Hysteria

Apparently the entire East Texas population has lost their minds. Even Polly, who is Polly-on-the-spot when it comes to weather has joined in the ice-apocalyptic cult. You see, according to the Internet, which I'm told is always right, we are supposed to be in the middle of a "freezing rain" storm. Freezing rain is different than sleet, but I don't know how. 

The bank sent out a note saying their hours are questionable. My pal Cindy called and said she couldn't swing by to help me with my sewing project because of the potential of freezing rain. Facebook was full of, "God bless, stay safe and are the local schools closing?" Even my friend Jane called me from Idaho asking if we were safe from this "storm." I assured her nobody is gathering animals two by two. And it hasn't been below freezing since right before Christmas.

I cannot figure the panic out. It is raining just like it has for the past two weeks (spoiler alert: next week too). It is in the mid-30s--just like it has been for the past week. Nothing, I assure you, NOTHING has changed with the weather except for the increase in hysteria. Thursday it is supposed to have a high of 39 degrees. Friday it will peak at 43. Overnights are expected to be around 33-34 degrees. The only "freezing" I'm seeing is common sense.   

The Family Polly Never Knew

As a baby, Pollywog wasn't much of a sleeper. That meant I wasn't much of a sleeper. Now, I'm not talking about the girl having her days and nights mixed up. I'm talking about a baby who took one nap a day and only slept an hour at night and then was up for several more.  

About two months after Polly was born, I was so sleep deprived Marty and I started looking for options, not only for my sanity, but so that we wouldn't have to worry harm might come to our child if I suddenly fell asleep while driving/walking/standing/breathing. And like all amazing solutions that come from necessity, we found Lissa. 

Lissa lived a half mile away and she watched children out of her home. From the time Polly was two months old, every few days, Marty would get up with her at 4 a.m., bring her to Lissa's by 8 a.m. and then go to work. Meanwhile, I'd sleep from 4:01 a.m. until 10 a.m. and then pick up Polly. 

By Polly's first summer, I was freelance writing and Polly spent a bit more time over at Lissa's house. The kids Lissa watched (including her 3 year old daughter and 7 year old son) absolutely doted over my daughter. Polly would crawl over the roughest of boys while they watched television and they would instantly melt. The oldest girl Lissa watched carried Polly around on her hip all summer and I swear that's why Polly didn't learn to walk until she was 13 months old. One of the cutest memories Lissa and I have is these kids coming to me and asking if they could throw Polly's first birthday party. They planned everything, complete with decorations, cake (which they made in Lissa's kitchen) and party games, age appropriate for Baby Polly. 

Lissa watched Polly and Buckaroo until Polly was three and Buck was a year old. By then, we'd moved to a different home and Lissa had opted to get a full-time job. But, we remined friends. About ten years ago, Lissa and her family moved back to Lissa's hometown, Sulphur Springs Texas. 

Last weekend, Lissa's daughter (who remembers Polly and me) invited us to her baby shower. We drove the 100 miles through fog and torrential rain to join them for the festivities. All week Polly asked variations of, "How do you know them?" and "Do you think they will remember me?"  I'd shown Polly Facebook pictures of the family, but she drew a blank. 

"Don't worry, they love you," I assured her. 

When we arrived, Lissa (who I have seen since I've moved to Texas) greeted me and then gushed over Polly. To Polly's credit she was gracious and took it all in stride. Then Lissa's pregnant daughter came over and did the same, sharing her memories of baby Pollywog all those years ago. And if that wasn't enough, Lissa's son--who now has three adorable babies of his own--ran over to Polly like a long lost friend and hugged her telling his memories of that little blond girl who won the hearts of his friends one summer. And finally, Lissa's husband came by to say hello. He sat with Polly and I through a good portion of the party and even had a few stories to share with my daughter. The entire family doted over Big Polly in a similar fashion to the way they treated the little baby all those years earlier. 

When we were leaving I said, "Isn't it kind of fun to find out that you have a whole 'nuther family who absolutely love you?" Polly was a bit overwhelmed from the attention, but I think she also liked hearing about her history from someone other than her parents. 

Buck's Latest Wins

Last weekend, Buckaroo went to Dallas for his first martial arts tournament since we moved here. He'd entered all three competitions. There were about 50 people competing in every event Buckaroo competed in. 

He came in fourth in sparring. However, he was the lowest belt competing. One of the judges took him aside afterwards and told him he personally felt Buck actually had earned a higher medal and to keep showing up. 

Buck came in third place in the "forms" competition. One of the other contestants actually congratulated him before the judges awarded the medals. This contestant was convinced Buckaroo had placed--which he did. When the medals were announced, the contestants were told the second and third place came down to micro-moves and if Buck hadn't turned his head the wrong way, he would have gotten second. (the contestant who congratulated him did not place). 

And finally, in the big competition, weapons, Buckaroo got the gold. Apparently, Buck blew away the competition by a landslide. 

   

And More Critters

Buckaroo pointed out the bats, living in the patch of woods behind our home. "Where?" I asked. "Right there! Can't you hear them?" he replied, pointing to the fifty gazillion winged ratty things flying around by the trees. 

Yep. There they were. 

 

January's Projects.

 I sew because it reminds me of Bonus Mom. 

Here are three of this month's projects. There were a few others, but less significant. 

These were supposed to be Polly's Christmas present. She picked the fabric. I was gone in December, so I made them in January. I'm pleased she wears them all the time. They are made of knit fabric. This will be the very last set of buttonholes I ever make in knit fabric. Ever. As a PSA: nobody should ever put buttonholes in knit fabric. Ever. (they were used for the drawstring).

Incidentally, Buckaroo will be getting a hoodie sweatshirt when the material comes in--I bought the wrong fabric last month. Hopefully it will still be cold enough for him to wear it by the time I finish making it. 

By the way, I don't know what that weird line is in this photos at the bottom left pant leg. Perhaps the interior cuff? At any rate, it isn't there in the finished product. 

While in Phoenix last December, my sister in law picked out some fabric and I made her a table runner. Polly designed it. I brought it to Hope, Arkansas to a lady who does longarm quilting for a living. If you look closely you can see it is quilted. I have mixed feelings about this project.  

Polly designed this baby quilt too. It may not look like it, but it took us hours to come up with this particular design. Every fabric square was deliberately selected to be stationed where it was put in the quilt. She and I are going to a baby shower on Saturday. This is our gift. It took a month for me to make. This was also brought to a lady in Hope for longarm quilting because I feel weird asking Bob to do this for free all the time, even though he lives a mile away.

I like this one quite a bit. However, I'm done quilting for a while. 

 

Coming Up Roses

 

  

Garden Goals

I just got word, there are six of us who have been selected for this year's Master Gardener program. First class is February 2.  

Silly Problems

Well drat! 

The super-fun Coronas invited me to the movies tomorrow night. In a rare case, it is actually a movie I want to see. And in another even more rare case, all of them are going, mainly because they all want to see the movie. There's talk of an afterparty, or at least dinner. 

However, I made plans with the Catholics first. Three of us are cleaning the church at that exact time. I tried to change the church cleaning schedule, but nope. This is what works for their schedule, and it was already on the calendar for the past month when I signed up for this. 

Wishing to be the kind of person who keeps my word, I bowed out of the fun in exchange for my first obligation. But my heart will be at the movies with the cool kids tomorrow night.  

Back to House Hunting

Welp, Marty brought up how nice it would be to have one extra room. Don't I know it. We were spoiled in Mesa. After a cursory search through Tessa's site, I found three that might fit the bill for us and sent them to Marty. 

Once I started rummaging through Tessa's real estate site, it sent her an alert I was looking again. Last time this happened, she instantly called me with her best Realtor voice and asked what I thought of the properties I found and what time should she set up appointments to view them? This time, I saved her the trouble and sent her a text: "I'm looking at houses. I will let you know."

Of the three houses I found, the first was a custom home, much larger than Marty and I need, once the kids move out  in 100 years. It had four bedrooms--all upstairs, a fabulous kitchen and all the space our hearts could want. It also came with a workshop. The price is more than either of us are ready to pay. The house is 45 years old and not going to get any newer. 

The plus side is that this house has a brand-new roof and is North of Interstate 30--which is where I'd prefer to live. The price, though more than I want to pay, is a steal for the neighborhood it is in. It will be perfect for a growing family with better knees than Marty's and mine. The minus side is that all the bedrooms are upstairs. Marty's other minus was that he'd have a five mile commute.  

The second house was slightly larger than the house we have now, but had that fourth bedroom/den. I loved the front porch (squee!) and was north of Interstate 30. The house was 25 years old. It had a fire pit in the backyard. The house was one story. 

The downside was the kitchen wasn't nearly as fabulous as the one I have now (or as fabulous as the first house I showed him) and Marty would still have that 5 mile commute. Also, the walls are all painted garish versions of brown, and not the same garish brown. "Do you really want painters back in your house for weeks on end?" Marty asked as he quickly jumped out of glaring distance. "I'll just paint it myself," I replied. We've decided if the price comes down, Marty's commute be damned, I'll go look at it. 

The third house is behind me in Wake Village. It is seven years old, about the same size as mine and currently backs the woods. However, given how Wake Village is growing, I predict there will be houses behind this place in a couple of years. That's too bad, because the train noise will be much more predominant. The house is two-story, but the master bedroom is downstairs. It is also a three bedroom home (no office). 

The only reason it made the initial cut was the listing said it had an additional living space. I suppose that's true. That living space is a smallish "reading nook" upstairs crammed between the two bedrooms. When Marty and I looked at the pictures again, I estimate that reading nook is about four feet wide. "Why didn't the builder just make the bedrooms two feet longer and forgo this stupid space?" I asked. We didn't really spend too much time reflecting on that because we then realized there was no place in the not-at-all fabulous kitchen for a kitchen table. 

The plus for this house, is that it is newer (newer roof, AC, hot water heater, etc.) and Marty has a half-mile commute to work. The downside, other than the weird floorplan and the price they are asking for this bit o'crazy is it backs the woods where the snakes live. 

There is still the option of adding on to our current house. But I am not ready to explore workers being here for weeks on end. Nor do I want to be stuck with anything that resembles a tacky addition to my house. I want an add-on to be done correctly. For the price it will cost me to get something done "correctly" I might be better off finding that elusive property with the extra space. But it must have a fabulous kitchen. 

"The Best Mexican Food in Texarkana"

I made chicken enchiladas last night. This dish had all the usual enchilada ingredients, including corn tortillas. It did not have rotel, pecans or coconut. Nor did I use Velveeta. 

I'm told by my family they were fabulous. We topped it with Marty's fresh, homemade salsa (using grown from our garden jalapenos). 

Booyah! 

Restaurant Menu Hell

I'm looking at the menu for where the Lunch Bunch is meeting this week. It is a "bistro" that is heavy into shrimp. Plus it's mostly fried southern fare, which isn't agreeing with me these days. This kind of food is pretty typical for most Texarkana restaurants. I'm trying to figure out what I can eat that won't cause heartburn or death. 

Right now, I have a note into the corporate office asking if the duck gumbo has any shellfish in it. One would think "duck" gumbo would mean no shellfish, but I've been fooled before. Hopefully these folks will get back to me soon and I won't have to call them and ask again. Dying in their establishment is bad for business, so it's in everyone's best interest to get back in touch with me. 

Of course, there are other menu options: fried catfish (generally stored next to the shrimp in the back), fried shrimp salad, chicken breast with fried okra or fried green beans and grits. There's hamburgers too, but I generally can only eat two bites of a hamburger--though Buckaroo will enjoy the leftovers. I hate to spend that much money for two bites of a hamburger.  I guess if worse comes to worse, I'll just order ice tea and hope they have unsweet tea. 

A Possible Weekend with Patrick

Yesterday I got a call from my sister-in-law and my 9 year old nephew, Patrick. During the call, Patrick asked if it would be okay to visit this coming weekend. Being the cool Auntie, the answer is always, "Of course." Then, Sis-in-law and I tittered at Patrick's adorableness at asking such a question.

Patrick said, "Oh good. I will either be on the 6:30 flight Friday night or if I can't get on that one, I will be on the 10 a.m. one Saturday morning. I will call you when I land." 

Still thinking he was playing, I said, "Do you have my phone number?" 

At which, Patrick rattled off my phone number.  

"When did you learn your aunt's number?" My sister-in-law asked. She wasn't tittering now. 

Patrick replied, "After I looked up flights yesterday." Changing the subject he asked me, "Can we go to the diamond mine in Arkansas and the clock museum in Jefferson this weekend? I have to be back for school on Tuesday, so that's all we can probably do. Also, maybe I could sleep next to Luna. Do you think she'd mind?" 

Before I could answer, Sis-in-law said to me, "Tell him he can't come." 

"She already said I could, Mom," Patrick said. 

"I did," I replied, no longer thinking Patrick was joking. If he'd worked out our schedule for the weekend, I figured minute details like how to get to Sky Harbor from Peoria was a forgone conclusion.  

"You can't go!" My sister-in-law said in her sternest Mom Voice. 

"Mom, you heard Auntie. She said I could visit!" Patrick argued. 

"Gotta go!" Sis-in-law said. "Say goodbye to your Aunt!"

I said, "Bye Patrick."

He replied, "Bye Auntie. See you Friday night or Saturday morning." 

As I hung up, I heard my normally calm and even-keeled sister-in-law say to her 9 year old genius son, "YOU WILL NOT GO TO TEXARKANA THIS WEEKEND. DO YOU UNDERSTAND? TELL ME YOU UNDERSTAND MY WORDS." 

Meanwhile, back at the Sunshine house, we are taking even money Patrick will be calling tonight or tomorrow morning from the airport, ready to go visit the Arkansas diamond mine 60 miles from here.   

Fit for a King

According to the Internet,
it looks like this
(note the fancy sprig of mint).
 

Suzy shared with me her "king ranch" chicken dish that she will be making for February's Church of Christ prayer meeting. She tells me it is Mexican food and a favorite around these parts. This was her ingredient list. 

• Chicken
• Cream of Mushroom Soup
• Corn
• Rotel
• Corn chips or tortillas (flour)
• Beans (she didn't specify, I didn't ask for clarification)
• "Queso" (which translates to Velveeta). 

Mix it all up, heat/bake or whatever and serve to an unsuspecting audience.

When Suzy saw the look on my face, she said, that all "Mexican food" around these parts has to include a can of Rotel. I was too polite to tell her that wasn't my true issue with that particular recipe.   

By the way, you can google the recipe. I did. None of the other variations I found included beans of any kind. So, I'm guessing Suzy is a bit of an artisan. 

Weather News

So far this month, it looks like the Texarkana weather will stay in a comfortable 35-65 degree range. I'm told this is a normal January. I'm also told we can expect another freeze some time in February. That's apparently normal as well.

This sure beats last year's 30 degree days.   

Almost

Welcome to La Fogata

I met Leah for lunch Monday. I really like Leah, probably more than I like anyone else in the whole Texas-Arkansas area where I live. In my head, we have a lot in common, though our friendship is slow-going--but that seems like the norm around here. Or maybe it's the norm for my age. At any rate, Leah and I met for lunch. Seeing her, as always, was fun.  

In the futile attempt to find marginally reasonable Mexican food, I suggested a place on the Arkansas side: La Fogata, which translates to "the fire." I believe the joint was named this because the place looks like a dumpster fire. I sent pictures of the building to Marty and his reply was "modest." Yep, in a back-alley kind of way. That said, it probably is on the top of my Mexican food list for Texarkana. 

Set off of Genoa Road, La Fogata was situated next to a bog. I was greeted by the restaurant's friendly cat. The staff was pleasant and even turned the music down to something reasonable once we sat down. 

I guarantee there is a critter or two back
there in that bog.

The menu held promise. For example, though the chili reyenos came with or without chicken, they were made with poblanos. A far cry from the folks making this dish with a variety of non-poblanos that we tend to see around here. As a bonus, they also weren't covered in avocado mayo. The salsa had the correct spices and the chips reminded me of Arizona. I ordered the two for one enchilada plate. And here is where it all took a turn. The chicken enchilada had zero spice. The cheese enchilada was just a rolled up quesadilla--but I didn't have the heart to tell the staff that. It wasn't until I was driving home did I realize what the true issue was: La Fogata, just like everywhere else around here, uses flour tortillas for their Mexican food.  

Leah asked what I thought of the food. It wasn't Tex-Mex, which is a high compliment. I'll probably drag

The La Fogata Kitty Cat

Marty back there and order tacos and have Marty take a gander at the chili reyenos (no chicken, please). If the food isn't passable, at least we can drench it in the salsa. 

The New Girl

Though I thought about canceling sixty gazillion times Thursday, I managed to make it the 4.7 miles to lunch with five minutes to spare. It just so happens, Cindy, the woman who invited me, was also parking her car at the same time as me. She came over, and asked if I was sick. Nope, just ready to pass out from nerves. 

There were twelve of us. I knew four from the Coronas. I knew three others from the monthly prayer meeting. (one of whom is VERY anti-Catholic and it cracks me up how much effort the rest of the ladies go to ensuring she doesn't know I'm Catholic, though I really don't care if she knows or not). 

I don't know why social anxiety is my jam, but it is. However, when I walked in, Corona-Patty said, "I saw your name on the list. I'm glad you came." Corona-Kristy said, "A few of us are going to the movies tomorrow. Want to come?" and Corona-Ruth said, "Oh please do come to the movies. You can sit next to me."   

Prayer Meeting-Ginny asked about my sister-in-law's surgery. And Prayer Meeting-Jenny mentioned she thought it was a "hoot" that I lived on Arizona Avenue and was also from Arizona. Neither of these bits o'trivia I had volunteered to the gang.  

Friday, I joined Kristy and Patty at the movies (Ruth now had a sinus infection). The movie was terrible, but as I explained to Buckaroo, I agreed to go, so that I could get to know people. I wasn't going for the movie, but for the company. 

Saturday I got a text from Kristy, inviting me to a play that night. I couldn't make it, but I no longer feel like a complete outsider. I have hope there will be future invitations. Perhaps at some point I won't feel like the new girl any more.

The Lunch Bunch

In late November, Cindy invited me to join the Lunch Bunch, a group of ladies she knows, who meet once a week. She said they have a great time and promised I'd like them and get along just fine. In November, my timing to visit with them was off. The first opportunity I had to go they met at a seafood restaurant. Then, there was an emergency trip to Arizona. The next time I could make lunch, they were meeting at someone's home for a Christmas Party. I opted to wait until 2023. 

Today is the first lunch of the year. This week, I've done everything but collapse into a ball of mush over this. My social anxiety is through the roof. Cindy reached out yesterday, reminding me that TODAY'S the DAY!, which did nothing to quell my fright.  

All sorts of self-defeating thoughts have raced through my head in the past few days. What if I don't fit in? What if I say something stupid--well, let's just stop right there. I will say something stupid, my filter is defective. What if they don't like me? 

It really is difficult to be the new kid in a small Southern town. Plus, I have a bit of PTSD from my six weeks at the Ole Brokerage where a majority of the folks were nice to my face and nasty behind my back. 

I shared my concerns with Marty, who pointed out I generally do fine in these types of situations and I just need to get out of my head. I'm not sure how he measures "fine." However, he did suggest I look on their super-secret Facebook group I'm now part of, just to see if I knew anyone other than Cindy. 

It turns out, I spent last Saturday night--New Year's--with 90 percent of the folks in the Lunch Bunch. Most of them are Coronas! Same women, different social event, with a few other women sprinkled in. 

Okay. I think I will be fine. 

I hope. 

As long as I don't say something completely stupid. 

But for the record. I'm still nervous.    

Four Mississippi is Approx Two Miles*

Last January the high for the month was 35 degrees. We went through our (Arizona) winter clothes by January 4th. We found out why people have fireplaces in their homes and why wool blankets are all the rage. We also discovered why people wear socks. 

Two weeks ago it was 7 degrees and our hot water heater froze. Since then, the weather has been more or less wonderful--except for the rain. I'm over the whole rain-thing. I never knew the importance of having a weather app on my phone until I moved here and discovered that people, who are not Polly, actually pay attention to the weather, hour by hour, on purpose.

East Texas on a sunny
January morning

Monday, after days of rain, the sun came out around 3 p.m. and I opted to grab a bit of vitamin D. With my new earbuds and a podcast, I went for a walk around Wake Village. What I didn't do was check the weather radar to see what Mother Nature had in store an hour later. This will be a lesson I guarantee I won't forget any time soon. 

About a mile and a half from my home, I noticed the clouds rolled in. As I walked East, I saw lightening in front of me. This was a surprise for two reasons, first, I wasn't expecting any more storms for the day and second, storms here come from the West. Essentially, I managed to walk around long enough that a thunderstorm had circled around East Texas and now I wasn't close to home. And just in case I wasn't completely convinced that this might have not been in my best interest, the second time I saw the lightening, I only got to 6 Mississippi. 

Wake Village on a warm January day

After repeatedly calling the three Sunshines with no luck (why did the young adults pick that moment to put down their phones?) and sending SOS texts to all of them, explaining I'm out in the open and please come get me, I started looking for cover. Given this is more or less friendly territory, I figured I could just duck under someone's porch if necessary. Otherwise, I was already drenched so I'd just keep walking towards home.

I made it to my block about the time the lightening hit 4 Mississippi and then Marty called, wondering where I was. "I saw it was raining," he announced right as a clap of thunder went off, shaking the ground. 

Today on my walk, I took a couple of pictures of the clear sky. I wanted something to remember the good times by, as it is supposed to rain on and off for the next two weeks. But hey! At least this January it is supposed to be in the 60s.    

*According to Polly, our local weather expert. 

   

The Best Soprano in Texas

 

Polly in 2006

Polliwog was named Soprano 1, Section Leader ("First Chair") for the 2023 Texas All-State Collegiate Choir. 

I'm Not Making This Up

Just in case y'all don't believe me. 

Fuzzy's Tacos is our go-to taco joint, not because it is fabulous, but because it is consistent, inexpensive and we are pretty sure the Health Department isn't going to close down the kitchen*. The food is reasonable, if you don't mind brisket in your tacos and a complete lack of spice. 

Saturday, the family took a drive over to Stateline Road and had a few tacos. If you want salsa hot sauce, here's what Fuzzy's will give you.  

There is some debate if "aged red peppers" are the same as chili peppers. I say no, especially after trying their Butt Burning hot sauce. It was more like sugary ketchup with a bit of black pepper.  

*The best and mostly authentic taco joint I've found has a questionable kitchen. They are cheap, but I just can't get past their cleaning practices. 

 

The New Year's Party

The Coronas had a New Year's party. It was eight of us, eating "Mexican" food, compliments of Deb, our hostess who knows a guy who makes decent tamales in, "South Texas." Hoping to add some authentic, I brought dulce de leche bars, which were about as authentic as the corn dip and Fritos Cindy brought. 

Sigh... I've been gone from Arizona two weeks and I'm already missing real Mexican food.

We played cards and dominos and munched on all things that bring on Type II diabetes. Though these parties usually end by 10 p.m., we were there until 1 a.m. We watched the Time's Square ball drop at 11 p.m. and then an hour later we watched the Nashville Note drop. Then Krissy sang, "Auld Lang Syne." Afterwards, we went outside and lit sparklers like we were eleven years old. 

At some point, someone commented that I was the "new kid," and the other six corrected her. Nope. Not any more, which was nice to hear--though I still feel like a complete outsider. The party was a laugh-fest, which was a nice way to end a crappy twelve months. 

Of note, while driving home, the streets were completely empty. There were no erratic drivers or crazy folks still celebrating. I saw one car, two possums and three deer during my 10 minute drive.