They Are Back

It's turtle season. That means Luna is bringing us turtles from the back yard. 

Per our usual routine, we take a sharpie and write the number on the back before we release the critter into the front yard or down the street. Luna is currently working hard to beat her 2023 record of 10 turtles in one season. 

But seriously, where do these things come from?  

Sunday Morning's Visitor

I post too much about critters because East Texas has their fair share and it's slightly more interesting than writing about the weather. 

Anyway, look at this guy, scurrying along my fence yesterday morning, coming home from a long night of doing whatever these creatures do in the middle of the night. 

The picture really doesn't capture the size.
He's bigger than Roosevelt, our 10 pound house cat. 

The only reason I knew he was there was because Luna was outside and started barking her "critter bark"--its a thing. I was the only one awake. When I went to investigate, I dreaded what would happen if I had been an armadillo (they carry leprosy) or snake (nope). Gonna go out on a limb and say, I did not sign up for either. 

So there I was... Luna was barking up a storm and pushing the fence so hard I thought she'd either knock the dude or the fence down. Neither option made for a pleasant morning. As soon as the guy saw me, he froze in place, ensuring Luna jumped harder and barked longer. After sorting everything out, I dragged her inside. Wouldn't you know it! The possum struck this pose for about ten minutes while I watched, facinated, from the window. 

Oh yes, possums will also eat snakes, so I don't mind him hanging around. Even if Luna has other opinions. 

A Nothing Post

I just want to put this out there. 

Marty has another interview with another company next week. This will be two interviews in three weeks. 

Now then. There was a third "interview" with a third company. However, it consisted of Marty staring into his computer's camera, making a video about himself and answering a host of provided questions. He never spoke with anyone in person. In his assessment, he said he came across as a first-time podcaster whose only subscribers were his favorite aunt and mother.  

Though we aren't hurting for food and shelter, the lack of employment is affecting each of us in a variety of awful ways. So, if in your charity, you could send positive vibes, juju, or prayers (Honestly, I'm not fussy) to your choice of places, I'd really appreciate it. 

I need this season to come to an end sooner than later.  

Diabetic Coma Week

Let me just say this: I love the people around here. They are amazing. Also, I'm not a diabetic. But this week I ate like I want to be. 

I had a birthday. 

Polly made blueberry cobbler for Easter/my birthday (not the same day, but close enough). The blueberries were the ones I picked a couple years ago in Fouke and froze for a special occasion. It was probably the best blueberry cobbler ever. EVER! She also made ice cream, but primarily she made the ice cream for Sherman, because he doesn't like cobbler. Or, he didn't like cobbler until he tasted Polly's. 

Peanut Butter Pie.
Even looking at it makes my
pancreas cower in the corner. 
But... nom... nom... nom...

On Monday, I met Deb and a boatload of other folks for dinner. Deb made me a peanut butter pie. I'd never had one before. And let me say, it was absolutely fabulous. For my birthday gift, Deb gave me the recipe because she doesn't want to make one ever again. There are probably 20,000 calories a slice and a portion of it is residing in my freezer. But if you ever have the chance to eat peanut butter pie, I recommend it. 

On Tuesday, I went to the Pike County Extension Homemakers meeting. When lunch came around, the potluck consisted of mayonnaise, mayonnaise* and rich chocolate cake. I was hungry. I'm not apologizing. The end. Afterward, Val and I walked around downtown Murfreesboro, where she surprised me with a birthday ice cream. I ate three bites and apologized for not finishing it. All the while I worried about my weeping endocrine system. 

Yesterday, the Thursday Lunch Bunch celebrated my birthday. Corona Jan brought cupcakes. I blew out my candle and passed on the cupcake, encouraging someone else to take them home. 

I must finally be a grown-up because I recognized I've eaten my quota of sugar for the week.  

*Someone bragged--BRAGGED--that the food they brought was "mayonnaise free" because she used Miracle Whip, as if that is any less gross. 

The Pike County Extension Homemakers Meeting

This past week, my pal Val dragged me to the Pike County Extension Homemakers meeting. I'll unpack this for you. 

Pike County is somewhere in Southwest Arkansas*. It's claim to fame is that it is the home to the Crater of the Diamonds State Park, the largest you-dig diamond mine in the US. Small cities named, Murfreesboro, Delight, East Delight, Daisy, Kirby and Hopewell reside in Pike County. The entire county has a population of around 10,000, so take the term, "cities" lightly.

Printed inside is the agenda and the
"Extension Homemaker" creed. 

The Extension Homemakers is a volunteer group focusing on family sciences ("home economics" is the term I heard in school). They meet to discuss such topics as food preservation, sewing, community involvement, cooking, gardening and whatever else falls into this category. Val has been trying to get me to join and I've begged off. Anyway, the Extension Homemakers is big around here. 

The Pike County Extension Homemakers held their meeting and opened it up to the area. And the area responded with a ton of people driving from all over to attend. Val and I drove about 70 miles. The day's topic was on quilting. 

Here's the great news. Many folks brought quilts and most told a brief story behind the quilt. One woman had been in a coma at the age of 37. She remembered nothing from before her accident. He daughter brought her a quilt and explained that the woman had made it for her. Another brought her baby quilt telling the story of her mother, finding out she was pregnant after her father went off to WW2. Her mother worked as a phone operator during the day and made the quilt at night. She didn't meet her father for four years and has memories of dragging it with her, out the door the day her dad came home from the war. Those kinds of stories.  

Here's the not great news. Our speaker, Mr. Sam Somebodyoranother, I heard talk two months ago when Val dragged me to a homesteaders conference. He gave the same talk, which he did not deviate from in the slightest. And dare I say, he gave the talk to the same audience. 

I did find out this time Mr. and Mrs. Sam worked for twenty years as school teachers in Fort Defiance AZ (on the Navajo reservation) and we spent a fun moment boring Val about all things Arizona. Fabulous fact: my father helped build the massive powerplant outside of Holbrook, AZ. The Sams and Val know this. And now you do too. 

Lunch was a combination of mayonnaise-based foods and super-sweet desserts. Though I would have had more than grapes, cheese and crackers (plus one of those pieces of cake) had their been more options, I would have been shocked if anything else had been served. Which brings me to this: if this is a group "dedicated" to food management and a better lifestyle, why couldn't the menu be more varied? Sigh... I guess I should be happy there wasn't a chicken spaghetti in sight. 

I am not going to inundate you with the thousands of quilt pictures I took, but these two are worth a view. 

A BOOK QUILT!!!! 

This is hand sewn. That means, a needle and thread.
Though this picture doesn't do it justice, there are so many intricate details.
It was by-far the most elegant quilt there. 

*The only reason this is a foot note is because I couldn't figure out where else to put my glowing adulation. Arkansas is one of the most underrated states. It is gorgeous. The people are wonderful. The vibe is terrific. Little Rock is pretty cool and has the metropolitan feel without being too big. And if there was work for Marty almost anywhere in the state, I'd be on board in a heartbeat.  

An Easter Tale of Two Churches

Let me put this out there. 

Sunday, I went to Easter mass at the Catholic church. I arrived early enough to find a suitable place to sit. In the lobby and even after I sat down, I smiled and said, "hello," and "happy Easter" to a handful of folks. NOBODY responded. 

Nobody! 

Not one! 

Nada!

NOT EVEN PEOPLE WHO KNOW MY NAME could be charitable enough to say hello. 

Given this is the South, this must have killed these folks not to be friendly. 

Also, nobody originally sat next to me. I had 95 percent of a pew to myself. I saw Sherman across the way, holding a seat for his girl* but he was too far away for me to make any kind of polite acknowledgement. 

With five minutes to go before mass, a father of a family of four came over, asked if I was holding the pew and proceeded to sit him and his family next to me. As the family walked by, I said, "Hello," "Good morning," and "happy Easter." No acknowledgement. Sheesh. 

Polly ran in and slid next to Sherman right before mass started. I looked at the time. If I hurried I could make service at the Church of Christ.  

So, I did. 

As soon as I arrived at the Church of Christ, I met Corona Patty at the entrance. She said hello, good morning AND happy Easter. I met up with Ms. Judy** and chatted with her for a bit before Corona Gail slid in, grabbed both of our shoulders and declared, "Two of my favorite people." And I'm certain she meant it. 

Ms. Jane (her first name is "Ms.") greeted me with an, "I heard you..." and then proceeded to tell me the latest bit of gossip about me. I also corrected her while being in too good a mood to hold a grudge against Little Miss Hates Me for spreading such things--I know she was the source, bless her heart. And honestly, I don't care.   

At the pew, Corona Joan gave me a hug and I whispered, "Just fled mass." Corona Joan is also Catholic, whispered back. "Good move." Her Majesty, Deb, Queen of The Everything came in and sat next to me. That is, until she smelled a new person, jumped past Joan and myself, greeting the newcomer and inviting the unsuspecting woman to six upcoming events. And this is all before the service started. 

I sat in the pew during service with a light heart, genuinely happy to be there. This was a mass of loving folks all living in communion. 

*I explained to Sherman that day at Easter lunch, he could have a girlfriend with long beautiful hair or he could have a girlfriend who arrived anywhere on time. 

**Someday I simply must write a blog post about this beautiful soul. 

A Trip to Carthage Texas

The Texas Country Music Hall of Fame

Carthage Texas has a rough population of 6000 folks. When I started working on my current book, I ended up doing a deep-dive into Carthage. However, none of my deep-dive made it into my book. 

For those of you unfamiliar with Carthage and dying to know where it is, head south of Texarkana until you reach it. It should take you about an hour and forty minutes. The city (I checked, it's a city) is twenty miles from the Louisiana border. It qualifies as a place I would consider living if Marty found employment because it has two Dollar Generals. I believe it also has a hospital and a Wal-Mart Supercenter. The downtown also has a charming park, surrounded by old, musty buildings  which appear to be boutiques, thrift stores, eateries and--I'm not making this up--two Edward Jones investment houses. Yep, you can stand in front of one Edward Jones office in the downtown square, look across the park and see the other Edward Jones office. 

I've wanted to visit Carthage for a while now, because I discovered the Texas Country Music Hall of Fame is located there. It isn't that I'm a huge Texas Country Music Hall of Fame kind of girl, but because of so many summers spent with Bonus Dad looking for obscure small-town museums, I was intrigued. So, after Marty finally gave in, he drove me to Carthage. 

I'm ready to go back. 

Let me first say, we ate at the Texas Tea Room.* It was the BEST food I've eaten in East Texas. Ever! We brought leftovers home, but others who live here absconded with them and also expressed their appreciation and admiration to what good food tastes like. I suggested they open a franchise in Texarkana, but I'm not sure the owners are that ambitious. Probably for the best. The zucchini I had was grilled. In Texarkana it would have to be fried. 

I made this picture large so you might have a better view. This is an old-time a safety deposit box sitting in the lobby of the Texas Tea Room. 

After lunch, we headed off the city center about 300 feet to the Texas Country Music Hall of Fame. The place was more interesting than Marty feared. I thought the history was fascinating. It consisted of a gift shop and two rooms with displays. There was a conference-center kind of place as well--probably for live performances. A working (and free--the docent in the gift shop promised me) juke box sat in the display rooms and we were able to pick out a few songs to liven the mood as we walked around. We spent about two hours in there, soaking up the history and music. Time well spent.  

Photos below, but first, a couple of notes:  

To be inducted into the Texas Country Music Hall of Fame one must have been born in Texas. Except the Oak Ridge Boys. Only one is from Texas so the governor at the time made the others honorary Texans so they would be able to be inducted. 

Eagles' Drummer Don Henley is from (and rumor has it, currently lives) in East Texas. He's been "invited" to be inducted. But so far (according to the docent) he's had schedule conflicts. 

This one surprised me. I thought Buck (former owner of KNIX in Phoenix) was from Arizona. 

Dale Evans

I wish I would have taken a better picture of Buddy Holly's display. It was rather large. 

Marty is a HUGE Roy O fan. 

The Gambler Himself

We've got Willie, Waylon, and Kris Kristofferson
 (and a few others) in this display.

*For those who aren't familiar with the term, "Texas Tea" means oil. There are tons of brownfields (oil fields) near Carthage. 

Before and After

Before

Ta-Da! A black Sharpie was used for the "Welcome." 

Snake Stories

Every day this week, I've thought of writing a snake blog. Well here I am. Let me just start with this: snakes around here are as ubiquitous as sunshine in Phoenix, palm trees in Florida and winter snow in Canada. Essentially, yep. They are here. The topic of snakes and anything adjacent is part of polite conversation. 

In the last four years, I've learned to co-exist with the thought of snakes. I don't do well co-existing with the actual critter. As young children, my siblings and I had a traumatic experience with a rattler. My brothers are the exact same way about snakes. I cannot go to the reptile house at the zoo. I cannot look at a picture of a snake. After finding one in my greenhouse last fall, the floor in there is now covered in sulphur. I am who I am. The end. 

Snake story 1: 

My pal Joy wanted to see a movie this week. We saw Zootopia 2, which happened to be about a poor, misunderstood snake. Just no. We were the only ones in the theater at the matinee showing of a kids' movie, so we ended up chatting more than watching the movie.  

Snake story 2: 

My hairdresser, Crystal, lives on 800 acres, south of Fouke, Arkansas. Though, I wouldn't expect y'all to know where this is, think of it next to the Sulphur river, about 10 miles from the Arkansas-Louisiana border. About here. 

Around that red star. Kinda. 

Anyway, Crystal grew up on these 800 acres. This is woods, wilderness and boonies. There is more poison ivy per square foot in this area than anywhere else in the state of Texas--that level of "boonies." Last weekend, Crystal found a snake in her front yard. And this has upset her. Her front yard! "Why couldn't it be in my back yard?" she asked me. I hate to tell her this... 

Anyway, the snake slithered into a hole and she put a concrete block on the hole. I didn't point out there's probably a second hole. Hopefully it's in the back yard. 

Snake story 3:

Deb lives in a normal neighborhood. The neighborhood was established around 1980. Because it's East Texas, there are ponds everywhere. But please note, it isn't a wildlife kind of neighborhood. It's just a regular suburb. 

Driving back from her house this week, I found this sign. 

This isn't a lake. It is the size of the retention reservoir
found at the end of my former street in Mesa AZ.
Maybe 1/4 of an acre? Can we please stop normalizing critters? 

Snake story 4: Today I visited a friend who lives outside of Texarkana in an unincorporated part of town. She showed me her green house and millions of awesome plants she has. She then told me, oh yeah! She found a snake inside her green house yesterday. It got away. She also found a copperhead closer to her children's swing set last weekend. That one is now dead. Neither of these two locations are near each other, so this is two different snakes. 

We then went on a county-wide hunt for sulphur: the magic ingredient which is supposed to repel snakes. On our third stop, we found a 50 pound bag of the stuff. 

Random Monday Ramblings

Today I went to the doctor for my chronic 1,000-car pileup headaches I've been dealing with. Doc said, "stress." Sure. Okay. I mean, she's not wrong about that stress thing. 

While I was at the doctor's Marty had an interview. The person interviewing him made the interview go long because he was telling him the "best places to live" in this job's particular city. I'm not even googling to see if there's a Trader Joes.

I then went to lunch at the new First Watch in town. I met Deb. Both of us had this crazy idea that it couldn't possibly be crowded on a Monday! How wrong we were. By the way, First Watch hasn't changed. The menu is expensive and exotic for Texarkana. The service was so bad that Deb, a refined Southern woman, gave a generous11 percent tip.  

Oh yes, I told Deb about Marty's interview. To be fair, she already knew because Polly told her last week. But, it was a mistake anyway. Why? Because the newest Corona, Little Miss Hates Me, and her sweet and darling mother (she's wonderful!) came in and because there was no place to sit, they were invited (by Deb, Patron Saint of all Lost Souls) to cram into our two-person booth. And guess what came up in polite conversation? Grrrr... Little Miss Hates Me also is a terrible gossip. 

I think by this time tomorrow half of Texarkana will know Marty had an interview with this organization and it wasn't for a local job. Also, half of Texarkana will not care it was a first interview, there are several candidates and so far nothing has come of it and might not. 

For the record, I did not say to Deb, "Don't tell anyone," because 1) it hadn't come up as a point of conversation and 2) there hadn't been time between me mentioning Marty's interview and LMHM and her wonderful mama sitting down.

Speaking of LMHM. She wanted to tell me Ms. Judy needs me to take her to the upcoming woman's banquet at church. Oh dear! I need to talk to Ms. Judy. I'm out of town that weekend and won't be going to the woman's banquet*. That's too bad. I adore Ms. Judy. She doesn't drive and I and would be happy to take her anywhere I'm going.  After living in the South, I know LMHM didn't mean anything untoward (this time) by mentioning this. It's standard practice: get your news from whomever is dishing it out. But it still bugs me.  

And let me pinch my forehead while I speak of gossip for a moment. I got a text message from one of the Master Gardener's wishing me well now that I've moved to Arizona. Huh? What? Huh? I wrote back, letting him know I live in Texarkana, just taking a break from Master Gardeners right now. Yes, yes. I know this will change at some point, but this is what is true for now. I haven't moved anywhere. Nor have I mentioned to anyone in that organization my living situation. The dude doesn't even go to the Church of Christ! So, I'm really curious about his info source. Geez! His note made my head hurt.   

After lunch, I met Pete the Painter who gave us this outrageously low quote on painting our exterior trim and our bathrooms. Both need to happen before the house goes on the market. I can paint the bathrooms, but I'm not getting on a ladder and painting the exterior--especially if Pete the Painter will charge per hour than less than the cost of a First Watch meal. 

Oh yes! My pal Joy sent a note saying, "see you tomorrow." We hadn't yet picked a destination for our upcoming nature walk. So, I asked where we were going. She replied we were going to the movies. Movies? Okay then. You know, I might get a reasonable nap in the movie theater. There might be something to this. 

I should also mention Corona Krissy called me. She felt we should get a group together on Friday to celebrate my accomplishment of making it another year around the sun. Friday is Good Friday. It is the beginning of the holiest of all religious Christian holidays. And, I fast on Good Friday. So, is this possible to do this after 8 p.m.? Krissy told me it is not possible but respects my beliefs. She informed me another day will be selected. 

Though I love these women and enjoy hanging out with them, I don't want to celebrate my birthday. In fact, the very idea is giving me a headache. 

*Out of town in this case means anything from I'm dragging Marty away for a Galveston weekend to I'll be at the Wal-Mart in New Boston, Texas at the very time of the banquet and won't be available to eat chicken spaghetti. But actually, I do have tentative plans.    

Small and Meaningful

Small and Meaningful

The decision has been made and I'm outvoted. We will eventually be moving. Most around here don't know this, but if anyone is paying attention, they can see the small and meaningful actions being taken to for our home to be put on the market.

Where are we going? Don't know. More on that later. 

Anyway, back to small and meaningful actions. Yesterday, Marty and I tackled more of the front yard. Before you smirk, please understand, revamping the front yard is a massive undertaking. So far, we've reseeded the grass and added a flowerbed in the side yard. And now we've managed to rebuild the bed on the North side of the front yard. The one in front of Buck's room. The flowerbed was covered in wild strawberries, dandelion, burweed and--Heaven help me--green briar. For those who aren't familiar with green briar, it is an unpleasant pokey plant that grows 1,000 feet per second. And it takes over whatever it wants to take over. Essentially, it is the Leon of plants. 

Speaking of Leon, while we were working in the front, Marty turned around and found Leon behind him in the grass, hanging out, and staring at at us. When the cat realized he'd been caught outside, he just sat down, purred, and waited for Marty to bring him back inside.

Anyway, significant progress was made on the front flower bed. Eventually I'll add flowers. But right now I'm happy the weeds are gone. We still need to tackle the rest of the front flower beds, but that has to wait until April, when we have money again. 

Before.
Lots o' weeds. 
Note the rusted trellis with the sunflower hanging from it. 

     

After. There's lawn on the grass side of the castle rock. I promise.
It looks better than the picture suggests. 
Oh, and notice Luna.  

 

Remember the rusted trellis? 

Still needs to dry and a
few details will be added before it goes back up. 

Leon's New Hobby

Leon likes to binge watch YouTube. He prefers birds over fish and butterflies. 

Jobbing

A vintage ballot box from the
Rosenberg Library Museum.

Currently, I'm the bread-winner in the Sunshine household. I keep telling Marty I'm supporting him in the fashion he's used to--mind you he grew up one of seven in a one bath, single-wide located in the middle of the desert.

Anyway, I've been hired to help with the Bowie County primary recount. My gig is for two days and pays slightly more than minimum wage. We take a sealed ballot box, unseal it, empty it, sort the ballots into political party and then hand count several of the races. 

Several of us sit in a locked (from the outside) room. There are three at each table. We are given a specific race to audit--like dogcatcher. One person selects a ballot. Calls out the name on the ballot ("Jones"), a second person marks a tally mark next to Jones on their sheet. The third person watches the entire process making sure the person calling out the name and the other who marked the sheet do it correctly. Lather, rinse, repeat. The goal is for our count to match the count that came out on election day. Today our table recounted more than 1,200 ballots in five races. 

Though tedious, I'm working with great folks and the day flew. However, I let it slip I won't be working in the polling places for the next election. I've been told there will be "methods" to change my mind. I offered to work behind the scenes (if I'm available) but the polling place? Nah... 

Someone asked me if I was "afraid" to work the November election. Another woman pointed to me and said, "Not her. The voters are afraid of crossing THAT Yankee." No. I'm not afraid of voters. The voters are great. It is fair to say I have zero interest in standing up for 18 hours and working with an unpleasant co-judge. 

In other news, Marty has been contacted for a potential job. The kind of job that comes with benefits. That doesn't mean an interview but it means a company has told him they are interested in maybe, potentially, possibly talking to him sometime in the near future. Perhaps. Nobody here is holding their breath. But it is nice that someone noticed Marty's talents. 

Around the World in 36 Hours

The Eiffel Tower in Paris Texas

This past week, Marty and I went on a road trip. We went to Dallas, Paris, Reno, Detroit and Boston.* And, we didn't leave Texas. By the way, taking the back roads took no longer in time and distance than taking the Interstate.

Sadly, we didn't make it to Athens, Carthage or Naples. We don't even have to go go as far to see these three places! 

While in the Dallas-Fort Worth area, in addition to buying groceries, checking out an 1860s historic village in McKinney TX and shoe shopping (a bust), we bought a new-to-us car. Marty named it "Stebbins"** because he's is a big believer in unfortunate nicknames. 

*If I understand the lore correctly, Boston is actually a suburb of New Boston. At one time, the area was once made up of Boston, Old Boston and New Boston Texas. Currently, New Boston gets most of the fame and glory, but "Boston," exists within the boundaries of New Boston somewhere. 

**Marty is insisting you know that the car is named after Purley Stebbins from Rex Stout's Nero Wolfe mysteries we both love.  

Tacky. Even in Texas

This past weekend I went to a gender reveal party for Polly's pal, Margo and Margo's husband, Ralph. I hadn't met Ralph before this weekend. But I'd heard a lot about him from various folks who aren't Polly. 

This shin-dig was held in the local Baptist church's all purpose room. I'd like to point out, the attendance included about 30 folk in ages ranging from 6 months to 90, with the younger set playing tag and running around throughout out the room. 

To find out what Margo's latest bundle o'joy was going to be, Ralph was to shoot a toy arrow into a balloon. The balloon was against the wall. He missed from four feet away. So, what did he do? Something reasonable you say, you know... like reshoot the arrow? Nope. Ralph pulled out his firearm and began waving it around.* 

Now then, this isn't a second amendment conversation. This is a: "Don't be a dumbass, it's just a balloon and we can wait until the baby's born if you can't find a reasonable way to let the rest of us know if you are having a boy or a girl," chat. Or if you prefer: "Obviously your frontal lobe isn't fully developed and why are you breeding?" talk. However, Sherman summed it up for the rest of us when he barked: "Put your weapon away!" In the end, someone handed Ralph a knife and he managed to successfully neutralize the balloon to convey they are having another boy. 

I commented to Sherman that I'm apparently a fuddy-duddy and would have been perfectly fine to have just read the news on Facebook. Sherman thought that would have been a better solution than spending an afternoon playing baby bingo. I knew I liked Sherman, but I'm not so sure I'm a fan of Ralph. 

*Even though I am certain it was loaded, at no time did I feel in danger and I don't feel like anyone else felt like it either. Ralph just looked like a fool who doesn't respect his firearm. 

My Latest Catch Phrase

The only phrase I seem capable of uttering in answer to anyone's questions these days is, "I don't know." 

Anyone: "How's Marty's job search?"

Me: "I don't know." 

I do know. The recruiter he spoke with said his resume makes him look, "old." Which is true but there's no way to hide 35 years at the same company. The same recruiter said he gets around one hundred resumes a day from folks who've been replaced by AI--just like Marty. In addition, the Nation's job's numbers just came out, they stink.  

Anyone: "What are you going to do if Marty doesn't get a job?" 

Me: "I don't know." 

The truth is, I do know. It's complicated and we aren't ready to reveal our plan because there are many moving parts that spark more questions and unknowns. I can summarize it by saying I suspect I won't be living Texarkana by September. I guarantee I won't be moving to Yoakum, Texas.  

Anyone: "Has Sherman picked a law school?" 

Me: "I don't know." 

I know Sherman has options. He has to make a decision by the end of the month. He will be gone by July. 

Anyone: "What's going on with Polly and Sherman?" 

Me: "I don't know." 

This is half-true. I have enough life experience to interpret what I'm seeing and hearing. But it isn't my relationship and I'd rather be adjacent than in the middle.  

Anyone: "How's Luna?'

Me: "I don't know." 

Luna is struggling. I've had to lift her onto the bed a couple of times because she isn't always capable of jumping. Other days, she is nuzzling Roosevelt or letting Leon attack her tail. 

Anyone: "How are you doing?" 

Me: "I don't know." 

I'm fine. Tired of being in a holding pattern. Tired of uncertainty. Tired of 20 legs at home all hours of the day. Tired of living without sunshine--I miss vitamin D and UV light--I really need these clouds outside and the ones in my life to go away. 

Yoakum Texas

Hello. And welcome to another edition of, "Are we desperate enough to move here?" 

Today's contestant is Yoakum Texas, which as the song points out, is "1,000 miles from nowhere," and I'd be willing to believe that is highly accurate.  

Seriously, when Marty told me about a job there, I looked up this place. If I agreed to move here--which, for the record, I won't--it is closer to Beeville Texas (Y'all remember Beeville???) than anywhere else. And that's still an hour away, along Texas backroads. It is also about smack-dab between Houston and San Antonio, but to get to either place also requires navigating back Texas roads for a longer amount of time.  

A few details about the (I'm sure) charming metropolis of Yoakum. The population is hovering around 5000, but smaller than Wake Village, TX. There's a Catholic church. And it appears Yoakum is ambitious, because there is a "College Drive," but alas, no institute of higher learning. Lately I've raised the bar on my qualifications for any small Texas town to be in the running as a future Sunshine home. One of them is it must have more than one Dollar General. Bummer. There's just the single location. 

Let's talk about medical for a moment. There is a hospital. Honestly, it looks like a repurposed Baptist church. 

Welcome to Yoakum General Hospital,
where they'll save your life or your soul. 

 But that's not what exactly got me. While searching around, I found this article: Here's How to Spend the Night in a Haunted Texas Hospital.  You're welcome. 

Now then, I'm certain Yoakum has charm. After all, according to the Internet, Yoakum is rooted in deep history. Named after Benjamin Yoakum, the town was formed in 1887. Several notable people claim to be from Yoakum, but they've all fled. 

I told Marty when he mentioned this place, if he felt like he needed to take a job there, fine. I'd be listing our modest Wake Village ranch home for $2 million and stay here and wait for it to sell.  

Random Texarkana

I found out today, as a Texas resident, I can join the Houston Public Library system for free! I am so thrilled! As a resident of Wake Village, I can pay $20 a year to use the Texarkana Library--which has a limited selection of reasonable reading and listening material. This is a game changer! 

_____

Last week I went on a little road trip with Tessa, who needed to get her car serviced. The closest dealership for her car was in Dallas. Marty has new-to-us car fever and wanted a play by play on every vehicle I "looked at" while at the dealership. I saw a blue car and a black car. They both had air conditioning. Because I hate shopping, I invested more time buying my last toaster than I did looking at car's on Marty's behalf. 

By the way, I had a great time with Tessa, who understands I'm dealing with a bit o'cabin fever around here. 

Oh yes! Some time next week Marty and I are limping the minivan to Dallas to buy a new-to-us car. We were going to do this six months ago and decided to wait until Marty got a job. He doesn't have a job yet, but we are in serious need of transportation.   

____

Polly's bestie is having a gender reveal party this weekend. Polly is dragging Sherman along because he has yet to meet the bestie and her ginormous family. I was invited because I know the ginormous family (plus Polly's friend is very sweet). I like Sherman and offered to go as his emotional support human. I like Marty too and told him he could stay home and spend that time surfing Web sites of Dallas car dealerships. 

____

Weird small-town quirks that I just don't get. I get text messages from people our family knows asking if Buckaroo or Polly might be available to help out with something or another. These same people have both young adults' phone numbers, but instead of reaching out to them, they reach out to me--like I'm setting up a playdate on my offsprings' behalf. My adult children are responsible enough to manage their own schedules. 

This past week alone: Bob who owns the quilt shop asked me if Buck could help him move something. I remind Bob I don't know Buck's schedule. Deb, the Queen of the Coronas, asked me if Polly was available for an odd job. She then sent a second text asking if Buck was available for a different odd job. I know she has their number! The head of Bowie County elections sent a reminder text to me, because Buck and Marty* were expected at a meeting the next day. I responded with their phone numbers, saying, "just in case you need to let them know, here's there numbers." But he'd already sent a message to both of them. Sheesh! 

____

Now then, this bit of hypocrisy goes both ways. I once called a doctor Polly (who was 23 at the time) was seeing and I had zero affiliation with. I called and asked for Polly's prescription to be sent to a different pharmacy. They did it without questioning me or confirming with Polly. A few weeks ago I thought about starting our taxes. I needed Buck's interest statements from his investment account (he's a saver!). I just waltzed in to his investment guy's office, asked for it and explained to the receptionist I was Buck's mother and I was getting taxes taken care of. No questions asked. No calls to Buck to see if it was a problem. To be fair, Buck knew I was out running errands and I was heading there. He had his phone on standby in case someone needed Buck's authorization. Apparently they didn't. Try that in a big city. 

*Buck and Marty were hired by Bowie County to set up voting machines for this election. Buck has done it before. It's a real job with procedures and it pays better than being an election judge. I doubt anyone else's spouse was sent a reminder text for their hubby to "remember" to show up. Double sheesh! 

The Day After

We had eleven of these left
at the end of the night.

Yesterday was a long introvert-hell day. Not only did I have to interact pleasantly all that time, I stood from 6 a.m. to11:45 p.m., when I finally collapsed into the minivan at the New Boston* courthouse and let Marty drive me home. Though the polls closed at 7 (our last voter left at 7:45 p.m.), new election guidelines passed down from above say that every unused ballot must be counted at the courthouse. There are 25 precincts in Bowie County. And I got home earlier than most.  

Today, I'm brain dead. I ache from top to bottom. Even with my glasses on right now, my vision is blurry. My phone is off. I'm sitting at my desk, with headphones on, listening to nothing. This is recovery day. 

Our voter turnout was one of the best in the county. I hope I did my part to give them a great experience. That's what I'm committed to. Voters were mostly pleasant. The ones that weren't can live in their own karma. Very few had to be told to get off their phones. We had moms and dads who brought their littles with them to vote. I used to do that when my babies were small. And we had a couple of first-time voters  we celebrated and got the other voters to celebrate with us. 

As promised, Tish handled the paperwork--and I'm thrilled she did. She's good at it and I am not. My clerks were wonderful and good sports. As for Tish, my life will go on quite peacefully if I never work with her again. I wish her a beautiful life. 

I've enjoyed my time working at the polls. Even if I don't leave Texarkana, I think I'm done with elections for now. Perhaps I'll change my mind, someday when I'm willing to take my headphones off. 

Side note: nobody who recently changed their name had trouble voting. Nobody had to produce anything other than a state ID--though we took handgun licenses, passports and military ID. It wasn't a problem. So, no matter what you might hear on the news, please don't believe it. Nobody who was registered to vote was turned away. 

*Bowie County's county seat is New Boston, a town of 4,612--smaller than Wake Village in population, but much larger in land mass. It is 20 minutes either via back country roads or through the construction on I-30. I remind myself when I drive to New Boston, it would be like driving to Chandler or Queen Creek if I lived in Mesa, but with less traffic. Living here, it feels very far.

Primary Day

Today is election day here in Texas. I'm at a voting location having the time of my life. Probably. Maybe. Whatever. I'm working. Most likely this is my last Bowie County election. Even if Marty gets a job locally, I think I'm going to take a break after this election. Burnout is real. 

As a public service, may I just remind you to please leave your campaign slogan hats and shirts at home. Please your firearm in your car. And please!!!! (PLEASE!) Turn off your phone. No. Seriously. TURN OFF YOUR PHONE. 

We election workers are on the job for a fifteen hour day. We run on vending machine food and thank-yous.  So, give your election workers some love. We've been up since o'dark hundred. We don't care who you are voting for. We don't care about your opinion about the Little Miss Rice Patty candidates and why one is better than the other. We just want to check you in, give you a ballot and make the line move. 

And please, TURN OFF YOUR PHONE! 

Tish

Tomorrow is Primary Day in Texas. Once again, I'm working as a judge--though I've begged to be a clerk for years. My usual partner is Ms. Hattie. However, she's sitting this one out--probably at a beach somewhere. Instead, I'm working with Tish. And Tish is none too happy to be my co-judge. 

I've known Tish from the three years of working the elections. I've always liked working with her. A few weeks ago, I sent her a note, telling her I was happy we'd be working together. Tish's response was terse and she didn't mask her displeasure. I sat on her response for a while, letting it simmer. Maybe I read it wrong? Maybe I'm being sensitive? I read it again an hour later. Nope. It wasn't my imagination it was a bitchy and ugly response. 

So, I sent a note, saying if I've done something to offend her, it wasn't intentional. Additionally, I apologized for any misunderstandings. 

And then, Tish doubled down! I let it go. I have zero idea what I've done to upset her, but here we are. 

Now then, I'm no longer 12 years old and I don't expect everyone to like me. I'm totally okay with that. Given I attempted to make the relationship right, I truly feel I've done my part. I don't have an issue with Tish, and if she isn't telling me what I did to (unintentionally) slight her, I'm moving on and letting her live in her drama. 

For the record, I love-love-LOVE this part of adulting. Who knew the, "I don't give a jolly-darn" phase would be so rewarding! However, I don't want tension tomorrow. So, I've decided to let Tish be Tish and I will adjust accordingly. I can learn a lot from her and I get paid the same if she's happy I'm there or if she isn't happy I'm there. We have two clerks who will be there and don't need to work in a tense environment. Therefore, I've let Tish's drama go.

Today Tish and I set up the voting room. She was unfriendly and dismissive, the way a queen bee likes to be when they want to make a point. And trust me, I went to enough preteen slumber parties that I recognized the behaviors! I bit my lip so I didn't laugh at this 60+ year old woman who clearly has a bug lodged in her backside. But I have to tell you, I'm okay if I catch a one day flu and can't make it tomorrow.  

As we set up today, Tish announced she would be handling the election paperwork. I watched her face as she told me this, with her "cross this line and see what happens" face. However, for me, THIS WAS THE BEST NEWS EVER!!!! Ms. Hattie hates paperwork, and I've been stuck with it for the past several elections. So, what Tish wanted to use as some sort of alpha move is a true gift!  I even thanked her! My response was unexpected and I could tell Tish was surprised her proclamation didn't have the gut-punch she wanted.  

Hopefully we will be so busy tomorrow she will relax. If she doesn't, I'll just live rent-free in her head.  

My (Current) Last Master Gardener Meeting

Earlier this week, after a great deal of discernment, I'd made up my mind to put my master gardener membership on ice. What does that mean? I wouldn't pay my dues and I'm no longer a "certified" master gardener. If I re-join do I have to start over? I don't know. I haven't wanted to explore that yet. But I will.

It wasn't the dues money that made the decision. I can figure out how to scrape up $25 if I need to. The truth is, I'm distracted. Other aspects of life getting the best of us. And, I'm not my best self. I don't want do something else intentionally for the sake of doing it. I love the master gardener community. I love the education. But I don't want to commit to events three months down the line. I just don't. That's where I am. 

I went to Thursday's master gardener meeting as a way to "complete" my time. I wanted to say hello to everyone, one last time. Plus, our past-president had an interesting talk on worm gardening! Truly, a garden is about growing fertile soil and cultivating plants. Worms are good. Mostly. Good stuff. 

My pal, Joy, drove (I hadn't told her this would be my last meeting.) and we arrived a few minutes late. I found a seat in the back and settled in to learn about the different soil preferences between night crawlers and red wigglers. After the presentation, the treasurer stood up to give her report. Instead of her usual report saying, "this is how much money we have," she pointed to ME and waggled her finger. Calling me by name, she said to the group of thirty, "You haven't paid your dues. They are due now." 

I'm pleased to say living in the South for the past four years made a difference. I'm also pleased a bail go fund me wasn't needed because I did not throw out my real thoughts. I did say something along the lines of, "Unless you are going to wag your finger at everyone else and publicly call out the rest of those who haven't paid their dues, I suggest you move on." People laughed that uncomfortable laugh when they see something awkward. To her credit, the treasurer looked astonished, shut up and sat down. 

I know someone else would probably offer to pay my dues. I don't want that. Though it hadn't been about the money, the treasurer's lack of decorum sure did a number on my psyche. Marty's unemployment is taking its toll in many ways. However, I don't want sympathy or charity. I do want dignity. 

I sent a note this morning to our fearless leader. I told him the truth: I'm distracted. I asked how the reinstatement process works because I'd really like to revisit this if Marty decides we'll be staying in Texarkana.  

Azle Texas

We've passed the five month mark for Marty's unemployment. The vibe around here is serene--with the exception of the Overlords' daily escapades. Leon is currently addicted to breaking the rules by zooming outside and jumping into a small patch of poison ivy in the woods on the other side of our fence. But that's for another blog. 

Anyway, once again Marty has applied for another job in an obscure Texas town. Today's winner is Azle Texas. 

Azle Texas is in Tarrant and Parker counties. As someone who lives in an area that straddles two states, I can only imagine the logistics when it comes to managing the municipalities. The city boasts a population of 15000--which is roughly three times as large as Wake Village and two and a half times smaller than Texarkana Texas. However, Azle has the distinct honor of being on the outskirts of Fort Worth. Think of it like being in Gold Canyon, AZ and taking advantage of all that the Valley has to offer while living the small-town dream. So, as far as I'm concerned, though it doesn't have a beach attached, it is major league baseball and trader joe's adjacent and offers clean air.

After a quick dive, I'm seeing that Azle is separated from the Fort Worth area by two man-made lakes (Eagle Mountain--though I see zero mountains on the map--and some other lake that doesn't seem to have a name) and a nature preserve. I'd like to go out on a limb here and say perhaps the gators aren't this far West. Hopefully. 

Well crap. After another deep dive, it appears Eagle Mountain Lake has its fair share of alligators. 

Let's talk about crime. According to the bastion of truth, the internet, crime in Azle Texas is 18 crimes per 1,000 residents--slightly lower than Texarkana. Crime in Mesa AZ is 270 per 1,000 residents. Wake Village has about 10 crimes per 1,000 folks. 

The notable people list was not what I expected. Author James Reasoner stood out. He's written more than 150 books. Jon Shirley, president of Microsoft also came from Azle--but I'm not sure on this one. On Mr. Shirley's bio, it doesn't say anything about Texas. So, maybe he set foot in Azle, saw a gator and high-tailed out. Also of note: James Casey, tight end coach for the Cincinnati Bengals and General Jon T. Walker, World War 1 and II badass. 

As I write this, the company Marty sent his resume to has gotten back to him and asked for more information. Yawn. This happens often. Its a sign he's generated interest--most likely in this case the HR department (which I'm guessing consists of a clerk and decision maker) has glanced at his resume and decided if anyone is willing to apply to live in Azle they must be taken seriously. But it's a long way from getting excited. 

Azle has one Catholic church, a cowboy church (it's a thing!), Church of Christ and about 586 Baptist churches. The city has a Wal-mart and four Dollar Generals, a Target and movie theater are both in the next town about 10 miles away. Oh yes! The Trader Joe's is 20 miles from Azle. I could get used to that. 

Plants Plants Plants

My dues to the Master Gardener are overdue and I'm going to be kicked out come March 1. Marty says pay them--it's only $25. It isn't exactly about the money. I hate paying them and then Marty takes a job three days later in Lincoln Nebraska*. So, it's about the unknown. I hate being in flux. We all do. But I love the Master Gardener group. The people! The knowledge! Serving my community! 

Anyway all that is to say, I'm on the fence about the Master Gardener program. 

What the alyssums should
look like when they sprout.  

Yesterday, I spent the morning playing with plants. I have a garden around the outside of my greenhouse. Last year it was full of veggies. This year, I haven't mapped out what I want to plant. Honestly, if we are moving, I'd rather the greenhouse garden look attractive and inviting, so I'm thinking that garden will focus more on flowers. I did throw out a few seeds: daisies and alyssums. 

I also planted carrots and cut back the oregano and lemon balm that survived the freeze. I'm hesitant to plant lettuce because we can never eat it as quickly as it grows. There's a shade garden at one end of my yard which I'll get to later this week. I want flowers there too. Let me reprhase that. I want flowers to FINALLY grow there this year. 

Inside the greenhouse, I tended to my sprouts. So far I have one yellow squash plant sprouting. This is disturbing because I planted 8 of them. I also planted 8 zucchini plants. None of them are coming up. These seedlings aren't for me. They are for the Master Gardener sale next month. I know enough to know I cannot keep squash and zucchini alive. The bugs get my plants every year. 

I also replanted new tomato seeds. I have a few coming up, but the ones sprouting aren't the variety I wanted to eat. So, those will go to the plant sale and I have a few new ones for me. By the way, these will be in planters because if we move, I'm giving them to someone else. All my herbs are coming up. As are my cucumbers. I'll keep a plant or two and give the rest to the plant sale. 

Some of my seedlings. 

What I hope my hosta
will look like. 

I'm also experimenting with a few different plants. I want to try my hand at grafting, That's another reason why I have so many seedlings starting. And, I found some seeds I'd saved last year in a paper towel (I store these kinds of seeds in a baggie in the freezer). The paper towel got moldy so I planted the whole thing anyway. The mold won't hurt the soil (microbes!). I'm curious if the seeds are viable though.

Speaking of experiments. I planted a blue hosta. That one is in a pot because if I move, I'm taking it with me. Right now I'm on the lookout for a purple one as well. 

Most of my plants are outside right now. I moved them when we stopped getting under 40 degrees at night. However, I still have a couple that are inside. 

A repotted purslane or portulaca. The other one (I transplanted half of it) is outside, enjoying the weather. A pretty flowering plant that tastes great in salads. 

Corona Krissy gave me this. It is a purple heart plant (also called a wandering jew). Too heavy to move and because it's inside in the heat, it's blooming. I love this plant. 

And when I was finished yesterday, I generously sprinkled sulfur all over the greenhouse floor. Last year I found a snake in the greenhouse (you heard the shrieking, I'm sure). It was a garden snake and it slithered out a crack. Sulfur is supposed to deter snakes. It's warm enough now that they aren't hibernating. Hopefully I spread enough so any critters thinking of coming near the greenhouse will change their minds.  

*At this time Marty does not have any prospects in Lincoln Nebraska, nor do I think he's applied for a job in Lincoln. 

Ms. Daisy's Daisy Quilt

Pictures below.

Paramedic Bob called me earlier in the month. He owns the local quilt shop and once in a while Buckaroo does odd jobs for him. I help him out too--mainly by telling everyone where they can find quilting fabric in town. 

Anyway, several weeks ago, a delightful woman drove more than an hour from some small town in Nowhere Arkansas with quilt pieces her mother, Ms. Daisy, hand-sewed together in 1982. The delightful woman wanted someone to make this into a quilt. Bob didn't have time (did I mention in addition to owning a quilt shop he also saves lives?) so he called me. 

Bob and I looked at her quilt blocks--which we both will swear on a stack of Holy Bibles were shaped like rectangles when we first saw them. My best guess is the fabric was once probably once a sheet or a set of curtains Ms. Daisy cut and sewed into hexagons. She added the leftover outgrown clothes of her children to complete these blocks. I only mention this because the color palate Ms. Daisy used is not what is in fashion now and Bob didn't have any reasonable fabric to compliment this. However, we did our best. 

Anyway, I took the job. And then I figured out they weren't rectangles but smashed hexagons. I spent two weeks staring at these things, trying to figure out a pattern that might make a reasonable quilt. Please keep in mind: if you've seen a blanket, you might notice it has four sides. These blocks did not match that and if sewn normally, would render an unusual pattern that wouldn't translate into a rectangular quilt. 

After several renditions of ideas from waves to the abstract, Marty and I sat down with these things. He is the one who came up with the design. However, that didn't get me any closer to figuring out how to piece it together and ultimately make it into a rectangle. So, I spent another week staring at the whole thing until an idea formed. 

I then went to town tearing up my kitchen, piecing the whole thing together. No matter, we all like to stand up and hold our bowls while we eat. 

It took me two and a half weeks of thinking and a week of assembling to come up with my final design. Tonight I dropped it off with Bob, who will longarm quilt the whole thing. Then I have to bind it. But, overall, I think it came out pretty well. And also, a huge shout-out to Bob who donated the fabric and interface backing to this project. Bless him. 

For those who think "skill and craftmanship" went into this, I'd like to set the record straight. I've been sewing for less than four years. I've made about 12 quilts in the last three and a half years. It wasn't skill and craftmanship. It was a seam ripper and a vocabulary of a sailor. However, I learned so much!  And honestly, it was fun to make this. 

The paper model with far too much math involved. 
Modern quilts are assembled in blocks from multiples of four.
This 1982-era block was multiples of six, squeezed into a rectangle. I half-wonder if Ms. Daisy never made it into a quilt because she figured out she was putting hexagons into a square hole and said, "oops!" 

  

Not gonna lie, I was afraid to cut Ms. Daisy's pieces. They were very frail.
I added a backing to them to make them sturdy. 

This looks simple. It isn't. 

Missing from this picture: the ironing board we all walked around. And Luna, who liked to be underfoot when I was cutting. My sewing machine was set up in my bedroom and Marty had to walk around that when he wanted to get to his side of the room. 

Also, see the orange piece on the small table? EVERY PIECE OF MS. DAISY'S HAD THAT SCALLOPED EDGE. So, they all had to be cut. My heart ached cutting into the blocks.
What if I mis-cut and ruined her hand-sewn block? But it had to be done to make this work. Plus, I wasn't sewing scalloped edges.  

That can of air on the table was to deter Leon who thought it was great fun to jump up there and take off with random quilt pieces. 


Ta-Da! 

Bob has this now and is putting it on his longarm machine. The red patch in the middle was from one of the leftover blocks. I originally thought I'd use some of the leftover blocks and make the border. However, that looked too busy. After I put this red piece in I debated pulling it out. But the 44 year old fabric is so frail I was afraid if I pulled it out I'd make a bigger disaster. 

So, Bob is going to sew (with his longarm quilting machine) a heart there and put the letter "D" inside it (for Ms. Daisy). The design on the quilt will be daisies.  

We Didn't Find a Mixing Bowl. Yet.

Every couple of weeks, I drag Marty out of the house and insist he drive somewhere. Anywhere. I don't care. Just GET OUT OF THE HOUSE. After 5 months, the unemployment is taking its toll. He's still happy he took the Texarkana job in the first place. He's still happy he is no longer at his Texarkana job. But his happiness level is beginning to crack with the day-to-day outlook no better than it was during the fourth quarter of 2024. And let's face it, there's only so many videos of medicinal herbs, societal-breakdown, and boot reviews (with the influencer using a table saw to cut the boot in half) Marty can watch. And there's only so many reviews of said videos the rest of us want to listen to. 

Anyway, this week with the blessings of the young adults, Marty and I managed two excursions. The first one was to Fouke and Genoa. Both are little towns on the Arkansas side, which are more or less considered suburbs, but aren't. They are in the country. 

Our hairstylist is in Fouke. When I say she's in the middle of nowhere, it is an understatement. But yeah, she's in the middle of nowhere. 

Afterwards, I drug Marty to Genoa Arkansas, to Three Chicks, a feed store, with the promise that they had medicinal herb seeds (they did. I have cheaper sources.). Three Chicks also has a café with inexpensive lunches and I knew Marty needed to try this place. We also went out into the back patio and hung out with the chickens and goats for a bit. I took a few pictures and by a strange coincidence, the person I was going to send the pictures to, called me the next day.  

You know, life in rural Arkansas. I still get a kick out of how normal this is for folks around here.  

(Sorry forgot to send it) 

When one of the young adults came to me Wednesday night and mentioned that Marty NEEDED another round of "let's get him out of his head," I suggested we go to that fun-fun metropolis, Longview Texas! My reasoning was this: I need a mixing bowl to replace the one gravity took from me. It is part of a set. I'm scouring the thrift stores looking for a replacement bowl. Plus, Marty is into videos about boots and men's fashion so who knows! The Longview resale shops might be a win-win. 

I'll let you y'all sit with that a minute. Take your time. And yes, he still only wears Hawaiian print shirts--which one cannot find here. But the YouTube men's fashion videos!

Longview Texas is about 80,000 people. To get there from Texarkana, it is ninety miles of back roads. Longview has all the basic places and reminds me a lot of Flagstaff AZ with better municipal infrastructure. 

We found a "bistro" which turned out to be a restaurant attached to a gas station. I vetoed it when the menu included tandoori chicken which had "velvety gravy" and the menu boasted tacos with "scrumptious onions." Instead, we found a fast-food joint. We also found a place called--and I'm not making this up--"Food Factory" in a shady part of town. We'd eaten by then, but that didn't stop us from inquiring what the sign meant, while noticing the lack of road-kill at the same time. (Welcome to Texas). 

Just for fun we took a different route home. This was the view there and back, but this photo was taken about forty miles from our home on the drive back. 

East Texas on a sunny day.