Campaign Season

Mr. H. Ross Perot

Polly is running for student president of Texarkana College.

Her slogan is: "Let me be your voice." She's running on more food options (including a coffee bar and opening back up the cafeteria), more clubs (there's three clubs since Covid) and starting a speaker's bureau to have community leaders come talk to students about different aspects of the job market and professional life.  

The election is later this week. 

Polly was told Ross Perot was student president of Texarkana College in his day. She was impressed. I was part of the student government when I was at Arizona State University, but Polly wasn't nearly as impressed by that fact. 

Crossing my fingers for good election results. 

I Did Not See That Coming

Marty Sunshine was willing to rush me to the hospital Friday evening right after I uttered the words, "I don't think I'm going to Corona night." 

I had reasons: 

1. Baseball. I said what I said. 

2. My hand hurts and I'm trying like crazy to type my last two chapters of my story before Wednesday's surgery. I'm on a mission.

3. Someone was bringing shrimp for dinner and it's kind of a problem to be in an enclosed space with shrimp. A big problem.   

4. My inner introvert was cowering in the corner. 

Instead, Marty suggested I reconsider. After all, I always have a good time. And I like these women. A lot. They are fun, funny and loving. He urged me to go, pointing out that a couple of hours away from home with people I like, playing Skipbo and Mexican Train is cheaper than my medical deducible at the hospital. 

And besides, if I was sent to the hospital, I might not have my surgery Wednesday, what did I want more? My hand to stop hurting or to write a check for a lot of money and not be able to spend that same dollar amount at the garden center this weekend. 

Anyway, I went. 

And... I found out the Coronas planned a surprise birthday party for me--complete with cake and presents. I still tear up at this because I did not think they considered me one of them, but just Tessa's pal. When I expressed my overwhelm for their kindness, they laughed at me and told me it was crazy to think they wouldn't have celebrated me. 

Oh my goodness!

Wake Village

This happened on a day
which will live in infamy.

This is according to the National Geographic: 

What defines a village?

A village is a small settlement. It is generally larger than a "hamlet" but smaller than a "town."

Wikipedia says: Wake Village is a city in Bowie County, Texas, United States. It is part of the Texarkana metropolitan area. The population was 5,945 at the 2020 census. 

Yes, that's right. I live in the City of Wake Village. As a writer, my head explodes if I think about the CITY of Wake VILLAGE. But, that's where I live. 

Wake Village has a mayor--though I have no idea who it is. We have a fire and police force. They have a Wal-Mart grocery store and a Cash Savers Grocery Store. There is a Dollar Tree and a Dollar General. We have a Domino's, Pizza Hut, Dairy Queen, Sonic, Chicken Express, Wingstop, shaved ice stand, Donut shop, two bakeries, a new Funnel Cake shop, a Yoli's Mexican Restaurant (nope) and a Loca Luna Mexican Cuisine (seriously, nope). We have three gas stations. In the heart of town, there are--and I'm not making this up--six Baptist churches. There's even a really cool junk shop and a really gross AnyTime Fitness within the confines of my Village-City. And how could I forget! We have King's City Park, where the fireworks are shot off every July 4th.  

Water bills come sometime between the first and fifth of the month. Payment is late by the 10th. However, do not mail in a check. The mail is routed to Shreveport first and then back to Texarkana. So, it could take 10 days for the check to arrive at City Hall. Savvy residents just walk over and pay the water bill to avoid the late fees. We became one of those savvy residents in our second month. By the way, City Hall is less than a mile from my house. But then again, so is most everything else. 

Wake Village came to be during World War 2 when the Army Depot and the Ammo plant needed to house soldiers and their families. Our streets are named "MacArthur," "Manilla," "Wake Island," "Singapore" and "Arizona." I looked this up because I couldn't figure out the Arizona reference when first arrived. I now tell everyone, because I think my Village-City history needs to be preserved. 

A good part of Wake Village has much older homes, built in the 1940s-1960s, which seems to appeal to most who seem to be more along the working class section of society. Many residents have converted the home's one car garage into a third bedroom and possibly added a second bathroom. My realtor Tessa tells me where those houses are located is the "ghetto" --which tells me Tessa has never truly seen ghetto. I see older homes with people taking care of their lawns and yards. I'm sure there's sketch there too, but for the most part it is just older homes. If there was a thuggy population, I'm sure my end of Wake Village would be experiencing crime. 

I live in the newer area, built in 2004. My lot is a standard 1/3 acre, with a brick 1,600ish square foot home*. It is essentially the general layout of all the houses around: greatroom, formal dining (why???) and three bedrooms in a split plan with very little daylight streaming through the windows. Our home has an amazing kitchen. Most places have laundry rooms. Ours doesn't. More homes are being built in my area of Wake Village, one at a time, directly to the North. Those are the fancy places, with to four bedrooms and square footages up to 2,200 square feet.  

Most of my exercise comes from walking around Wake Village. It is hilly, people are friendly and I feel safe. I'd walk at night if there were better streetlights and/or sidewalks and, let's face it, if I didn't have perfectly normal fear of snakes. As far as crime goes, we rarely lock our doors when we leave.

Speaking of crime, last December when I headed out to Phoenix to take care of my sister-in-law, I left around 4 a.m. Realizing I hadn't set the GPS, I drove towards the end of Arizona Avenue, pulled to the curb and started fiddling with my phone. A Wake Village police officer knocked on my car window and asked if I was okay. I explained I was heading out of town for the next two weeks, and was getting my ducks in a row. He asked, "Would you like us to drive by your home every day while you are gone to check things out?" 

One of the reasons I hesitant to move from this home is that our community is so peaceful. I like walking to the vet every month to pick up Luna's heartworm pill. I can even stop by the Cash Savers on the way back to get a gallon of milk. I like taking my walks and finding small food pantries and lending libraries available for the community. I like the quiet way of life in this small sub-set of Texarkana.    

*The square footage of my home is in question because after 20 years in the real estate business I contend this house might be 1,500 square feet. Tessa swears 1,777 square feet. Nobody in my family believes her. We didn't have an appraisal when we bought, so I don't know. 

Twin Cities

Our Courthouse. Yes, this is on the state line.
 

It took me an embarrassing amount of time to figure this out: Texarkana is two cities. Now, in my defense, I wasn't trying too hard unpack this when we first found out we were moving here. In my cursory search on Google "Texarkana" is referred to as one city and when I was initially researching this, I had many other more pressing matters on my plate--like my father's health, a duck-egg sized tumor in my arm and my husband's job going away. 

Also in my defense, I've now known the truth about Texarkana for about a year. 

Anyway, Texarkana is two cities. Texas has the majority of the commerce: shopping, the "mall" and Sam's Club. Arkansas has the transportation: rail station and airport. Both sides have their own State University, however the junior college is in Texas. Property taxes are significantly cheaper in Arkansas. However there is no food tax in Texas. Neither resident has to pay state taxes in their respective states because of some sort of obscure law that says if one lives or works in Texarkana Arkansas they are exempt from paying state taxes--Texas doesn't have a state tax. However, as Polly found out last year when she interviewed for a job fifteen miles away in Ashdown Arkansas, she'd have to pay Arkansas taxes if she'd worked there. 

Bi-State Jail, also on the state line,
taken from
the Arkansas side,
looking towards Texas.

The Courthouse is on the state line, straddling both states. So is the Bi-States Jail. Fun fact: when the jail was built, there was a big stink about which side of the building--Texas or Arkansas--the phone lines would be installed. It was decided Texas because it was significantly cheaper to call Dallas if the phone lines were located in Texas than in Arkansas, which was across the hall in the same building. 

Here, there are two sets of sheriffs, police forces and governments. I am under the impression if one commits a crime on one one side of the state line, police will allow jurisdiction to pursue and arrest on the other side of the state line. So, run a red light on the Texas side of of the road, cross into Arkansas, it may be the Texas police who pull you over. 

Texarkana Texas has a population of around 35,000. Texarkana Arkansas has a population of around 30,000. It takes fifteen minutes in "heavy traffic" to cross from the west side of Texarkana Texas (roughly where I live) to the east side of Texarkana Arkansas. I can usually do it in ten if I take the Interstate.  

I am told crime is high. And, if you Google "worst crime ridden cities in Texas" Texarkana comes up, though the Sunshine family laughs at this. "Crime" is relative. Though always on alert, I'm not afraid to walk through the Wal-Mart parking lot by myself at 10 p.m. here. I can't say the same for other places I've lived.  

However, if by "crime" they mean the Shreveport shoplifters who got detained by a group of Second Amendment folks at the Dollar General in Texarkana Texas until the police showed up, I guess we do. But otherwise, since I've been here there's been one murder--on the Arkansas side and both sets of residents went ballistic on social media. The suspect's face was plastered all over the place and it seems like 15 people knew who the guy was. He was arrested hours after the social media post. 

For the most part, it isn't a stigma to live in one state or the other. We purposely picked the Texas side (despite the property taxes) because we wanted to establish Texas residency for the college-aged young adults. 

But none of this is truly our concern, because we don't live in Texarkana. We live in Wake Village.  

Master Gardener Hazing

Yep. It's broken. 

For the first year of the Master Gardener program, new folks are required to have fifty hours of community service. There are ample opportunities for this--like digging up the ground, throwing out one's back and putting in pavers (last Saturday), giving out trees and one that I thought would be a sure-fire win:  passing out free mini ice cream cones at the Four-States Fair. 

Except the ice cream machine died Monday night. 

No fear! The folks at the Four-States Fair weren't going to let two suckers volunteers go to waste! Instead Ms. Rebecca and I worked the "toddler room," which was a space for those UNDER THE AGE OF 5 AND THEIR PARENTS to hang out. It was complete with a bounce house, a few random toys and children over the age of 5 without parents present. 

The parents who did come and watch their toddlers were the biggest group of Karens I've seen since the last Home Owner's Association meeting I attended back in my real estate days. As I was trying to get this toddler to stop running up the slide, crashing into children half his size and instead, use the proper entrance to the bounce house, his mother came up to me shrieking I was touching her child. She's right. I was in the process of giving him a high-five for using the proper entrance. She demanded to know my name, presumably to turn me into some higher authority. I told her Maureen McCormick.  

My frustration with that particular mother was short-lived because a seven year old threw an unbridled fit because I wouldn't let him in the bounce-house. His parents were nowhere to be seen, leaving me to deal with his brattiness (he started throwing balls at kids and tried to kick me). 

Then there were the usual issues that come with a room full of toddlers. Like the mother who ignored her son's diaper while he was in the ball pit. And the same seven year old who wasn't allowed near the balls after I moved them out of the way because of toddler with diaper explosion. It caused another fit from the kid and when he went to kick me (again), I put him in time out--which he listened to. His parents never did show their faces. 

In addition to all of the above, there are lots more stories of over-tired toddlers and their crazy parents, that I managed to blur out in the five hours I was there. Plus--and I only wish I was making this up-- there was a faction of pissy folks coming in demanding to know why they couldn't have their free mini ice cream cone. Bless their hearts.   

As Rebecca and I were leaving, she said, "We deserve double hours for this." However she's already a Master Gardener and only needs 15 hours for the year. 

35.5 hours to go for me. 

Child Neglect

I found out Monday night that Marty and I exhibited unabashed child neglect against our two offspring for their entire lives. Why? Because we'd never taken them to a state or county fair or anything resembling a carnival. Now, let's just set the record straight: 

1. Both of my children have entered (and won) drawings in the state/county fairs.

2. There are themes at the state/county fairs in Phoenix such as, "Show your gang colors night," "Bring your parole officer to the fair night," and "Drug traffickers half-price night," which tends to keep the more respectable population away.   

3. My children have been to Disneyland and Disneyworld an embarrassing amount of times. 

So, I am not one little bit sorry they hadn't experienced ramshackle carnival rides run by those on minimum security work furloughs and eaten fried foods cooked under questionable circumstances. 

However, Monday night as part of my Master Gardener hazing volunteer hours I brought Buck and Polly with me to the Four States Fair--which was about 1/4 the size of anything in the greater Phoenix area. They stopped by to see me a couple of times, giddy from running around, eating fried this and that and ready to take on more rides. I believe all has been forgiven. 

However, I did take Buckaroo aside and tell him to stick close to his sister. I heard one of the minimum security work release prisoners took off yesterday after his shift and hasn't been seen since.  

When we returned home last night, Buck had a new stuffed animal and Polly brought a fried turkey leg home for her father. Both young adults told me they had a great time at the fair, but they don't see the need to go back to another one. 

Not One Little Bit

Because I'm still a licensed agent and for reasons too long to go into in this corner of cyber-space, my Arizona brokerage is still open for the next month. However, I'm not missing the Arizona real estate world. There, I said it. Why? Lately, on the super-secret Arizona real estate Facebook site, there have been a few stories that have given me heart palpitations. 

• Apparently a seller has sold a property twice--that would be two contracts at the same time on one house. Unfortunately, the seller, nor the agent, mentioned this to either set of buyers until after the earnest money was unrefundable. Oh... I want to be a fly on the wall for this meeting with the attorneys.
• I'm reading about bidding wars again--though I'm seeing the same in small markets like Texarkana as well. Inventory is low. Buyers are panicking. 
• There are multiple stories of unprofessional agents. An agent who personally threatened me a couple of years ago (and later apologized in a text by saying, "I haven't been myself,") has been posting about his antics. I hope someone nails this guy to the wall.  
• There are some listing agents insisting the buyer's agent pay $175 to submit their client's offer. I question the validity--I saw it happening before I left on a small scale. But I wonder why more brokers aren't crying foul. I was so enraged by this practice that the other day I put on my Big Girl Broker Voice (tm) and said my piece on the super-secret Facebook site. 
• An agent shared a story about a builder raising the price after a contract was executed by $75,000 and then telling the buyer if they wanted the "original price quoted" they needed to fire their agent so they could get a $75,000 discount. Please never buy a new build without a real estate agent. EVER. 
• Agents are telling their tales about crazy markets, squatters and Home Owner Associations overstepping. I'm hearing about rental nightmares and short-term rental craziness. 

At this point, I'm convinced being a real estate agent has to be the most dysfunctional of all dysfunctional occupations. As for me, I'm enjoying my sanity.