care)
Gravy
Cranberry sauce
Rolls (more starch!)
Pumpkin pie with whipped cream
Cranberry apple pie a la mode

*My shopping included a trip to buy a gravy boat (Insulated! Keeps gravy warm for up to two hours!) and an electric knife!
**This will be my first attempt at making this since the Thanksgiving of 1997--my first in Chicago. I made a big dish of this stuff to take to a potluck Thanksgiving lunch there, and although it was good, it wasn't great like my mom's always is. Thankfully, everyone was too tanked up to notice.
***I'm actually using a recipe for sauteed CARROTS and sage, and substituting sweet potatoes here. I wanted to do carrots, but the informal poll of the family I did made it clear that there was a 50/50 split over having regular ol' mashed potatoes and sweet potatoes, so this was my compromise.

Tomorrow the boys and the father-in-law arrive, and tomorrow evening, I begin prepping everything. Then Thursday, we eat and give thanks for all we are blessed with. I'll be blogging along the way, but just in case I forget to say it later, Happy Thanksgiving to you and your family!!

1,000

Yep. This is my 1,000th post. I've sort of been dreading it because there's part of me that feels like I should be doing something really significant and powerful with this post. But I just don't have it in me.

My uncle's funeral service was very nice. My aunt eulogized him in a way I'm sure that he would've appreciated (and probably blushed about because he was a humble dude). And it was great to see and hear his friends and talk about what a wonderfully warm and loving person he was. He was so genuinely nice and funny--just one of those people you wanted to be around. His smile lit up a room, and it was clear that he'd touched many people's lives through his friendship.

But there was the open casket. Why--WHY-- is this something that's done?! Especially when someone's body has been through an ordeal like his had. The body lying in that coffin looked NOTHING like the Richard I want to remember, and yet, now that I've seen that body with its made up stiffness, it's an image I won't be able to erase from my mind. And why do people feel compelled to talk about how "good" the body looks or what a "nice job" the funeral home did? It's a strange tradition that I find terribly creepy and simply do not understand.

However, having the casket open did allow me to slip a small rose quartz heart into Richard's left breast pocket prior to the funeral service. The rose quartz is the stone of "universal love". This heart was given to me by someone prior to my first trip to Russia to meet The Geej. I carried it with me to the orphanage in my pocket the first night I ever laid eyes on her. Then it came with me on my second trip to Russia and has accompanied me on many other journeys--short and long--when I thought I could use a little extra love and support. It only seemed appropriate that it should go with this extraordinarily loving man as he began his next journey into the mystic.

Home?

We're here in the town I grew up in but haven't lived in since 1987. We arrived around 4:30pm this afternoon, and we're staying in a hotel in a retail/hotel part of town that didn't even exist when I lived here. It's all centered around a Wal-Mart Supercenter, natch.

Do I still consider this town "home"? Well, yes. And no.

So much of who I am and what I identify with is because of the 18 years I spent living here under the branches of these pines. But my grandparents are dead. My father is dead. My mother moved away in 2005. And there's simply no "home" here for me to come home to anymore. Sure, there are friends/distant relatives/in-laws I could stay with, but that's not the same. And yet, the tug on my heart and my soul that this beautiful, backward, isolated, conservative, segregated, fertile, mysterious land has is strong. It lives in my accent and my tastes. It taps me on my shoulder and reminds me who the Hell I am and where I came from if I ever dare begin to think I'm something special. It humbles me.

Damn it's frustrating.

I am also realizing that my only real occasions to venture up here in the future will be to attend family events of a holiday and/or death nature. BH's dad and brother/sister-in-law live here, so there will be birthdays, and Thanksgiving dinners, etc to attend. But then again, there are the elderly relatives (some of whom I barely know) on my father's side who all still live here and who, let's face it, have entered the darkening twilight of their years. That means that there will be funerals that I will come to over the coming years. Each one will seem like a futher distancing of me from what is supposed to be my "homeland". Strange and sad, but I suppose, inevitable.

And so it begins tomorrow.

Tomorrow I will say goodbye to my mother's youngest brother, Richard, as we lower his coffin into the red clay soil.

He had just turned 11 years old when his oldest sister (my mom) gave birth to me--her only child. Suddenly, he was an eleven year old uncle--a responsibility he took VERY seriously, by the way. He was always the clown and the playmate to me. And when I was old enough to recognize him as "Uncle Richard", he was a teenager, so naturally, I thought he was the coolest mo-fo on the planet. He was tall--like REALLY tall--especially from a little girl's perspective. And with very little prompting, he would lift me up, effortlessly, and make me "fly" every time I saw him.

By the time I was five, he'd firmly cemented his place in my heart as "One Of My Favorite People Ever". And he never lost that title. As I saw him grow into a man and become the father to three beautiful and amazing children; as I saw him always fight for what was right for his children and be strong for them even when that meant him sacrificing in untold ways; as I saw him endlessly proud of the young adults his children had become; and finally, as I saw him fight like hell against a cancer that was inexplicably stronger than he was, I realized: Not only was he one of my favorite people ever, there were SO many OTHER people who loved him just as much as I did. They also got to see and love the Richard that I knew. He also made them proud and made them laugh and just made them richer through his friendship and warmth. What a cool fucking guy... and I was related to him.

Rest in peace, my sweet Uncle. You will never be forgotten by those who were lucky enough to know you. I'll see you on the other side.

--KarlaMay

For Richard

Favorite Uncle

The taste of metal on my tongue

pales in comparison to the cut of your frail voice

into my soft palate.

I want to say:

Don’t go.

I’m not ready.

That hug was not supposed to be

goodbye.

But it is not a time for selfishness.

So instead, I pray

for your peaceful release

from this disease and its slow, cruel feast.

I see you glide

without effort or pain

into your mother’s outstretched arms,

as the warm brightness of a never-ending April afternoon

pours over you
forever.

Richard and me, circa 1970.

Rest in peace you sweet, funny man.

Guess who is TOTALLY a Daddy's girl?

This first one was taken when The Geej was 2:

And this one was taken last night, with The Geej at 5 1/2:

Man, I love those two turkeys.

The Handsome Devil's Aftermath

You see that guy down center, front? The one in the kick-ass shirt? That's my dad, Christmas, 1971 (I think). Behind him in the tan shirt is my mom's dad. To his left in the blue shirt, my mom's youngest brother (my uncle) Richard (more on him in a future post). And to my dad's right, in the Elvis Costello specs, my uncle-by-marriage (at the time), "Cash" Cashen.

I have a gagillion photos. However, one subject I have very few photos of is my father. So imagine my surprise when I saw this very good shot of him yesterday. Long story, but my aunt brought it to a family function, and whammy, there he was in all his early 70s youth and handsomeness, grinning like the Cheshire cat at me from this snapshot. I was taken aback, to say the least. Plus, there's no moustache! My dad was KING of rocking the "Smokey and the Bandit" 'stache both long before Burt had even considered facial hair of any kind and way WAY after the whole mid-70s moustache craze had faded. So seeing him so youthful and thin and clean shaven is, well, odd. But at the same time, this photo is SO him. It perfectly captures his devilish charm. I can see the wicked glint in his dark eyes. I can also see my nose and my browline and forehead when I look at him. And my very, VERY large ears.

Looking at this photo, I can understand how my mom would've been taken in by him. I can almost understand why, when she was only 17, she thought that marrying him was a good idea. And I can see that mysterious, hard-to-like guy who intrigued me--his only child--and pissed me off so much at the same time. And oh my God, the thing this unexpected wonderful rare picture makes me do the most is miss him so very, very much.

For those of you reading this who have never lost a parent, I'd like to ask a few things of you:

• 
  
  Please forgive them for being so frustratingly like you--and at the same time--so freakin' different that it is absolutely maddening.
• 
  
  Forgive them for the times when they were younger than you are now, and didn't really know what the fuck they'd gotten themselves into by having kids and, as a result, made some pretty stupid decisions.
• 
  
  Forgive them for the fact that they were human and dealing with serious adult stuff that you, unfortunately, had to bear the brunt of as a kid.
• 
  
  Appreciate them for the sacrifices they made for you then that you can only fully appreciate now.
• Understand that they are deeply proud of you and love you, even if they rarely show you or tell you.
• 
  
  Appreciate every hug, kiss, phone call, e-mail and card you get from them. Because there will be one day in the future when you desperately want to speak with them, and it will punch you in the gut because you remember how long it has been since you last heard their eternally-familiar voice.
• 
  
  Think about the kind of person you want your kids to remember you being. THAT is your legacy. Not the bullshit material crap you leave behind, but who you show them you are.
• 
  
  What matters to you?
• 
  
  What makes you happiest? Most pissed?
• 
  
  What's worth fighting for?
• 
  
  What brings tears to your eyes?
• 
  
  What music and foods do you love? 
• 
  
  Where is the most beautiful place you've ever been?
• 
  
  What is the thing you most wish you'd done (that you haven't)?
• 
  
  What's the thing you've done that you're proudest of?

THAT is your legacy! These are the memories that they will carry with them and share with their children and others whose lives they touch. When your kids don't know these things about you, then you've left them nothing.

Trust me.

Saturday Night Soccer in Austin

BH is a big soccer fan. Not only does he enjoy watching it, he plays as well. So all summer, we've been talking about checking out an Austin Aztex game. And this past Saturday, we finally did.

This season's games are being played at Nelson Field in NE Austin, but next season, they'll be moving downtown to House Park.
The attendance was 2,611, so there was plenty of room to sit pretty much wherever you wanted to.
We were all treated to a beautiful sunset and cooler-than-it-has-been-in-a-long-time temperatures.
The Geej got an Aztex tattoo, and BH talked to her about what was going on on the field. She actually sort of got into it. But when her attention DID wane, they had a handy bouncy house set up in which to bounce yourself silly. They also had a place where you their corporate sponsor, AMD, had set up two back-to-back big screen TVs so kids could play a soccer video game in case, you know, real life just wasn't doing it for them.And for some reason that I'm still not quite clear about, the Aztex mascot is a chili pepper named, wait for it, Sgt. Pepper. Um, okay.


One thing I was VERY impressed by was this group of SUPERfans located in the southwest corner of the stadium. They had horns and drums and basically went freakin' NUTS for the entire length of the game. Very entertaining.

By the way, the Aztex won--for the first time in 2 months!!


We had a really good time. I recommend the Aztex games for a good dose of easily accessible, inexpensive, small-town fun. However, unless you eat hot dogs or like those "nachos" with the canned "cheese" poured on them, then you're going to need to make other plans for dinner.

We went to Magnolia.

The Aztex--who are ranked last in their league--will play their final game of this season next Monday (Labor Day). They'll be playing a team from Portland, OR--the best team in the league. It's going to be a blood bath, but it should be entertaining!!

Random. Bullet-pointed. Done while eating lunch at my desk. Yadda Yadda.

• Went to see Jerry Seinfeld do stand-up with Blake and my mom on Friday night. Mom bought us the tickets, and I was like, "Um...okay." But actually? We had a good time, and Mr. Seinfeld was very funny.
• The show was at the remodeled Bass Concert Hall on the U.T. campus. I wasn't really all that impressed by the remodel.
• Saturday, Mom, The Geej and I drove up to Dallas (Allen, actually) to visit family for the weekend. My aunt and uncle (who Geej calls "Nanny and Papa") live there, and they had all four of their kids (my cousins) in town with their progeny to celebrate my cousin Jeffrey's son's second birthday. You still with me?
• We stayed at a nearby hotel, which the Geej thought was just too cool. I love that 4 yr. olds can be so impressed with a Hilton Garden Inn.
• Hung out with the family Saturday afternoon and evening, and that included a dip in the (heated) pool for the kiddos.
• It was my first time to meet my cousins' sons because one of them lives in New Jersey, and the other in Geneva, Switzerland.
• The babies--Lucas, 2 and Joshua, 6 mos.--were ADORABLE.
• Geej thought she'd died and gone to heaven b/c she got to help feed, bathe, dress, and put down the babies. REAL LIVE BABIES!!
• Sunday was the actual birthday party at Nanny and Papa's.
• Holy HELL, it was windy. And had dropped about 40 degrees.
• Had to make an emergency trip to Target to get sweaters, long-sleeved shirts and the like.
• After the main festivities, Geej and I snuck away to go visit my friend Lisa and her cutie-pie Henry who is almost 2 yrs. old.
• This time, Geej got to push Henry in the stroller. Once again, she was in heaven.
• OMG y'all, I'm going to be a grandmother WAY before I want to be.
• We stayed in Dallas Sunday night as well.
• Drove back on Monday after introducing The Geej to the wonders of IHOP.

• Back at work yesterday playing catch-up.
• Had an extra-long, extra good workout last night (after being away from the gym for way too long).
• Currently eating some DIVINE fresh strawberries whilst blogging.

Here are some photos I've been meaning to share with you:

Joshua and his dad (my cousin), Chris. Yes, I nibbled on his rolls. Repeatedly. (The baby's, not Chris's. What kind of a family do you think we are?!)

The Geej "helping" Joshua go down for his nap. Apparently she felt it was necessary to crawl all the way into the port-a-crib with him.

The Geej with Barry Manilow. Yeah, I know. WTF?

Jaye and I went to eat at Hoover's a week or so ago, and got seated near this table of 7 cowboys (6 of whom were wearing hats) from Vernon, Texas. How do I know they were from Vernon? Well, it said so on their shirts!! I mean, I'm a native Texan, and even I'm sort of astounded by this scene.

The Geej confusing the kitties (and me) by hanging out in the dirty laundry hamper.

Frito Pile!! (It's what you call "Frito Pie" when you don't have the little bags of Fritos to split along the side and serve it in.)

I don't even know what to call these posts anymore.

It seems whenever I go more than 48 hours without blogging, I end up with a mind full of non-connected "content" I'd like to write about. Those posts I usually tag as "random," and they tend to be long and sort of weird. It's become a bit of a tradition, I think. I would hate to break that tradition and disappoint my legions of loyal readers (and by "legions," I mean three).

So here goes:

When last you heard from Karla May, I was spending the first night with my tiny little house guest, Princess Apricot and preparing for a road trip to Dallas.

Princess Apricot is doing well. I still can't get over her immense cuteness. People keep saying, "Are you going to get a hamster?" My answer is consistently, "HELL no." And I mean it. I'll babysit this little thing from time to time, but I can't imagine having one around all the time. It would make me too sad. Anything that lives in a cage bums me out. I can't wait to put her in her little hamster ball and let her go nuts tomorrow when I clean her cage.

Dallas was a blast, except for the actual road trip up there. What should've been about a 3 1/2 hour drive to the north east suburbs of Dall-ass ended up taking 6.5 hours. With a toddler in the car. And my mom. First, it was first-Friday-of-Spring-Break traffic, which just meant that the number of idiots on the road was significantly increased. Second, we hit a traffic jam in lovely Temple, Texas and sat still on the highway for over an hour. Meanwhile, The Geej declares, "I've got to poo poo!" which sent me lunging from the front seat to the back of my mom's Mazda Tribute to get a pull-up. I stripped The Geej down and put her pull-up on her and said, "Okay. You can poop." Talk about a confusing message to give to your newly potty trained kiddo. Bless her heart. She didn't WANT to go in her pants, so she started crying. In the end, she did pee in her pull up, but saved the bomb for the next opportunity we had to hit a gas station bathroom. Good girl.

After we got through that flustercluck (which apparently was just caused by some construction that caused traffic to go from 3 lanes to 2), we rocked along pretty well. We'd hoped to get to my aunt and uncle's by supper time, and when it became apparent that that wasn't going to happen, we called them and told them to proceed without us. Meanwhile, we dined at a truckstop Grandy's in Waxahachie. Yep. It rocked.

We made our way through Dallas, no problem. Then, 9 miles from my aunt's house, traffic stopped again. Totally still on Central Expressway. They were routing all 4 lanes from Central AND the two lanes that were merging on to Central from George Bush Presidential Freeway on to the frontage road because of an accident that had completely shut down the highway. Once we actually passed the scene of the accident, I saw a guy who had the words "Plano Chaplain" on the back of his black jacket, and knew someone had died. The next day in the paper we discovered that a 17 year old had gotten into an arguement with his father while they were dining at a restaurant on the frontage road. He'd run out and crossed the highway, miraculously making it unscathed. When he realized he'd dropped his cellphone, and ran BACK into traffic to retrieve it, he wasn't so lucky. He was struck by two cars and killed. This happened at roughly 9pm. The highway was closed until 2am.

The next day was my friend Lisa's baby shower, at another friend of mine's (Deanne's) house in Dallas proper--an about 25 mile drive from my aunt's house in the burbs. The Geej got dressed up in a dress and came with me. We got there at exactly 11:30, and I was surprised that everyone was already there, seated and eating. We had a nice time, and left in time for Geej to go have some lunch and a good nap. It wasn't until we got home yesterday, and I saw the invitation hanging on my fridge that I realized the shower had actually started at 10:30. What an asshole I am. Showed up an hour late and didn't even apologize.

Saturday afternoon was lovely. We all walked to the neighborhood park to play. On the way, however, The Geej was running a wee bit faster than she probably should have, and she fell on her knees...then her hands...then her face. She looks like she was in a bar fight: big bruise on her forehead, bridge of the nose skinned, big bloody scab between her left nostril and upper lip (see below), back of the left hand and both knees skinned. She cried like mad for about 3 minutes and scared the hell out of me, but she dusted it off and still wanted to swing. That's my girl.

Saturday night, we had a big family meal with my mom, aunt, uncle, Geej, my cousin Stacey, her daughter Meghan, and husband Roy. My aunt is an insanely good cook, and it was just really nice to hang out together.

Sunday's trip home was much smoother than the ride up. No traffic jams. Only a little bit of rain at the end of the drive. The Geej was an angel. All in all, it was a really good time.

Last night it rained like crazy, and although we really, really needed it, it kept me up for the better part of the night. To say I'm looking forward to snoozing tonight is a big understatement.

It's spring break, and Geej's school is closed, so Dah and I are doing the childcare mambo. She had Geej today, and I get her back tomorrow (after I go to the new IKEA for the first time...YAY!!). I'm taking tomorrow and Wednesday off to Geej-tend, the Dah steps back in on Thursday and Friday. I've said it before: Thank GOD for her. I have no idea what I'd do if she weren't here to help me out.

The other big news I have is that I FINALLY got a new digital camera. I went from my shitty 3.2 megapixel dinosaur to a 10 megapixel badass of a camera. It has so many bells and whistles, I don't know if I'll ever figure out everything it's capable of. Also, I went from a 64mb memory card to a 1GB card. (Thanks, Jaye!) Dammmmmmmmmn. The whole experience has been like going from a '87 Sentra to a brand new Lexus. Hot, people. I'm going to be posting pictures and videos like mad...if I can ever figure out the video posting thingamajig.

Finally, I found out that that bastard Uncle Sam is giving a nice refund this year. Thank God. I've got so many little house projects that have been totally dependent on whether or not this refund happened.

Plus, I really want to get this: 1973 Mercedes. Cherry condition. That's right bitches--Mama's getting a convertible.

BURRRRRRRRRRRRP!

Ah Thanksgiving...




It's like a race to see how much food you can actually ingest without barfing or passing out. At least that's the way it is with my family. We had a great time, aside from the couple of instances that I wanted to stab my mother with the carving knife. But other than that, good family fun.





Let's see, it was me, The Geej, my mom, my mom's sister Luanne and her sweet, French husband Jean-Paul and their sweeeeeeeeeet and very patient dog Missy, my mom's other sister Peggy and her lazy ass husband Mike and their obscenely humongous boat, my mom's brother Richard, and my friend Julie. It was noisy and there was lots o' booze consumed along with the buckets of food. The most surreal moment was when we were eating and Joy Division came on the random play of my iPod. Followed by Le Tigre. I must say, it made for interesting holiday muzak. But my LORD the food.

And I gotta say this: I love how after the big chow fest, the men think it's their God-given right to plop their asses down in front of the t.v. and not lift a chubby finger to help clean up simply because "the Cowboys are on." Does having a dick really mean that you get out of housework? Gosh, men are lucky...


Julie and I came back to Austin Thursday night because, even with the fold out couch being utilized, there weren't enough beds at my mom's house for all of us. The Geej stayed there because my aunts threatened me with my life if I were to take her from them. Here's what rock stars Julie and are: We were in our p.j.'s by 6:30 and in bed by 9:30, still full from eating seven hours previously.

Yesterday we went to a pub and watched the Longhorns pitifully lose to A&M. In Austin. Only the 9th time that's happened in 80 Austin match-ups between the two. Luckily, I'd had several bloody marys to kill the pain. Then last night we had to make Julie's required pilgrimage to Chuy's for a cheese chili relleno. Once again, we came home full and sleepy. She hit the road for Oklahoma early this morning, and I'm heading out to my mom's later today.

This year I gave thanks for my family, my friends, Mr. Wonderful and his family, my job, having had another year with my ancient cat Ellen, my first year in my own home, and my return to health. I am really a very lucky lady.


Hope ya'll had a Happy Thanksgiving too.

In which my blogger guilt gets the best of me.

I shouldn't be posting. I have nothing interesting to say (so what else is new, right?), and I'm dog tired. But alas, I haven't posted since Friday, and that one was one of those "hey check this link out" posts that's really no better than a mass e-mail so here you have it: a lame-a-licious post covered in guilt.

Friday night was a blast. Thanks to all of youse blogging bitches for the gathering. I wish we could do that more often, because really, seeing ya'll face-to-face was a treat. What was it that drunk-ass Puerto Rican/Norwegian guy said at the Carousel? "You're like 'Sex in the City', Austin style...but older." Oh, and something I learned: Do not, under ANY circumstances think you're tough enough to follow Finlandia from Opal's with bad Chardonnay at the Carousel. Because you're not tough enough. No one is.

Saturday I experienced the bliss that is the shrimp chili relleno at Matt's. Don't let anyone tell you that a sauce featuring walnuts and raisins isn't tasty, cuz it is. Very much so. That lunch was pretty much all I accomplished on Saturday, so I'd say the day was a whopping success.

Sunday, ran errands and did laundry like a mad woman, trying to make up for my slacker-ness on Saturday.

And today? Stayed home from work with a sick toddler. She wasn't running a fever or anything but my GOD the snot. It was endless. There were two raging rivers of it, one out of each nostril. And she was coughing like an old trucker. And then there were the weepy eyes. I tried like hell to participate in a 10am conference call I'd scheduled, but when she came waltzing into the room while I was on the phone trying to be all business-like and presented me with a tower of Legos while loudly singing "Happy Birthday," I knew I should throw in the towel. Malcontent Mama met us for nourishment at Luby's, and later The Geej and I went on a nice walk to enjoy the afternoon, but other than that, we stuck close to home.

So tomorrow's the only day I'm actually going into the office this week (The Geej's school is closed on Wednesday), then heading out to my mom's on Wednesday afternoon/evening for Thanksgiving. My mom's two sisters, brother, their respective spouses and a couple of cousins will be there, so it'll be a houseful. One Aunt/Uncle combo is bringing their boat so we can go explore Lake LBJ. Another Aunt/Uncle combo is bringing their kick ass dog Missy, with whom The Geej has a major infatuation. I'll be bringing the items from the ever-expanding shopping list my mom keeps e-mailing me. And the Xanax. I'll be bringing some of that too.

Oh, where to begin...

This past week (and a few days) has been a doozie.

On Friday the 20th, I piled The Geej and all of her stuff into the wagon and took off for Longview at 5:20 in the morning. I was trying to take advantage of the fact that leaving at that hour would mean she'd sleep through most of the 270 mi. trip. I was a bit freaked b/c it was going to be our first official road trip together, and well, when you're doing it all alone, there are lots of things to consider. For instance: going to the bathroom. Should the need arise, what does one do? You can't leave her in the car. You can't take her to the bathroom and put her on the dirty floor. (No, I don't have one of those carrier doohickeys.) You can't pee with her on your lap (you can, actually, but the stuff you have to do AFTER peeing you can't do with her in one arm). So I stopped drinking water at 7pm the night before our trip, just to be sure...

She made the trip like a champ, with only 2 meltdowns--one minor, one major. And thankfully, the major one happened when we were only 20 miles from our destination.

Saturday the 21st, we attended a party in Geej's honor. A lot of my family, my mom's friends, a few of my friends from high school. It was lovely, and The Geej looked precious in her little white lacy dress with a blue grosgrain ribbon at the waist. She was tired, but tolerated being passed around to about a billion old big-haired east Texas ladies who wanted to eat her with a spoon. She got SO much stuff at that party that it took two cars to bring it home. Lordy.

Monday night, I got sick. I won't go into the gruesome details, but it lasted for a couple of days, culminating with 102.5 fever on Wednesday night. All I can say is thank God I was home so my mom could help with Geej. I was in lousy shape, and still don't feel quite right to be honest. I'm going to try to get in to see El Doctor tomorrow...

Thursday, Mom the Geej and I piled all of our crap back into the wagon, and headed to Houston. The baby had a 1pm appt. at the International Adoption Center at Texas Children's Hospital for her post-adoptive diagnostic exam. It's basically a very thorough appointment where they catch her up on any immunizations she needs, give her the once over, re-test her for all sorts of stuff (TB, HIV, etc.) and establish her medical records in the U.S. She'd had a pre-adoptive evaluation done there, so I wanted to close the loop. She did great. She's gained 2 lbs. since I've had her (she's up to a whopping 15.9 lbs.!), and the doctors thought--barring any weirdness showing up on her labs--that she's in tip top shape. I knew this, of course, but it's very reassuring to hear it from the professionals.

We spent the night in a hotel near the medical center (the same hotel where Mom spent so much time when Roy was in the hospital there last summer), then packed up and headed about 45 miles away to Seabrook. Checked into yet another hotel, and unloaded once again. It's amazing how much stuff you have to travel with when a baby's in tow. I kept calling her The Diva, because it was like we were her roadies, constantly unloading all the stuff that she needed. My cousin was graduating from high school with loads of honors, so Mom and I wanted to make an appearance. Since the ceremony didn't start until 8pm and was in a hot stadium, Geej and I went back to the hotel, but Mom attended and I know my cousin and uncle were happy she was there.

Next day, we loaded up again, and hit the road for Austin (Mom was catching a ride back to L-view with my Aunt). But wait! We stopped on our way out of Houston to have lunch and visit with a couple who I'd met through the adoption agency. The woman's name is Joanne and her husband is Alan. They adopted a little girl from the same orphanage that the Geej came from last October. The little girl is about 6 mos. older than Geej and looks so much like her, it's eerie. Aside from the olive complexion, and the fact that she's obviously bigger, Kyra IS The Geej. It was so weird...like looking into the future. Same hair, eyes, nose, mouth, petite frame. You name it, they're the same. These people live in an ENORMOUS McMansion--very nice. Kyra's room looks like something out of the Land of Nod catalogue.

Finally, we got on the road for home for real. Got home about 4:30 on Saturday afternoon. Whew. It was such a wild week--full of changes and firsts for Geej--and she handled everything like a pro. Just went with the flow. I'm very proud. Today is her 10 mo. birthday. She's sitting on the floor next to me playing as I type. She's such a monkey.

You'll be pleased to know that we've rounded the corner with Earl. I guess he's begrudingly decided to accept this strange creature who now shares his house and his mom with him. Sunday morning, I was giving the Geej her bottle, and he jumped up on the arm of the couch and just licked her right on the head. Then he got down on the couch and bunked her feet, purring madly. She, of course, was in heaven. He still runs from her when she "chases" him (which is freakin' hilarious, by the way), but I can't say I blame him. He still outweighs her by about a pound, but he's a big wuss.

Okay, back to trying to write the billion thank you cards I am now legally required to write after that dang party. And the hostesses even put "no gifts necessary" on the invitation... Sigh.

Getting old sucks.

It's a gloomy, rainy Monday. So why not have a gloomy posting, eh?
On June 21st, my stepfather Roy had surgery in Houston to repair an aneurism on his aorta, just below his heart. Going in to this, we knew that the sugery was going to be very serious and that his recuperation process was going to be quite lengthy and difficult. We also knew that Roy's health was not the best: He was 70, but seemed 80. Had had two previous heart attacks in the past 10 years. Had had surgery to repair another aneurism on his aorta (near his stomach) in the early 90s. And had early-stage emphysema due to a lifetime of smoking (he'd finally quit after his second heart attack, five years prior). So, due to his age and his compromised physical state, this already intense surgery could prove to be more risky than normal. So we were scared.
But the surgery went off without a hitch. The thinking was that he'd be in ICU for 5 or 6 days and then in the hospital for another 8 to 10, and then home for a long rehabilitation process--roughly 4 to 6 weeks.
Well my friends, things didn't go as planned. Long story short: he's still in the hospital. That's right: in five months, he hasn't been out of the bed. Hasn't showered. Hasn't stood on his own. Hasn't pissed on his own. He is unable to breathe on his own withouth a great deal of effort, and has to be on a ventilator, breathing through a tracheotomy in his throat, at least 12 hours a day. Doctor's fear he will never be able to be weaned off of the ventilator due to the state of his lungs (remember the emphysema I mentioned?). Oh yeah, and he's got significant, permanent brain damage due to either a lack of oxygen to the brain, a lack of blood flow to the brain or some combination thereof. He doesn't know who my mom is. He hallucinates. He can't read or write. He has trouble controling his own bowels and can't feed himself. In other words, he's fucked.
This is a guy who, up until his day of surgery, was a contributing member of society: running his own business for 40+ years, married to my mom for 26 years, a father, stepfather and grandfather. Now, he's a like a helpless child. And my mom is by his side for 8 to 12 hours a day, trying to understand his ramblings and clean up his messes. His kids rarely come to visit. His business associates' visits have trickled off. The bills keep piling up and he will never, ever get any better than he is right this second.
My mom is devastated and exhausted. She's held out hope for months that this situation would get better--at least slightly. It has been horrible watching her hope and optimism erode as day after day has passed.
This week they're planning on moving him from the hospital to a nursing home. From one bed to another. From treatment to maintenance. There is no end to this ordeal in sight.
If this were 50 years ago, the aneurism on his aorta would've eventually burst and Roy would've dropped dead. But because the technology now exists, we can now have surgery to repair an aneurism and extend somebody's life by years...or decades. But his life is ostensibly over. My mom's life is over in a lot of ways because she is his caretaker. So in trying to extend this 70-year-old-in-poor-health's life by 5 or 6 years, two lives have been devastated, their finances are being eviscerated, and those who love these people are severely affected as well.
After living a full, productive life, what a crappy way to go out.