A Ladder, a Lunch, and a Whole Lotta Rain

The home inspection. Gotta have one. Gotta do it. But you don't expect your your inspector to break your house!

Ummm hmmm. On Monday, Howard and I headed to the dog park because the buyer's home inspector was scheduled to come give my house the once-over. I know I've taken pretty good care of my house, and I made minor repairs before getting it on the market, but there's a bit of breath-holding as one awaits the report of the "expert." Is there any hidden problem with the house? Has my foundation unknowingly begun to move? What do things look like from atop the home? (I was on my roof once in eight years---never again!)

The inspector was scheduled to leave by 11:30, so around 11:45, Howard and I make our return. Nope---still a truck there. I kill more time, starving by now, going to grab a bite. Back by the house---still there. Okay, so I go park at the school and grade a paper in the car. And yes, poor Howard is bored silly. Back by the house---still there. It's 12:50 by now, and I'm a little irritated. But in some cases, it's just not worth a fuss. So I go back to the parking lot and read through more papers. Finally, a bit after 1, I make another pass, and the coast is clear: he's gone!

Upon getting home, though, I was greeted with a note from the inspector. "Dear Homeowner, . . . " The gist? He broke my house. That's right---the inspector broke my house. And his note was left to tell me that I had to fix it.

Hmph.

Okay, so the details---the ladder going into my attic broke. Now, according to my neighbor, the inspector was quite a large man. According to the inspector, the age of the ladder's wood (21 years) and heat from the attic caused the wood to be brittle. Granted, that makes me worry about any house with wood in the attic; what, should I expect all of it to break? That's just plain goofy.

And of course, most friends (and even my real estate agent) cry, "Make the inspector pay for it!" But when it comes down to it, and when I weighed the pros and cons of pursuing such a thing, it's not worth it. My agent, very frustrated with the situation (the inspector---not me), said, "Jana, you think like a lawyer." Well, indeed, I should. ;-)

Is that the end of it? Alas, not quite. The buyer finally sent the addendum to our sales contract, asking for repairs based on the inspection. And I had to laugh---a few of the things were on the original inspection when I bought the house in '99! (1) Install GFI plugs in the bathrooms. (The plugs say they are GFCI, but I'm not sure which outlet has the trip; they're on a connected circuit.) (No worries---I have an electrician friend who's going to do that for me.) (2) Replace the sprayer on the sink sprayer-thingy. It was slow when I moved in, on the inspection, but one of those things I replaced myself after buying. After eight years, deposits again slow the spray; easy to repair or replace. (3) Put the screen back on the bathroom window (easy---it's in my garage). And (4) the ladder.

Yes---replace the ladder into the attic. But not with just any ladder---she wants it to be a metal ladder (no doubt at the inspector's urging.) I tell my agent I'll put in what was there; I'm not going to start upgrading the house. The buyer comes back with "she'll pay the difference in cost." (The inspector misled her to think an aluminum one would be only $20 more expensive. Wrong. Those are about $100 more expensive; a steel one is about $40 over the wooden.) But I worry about putting in a much heavier ladder (steel) than was there (wooden); installing a similar thing is one thing, but making changes could be way diferent. But the buyer's persistent and beginning to irritate my agent and me with too many specifications over this %#$@* ladder.

Negotiations, baby! When someone wants to watch your every move and tell you just how to do something and be persnickity about it all, hovering and such, give them what they want. Well, in a way. I told my agent, "Tell her that I understand her desire to have what she wants, so I'd be more than happy to pay her the cost of the ladder and a little for installation, so this way, she can do it in a way that she'll be most happy with."---in the sweetest voice possible, showing how reasonable we're being.

And as expected, she essentially said, "never mind. Just put in a wooden one."

True---when someone hovers too much, allow them to take over. Usually they don't want that much control and will get their nose out of it. :-)

Oh---and to top it all off, the inpsector came back to the house Tuesday for the termite inspection and caused more trouble. (I still haven't found out why he didn't do the termite inspection on Monday.) I had to attend a CLE (continuing legal education) all afternoon, spending three joyful hours watching videos of people talk about ethics in practicing law, filing suits, fee agreements, blah, blah, blah. (I get credit for all required CLEs through teaching---except the requried annual three hours' ethics credit. But--- check! Covered through August 2008 now.)

Anyway, so I left Howard home in his house (his crate). All's fine. I return home Tuesday evening, let Howard out of the crate, then go deal with emails and the buyer's addendum. Thirty or so minutes later, I'm frustrated, irritated, and in need of a break. Okay, I should take Howard out front and maybe go on a walk.

Where's Howard?

The house is quiet, the windows have no dog peering outside, and the bed's empty. Where's Howard?

A quick look in the backyard----

Breathe. Deep cleansing breathe. The inspector had left my gate open. And I have a dog door. So when Howard went into the yard, like he always does----voila! Open gate. Gone dog.

Doggonnit.

I grab the leash, my shoes, my keys---and I'm in the car, on the path he's known to take. At the end of my street, I look down both streets----there he is. Whew! He's happily running in the area of the track near the school, having a good ol' time. I pull up, open the passenger door, excitedly yell, "Howard!" and he looks at me as if, "Hey! There you are! You're missing all the fun!" I can't help but shake my head. He's so darned cute. I say, "Load up!" and---once finding the opening in the fence around the track---he promptly jumps into the car, wet from the belly down, though, from his fun romping.

Still, as anyone might know now---this inspector is not my favorite person. (Nor that of my agent; she'll certainly never use him.)

Other than that, yesterday was quite nice---once the rain quit. Around 9am, the view out my window made me think it was night! Darn rain. But hopefully we'll be drying out in time for Saturday---when I'll spend a little time outdoors at a Fort Worth locale. More on that later.

Ah---and Lunch! I drove over to Dallas yesterday for a tasty and great lunch at Hattie's in Oak Cliff, where they have the best sweet potato fries! The occasion? Lunch with folks from the court where I used to work. Several coworkers came in addition to the judge I worked for my last year there. It's always great to see them--fabulous folks! We had a great lunch, catching up some, and me getting fond farewells. They really are good people. I was fortunate to spend three years there.

And that lunch marked my first official set of many good-byes to come. This next month will be full of those things---good-bye lunches, dinners, gatherings. I'm so blessed to have so many wonderful people in my life and to have made so many friends in the twelve years I've been in North Texas. Truly blessed.

So, goodbye, Fifth Court. You're a wonderful group of hard-working and intelligent people---all of you. I learned so much while there, and truly, it was great to be among folks as nerdy as me! :-)

Afterwards, I took a set of papers to school to get copies of 'em all before they go back to students, then headed for a massage---finally! Through all the house readying, showing, selling, etc., I hadn't taken that time for me. It was relaxing, but just that. I plan to schedule a deep-tissue one soon and not just relax those knots, but maybe actually get rid of some of 'em.

And I'm even half-way through the other set of papers. The end of these is in sight. A dozen more briefs to grade, grades to figure, and an office to pack. And that's that!

Then I'd better turn my attention to getting my second article finished and reading a LOT about contract law!

Memorial Day

(the pics on this post aren't mine but ones I found online---seeming best suited for today's post.)

Rain, Rain, Go Away . . .

North Texas has needed rain for what feels like a couple of years, but no more! Lakes are full, rivers are flowing, and the trenches around my flower beds had their own little rivers all weekend. Enough rain already! (My friends on the Guadalupe even had to end their tubing early---rapidly rising water levels on the river made the conditions too dangerous---a far cry from the oh-so-low levels last summer, so low we often had to stand and tow our tube over some rocks.)

Okay, so I'm fussing. Rain's good, but we're soaked. Rain indeed fell on the party Saturday night and washed out Splash Day. It also led to the FW Cats deciding to cancel tonight's baseball game. Darnit. They were going to have fireworks! But I'll save the tickets and go again in this next month.

But not every activity was outdoors---I enjoyed a great BBQ over at Kristin and Charles's place, where I finally got to meet Charles's closest friends. I'm very glad about that---before the big move. Kristin was on the couch recovering form knee surgery, but Charles was the most wonderful host. He seems to get that from "Daddy Charles"---whom Kristin and Charles visit in Savannah around Christmas.

And while my weekend has been filled with celebrations, BBQs, parties, and even rained-out ballgames, the fireworks tonight were the time I'd set aside to personally honor those today was reserved for honoring: our fallen soldiers. Of course, I didn't get that opportunity, so I tuned in to some specials on tv, watching the stories of several very young men who went to Iraq but didn't make it home alive. And I shed the tears for all of those families who watch their loved ones serve that duty, for my best friend whose family sacrifices so much for her husband to answer his calling to his country, for countless others.

And my sentiments were echoed in the shows I watched: no matter what I think of our current administration or why we're at war or if we should be at war, we are. And the men and women who are serving the duty to their country are fulfilling their promises to us, their fellow countrymen, to serve proudly---no matter the issues behind it. And for that, I express my deepest gratitude.

On a few vacations or travels out of town I've had the opportunity to get a little closer to memorials and monuments of war. I had been completely unprepared for how deeply I would be moved at Pearl Harbor back in '99. The following year, visiting the concentration camp of Dauchau near Munich was equally as emotional---pulling at the depths of my soul in standing in the place where countless lives were lost, changed, and wasted. And in January, when I was in DC, between the memorials around the mall to the life-changing tour of the US Holocaust Memorial Museum---all of these visits have made my appreciation for our days of recognition a little more meaningful.

Sure, we still enjoy a day off, BBQing, having fun, and sharing good times. But let us take at least a moment in all that to also remember what today is about: it's a day to remember. It's a day to honor.

Soldier, rest! Thy warfare o'er,

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking,

Dream of battled fields no more.

Days of danger, nights of waking.

-Sir Walter Scott

Beer Pong?

Memorial Day weekend continues, and two pool parties were on the schedule. The first was Splash Day at the Y, where I'd volunteered to cook hotdogs and talk up volunteering to others---several of the Board members had all agreed to help out similarly. Alas, though, the rain was pouring Saturday morning, and the forecast threatened more to come. So before noon, I got the call that party number one was rained out.

But not the second one! Jerome & Marie were the hosts of this party. Jerome's a friend I know through "the Gang"---a large group of friends predominantly made up of folks who work out at Lockheed, and Marie's his sweetie. They sent an email in the early afternoon, assuring us the party was still on---plenty of room inside in case of more wet stuff outside.

And what a fun party! Admittedly, most of the people there I didn't know; they were all friends of Jerome & Marie through ultimate frisbee. But still, I knew several people, and everyone was friendly. Here's a shot of many folks I do know---and will greatly miss when I move. From the top left, it's Erica, Matt, Me, Jerome, and Dave.

Of course, the older I get, the more I realize I can't attend parties like this too often. These folks had a drinking theme for just about anything! First was Beer Pong. You set up cups in a triangle, and, standing at the opposite end of the table, bounce a ping pong ball, trying to get it into a cup on the other end. If you do, your opponents have to drink the beer in that cup. Hmmmm---bouncing an object into a cup, making someone drink the contents. What was wrong with quarters? ;-)

People had lots of fun with Beer Pong, with Schwagg Ball---a game where you toss a frisbee into a trash can (but you have to play one-handed---with a beer in the other hand, but of course!), swimming, and general laughing and having fun. And eating! These folks were quite serious about the food---fabulous BBQ going on all day as well as a fish fry---all really good.

Thanks, Jerome & Marie, for a great time and wonderful BBQ & Pool Party---a great event for a Memorial Day weekend.

Tomorrow's the home inspection for the pending sale. Howard and I will be out early, then, clearing the way for the inspection. Let's hope for a drier day!! (especially since tomorrow night has fireworks on the calendar!)

And the Saucer Goes To . . .

James! Indeed---I kicked off Memorial Day weekend by attending James's plate party at the Flying Saucer. Also in attendance were Anthony---James's sweetie, and Evan---someone we know from school, and another couple. We enjoyed several yummy beers, the Saucer's traditional cheese & sausage platter, and just general good times.

Here's a close-up of James's plate. You choose your own phrase to have on your plate, and yes, James is originally from Rhode Island.

Negotiations 101

When I was in Africa in March, I was stricken with fear upon realizing most of my shopping had to be done using a bartering system. What? I can't do that! How do you do that? Drat---I'll never get shopping done, and I feared I'd pay ten times what I should.

See, I had memories of shopping in Mexico back in 1987---and never feeling like I knew what I was doing. (I used that blanket I bought back then just the other day, it bringing a smile to my face, though, knowing I'd bought it on that trip. I also recently found the woven rug and have used it too recently.)

Anyway, while in Kenya, I chatted a lot with my safari guide, Alex, and he gave me a crash-course in "how to barter." My colleague and friend Nancy also gently reminded me, "Jana, it's just negotiating. You're a lawyer; you know how to do that." And you know what? I do. And even more? Seems I'm pretty good at it.

I thought back to Kaye Elliott's class---Negotiations. I took that class in law school and loved it as much as my mediation classes. (I'm a qualified mediator in Texas---civil and family cases.) And I did just fine in that class.

Alex assured me that any offer would not offend; if it were too low, it would simply be met with a counter. Further, he gave me some general guidelines on where the Masai (the tribe most common in the Masai Mara---where the safari was) usually began negotiating.

Finally, I remembered that I had something they wanted---my money.

In Kenya, I bought a lovely rosewood carving of a Masai family. It was the perfect "treasure" for me to bring home, and it's ideal on my mantel next to my rosewood Ghana water woman carving and the rosewood Ghana fertility doll carving. But my key in shopping was that once I had visited several markets, I still shopped early in my trip. In other words, I knew that I would have many other opportunities to shop for a treasured rosewood carving. And that's key: being willing to walk away. So when the broker I was dealing with at that market wouldn't lower his price, I said no and turned to leave.

He followed me and gave me an acceptable price. And my Masai family carving indeed is perfect on my mantel.

And on that trip, several colleagues complimented me on my negotiating and bartering skills. (and they're all lawyers too!) They couldn't believe I got the deals I did at the market in Nairobi, and another said she so admired my confidence in working out deals in road-side markets. What they didn't know was that all that while, I had tons of self doubt---until all of that. The deals I worked out, the compliments of my respected colleagues, and my personal willingness to walk away from an unacceptable deal all did so much for me.

Who knew that my experience there was just what I needed to have the confidence required to sell a house?

Indeed---I got the dreadfully low offer on Saturday. I countered, not moving much from my asking. I set the tone for how far I'd be willing to move, for with any negotiation, you don't make a bigger move than the prior move. She countered---moving a substantial amount, but still not enough. (seems this house is made for a single woman: I bought it from a single woman and now am likely selling it to one.) I countered again, moving, of course, less than the original move. Then nothing.

Finally, Tuesday morning, I received a call from my agent. The potential buyer had made another offer and had said "this is the final offer." I simply said, "No." It was not acceptable.

My agent took a deep breath; I think she was worried and frustrated I'd turn down this final offer. After all---it was decently higher than a comp house sold for three weeks ago down the street. But I knew my house was worth more. And I believed the potential buyer did too. Of course, this was her "final offer," and I had turned it down. But I worked my backside off getting my house ready to show as soon as possible just so that I would have time to barter---and walk away if I had to.

(okay---not literally. Had I actually worked my backside off, I wouldn't have had to get back to working out---finally---this week. A little more than two days later, and I still feel those lunges I did on Tuesday morning. Ouch!)

Twenty minutes later, my phone rang, and the potential buyer had another offer---this time an acceptable one. (I now jokingly call this her final-final offer; she couldn't have moved much more anyway from there without hitting my previous counter.)

So WOOHOO! I've accepted the offer on my house, and as of today, we've got a signed contract. Now we go through the option period and getting the final word on her financing, and wow----I'll have sold my house!

No doubt, this sale will tickle my neighbors. They repeatedly tell me how they hate to lose me as a neighbor, but I just got the highest price for my floor plan and square footage I think to date. I say again, and I think they'll join in the chorus for upping the comps: Woohoo!

Wait, you might be thinking---I sold for the highest? Will that be okay? My appraiser friend felt very confident my house can appraise for my sales price. A bit more, and probably it wouldn't make it. But that's okay. And in this market, I'm elated!

So, my advice? Know what the value is that you have to offer. And know the value of what you want. Be willing to walk away when it's practical, and remember: not only does the other party have something you want---you have something that party wants. Why else would you be negotiating?

Oh, yes---and breathe.

Dreams

Someone asked me what was it about the Cranberries song Dreams that I like so much. Well since my decision to move away from Houston, each time I've made a major decision about life change, within a day or so, I noticed this song on the radio. And each time I hear it, I'm reminded that when life changes, it's okay. I may not know exactly what my dreams are before they come to fruition, but each time that I am faced with doors there, open, beckoning, it's been a grand thing to walk on through.

Really, you ask? Yes, really.

Such as the day after I decided to apply for a job in North Texas---when I lived in Houston. Okay, granted, the song was still lingering as a one- or two-year old hit on the radio back then.

But then there's the time I decided to go to law school. We're now talking a '93 song that yes, came on the radio the morning after I received my scholarship offer---in 1999. I was on my way to work, realizing that I would be quitting my full-time job---my safety net---and going to law school full time, at age 30. And that morning, as everything swam at olympic speed in my head, this song was on the radio. It was not only okay, but a peace came over me that yes, it was right. These were my dreams---even if I hadn't known it before that moment.

And then, right after the bar exam, and I didn't have a job. Within a week, serious stress set in. Then I got an email out of the blue---a person I hardly knew sent a blast email to a group I belonged to to inform us all that she had taken a job with the court but at the last minute had to decline. So now the job, beginning in less than a month, was open. I applied. I hadn't wanted to work in Dallas. But it was just a year. (umm hmmm -- right. Of course, those who know me, know that the one year turned to three. But also, everything there led to who I am now; how I owe so much to Tom James, dear and special man who he is.) And on the way home, when I'd actually been offered the job during the interview, this song was on the radio. I had no more second thoughts about driving to Dallas.

Within about two days of deciding to apply for my first teaching gig, the song sounded again. I heard it. I listened. I knew: it was right.

And most recently, I heard it again.

This decision to leave Texas was hard. But it was right. And the day after I talked to my first school out-of-state, I was driving to work when music spoke to me.

First, I tuned in to the new Lonestar 92.5---what a great station. (and my new favorite---especially knowing I'm leaving Texas in less than six weeks). The song on---You Never Even Call Me By My Name. It's a Dixie Chicken classic, and an all-Texas feeling song to me. Hearing it reminded me that I can take my heart that lies in Texas anywhere I go. I have my music, my memories, my family, my connections, my pictures. Just because I leave Texas does not mean at all that Texas leaves me.

I belted the song out loud (no doubt, to the amusement of passing motorists), and then the song was over. I felt content. Life was good, and it roads were opening I'd never known I'd be traveling. But as if I need this little extra assurance, music continued to speak.

A commercial was next, and I was feeling good about my decision to move, so I was hardly in the mood for a commercial---more music! I clicked two stations over, and indeed---I heard the opening notes of Dreams. That, my friends, sealed the deal. I knew my decision was right and good.

So, what is this song? I've copied the lyrics below. The "You" in the song is, well, for me, I guess the You is my inner voice. It's part my "spiritual advisor" and part my "self voice." And what is it I feel "even more"? It's that knowledge that yes, now is the time for change. And it's wonderful.

Oh, my life is changing everyday,

In every possible way.

And oh, my dreams,

it's never quite as it seems, Never quite as it seems.

I know I've felt like this before, but now I'm feeling it even more,

Because it came from you.

And then I open up and see the person falling here is me,

A different way to be.

Ah, la da ah... La...

I want more.

Imposible to ignore,

Imposible to ignore.

And they'll come true, impossible not to do,

Impossible not to do.

And now I tell you openly, you have my heart so don't hurt me.

You're what I couldn't find.

A totally amazing mind, so understanding and so kind;

You're everything to me.

Oh, my life, Is changing every day,

In every possible way.

And oh, my dreams,

It's never quiet as it seems,

'Cause you're a dream to me, Dream to me.

Of Course, yes, I like other songs by the Cranberries. Heck, give me easy songs with strings or upbeat songs with brass, and I'm almost sold on the spot.

But Dreams, yes, it's special. And my dreams might not be what they seemed to me four months ago. But the more that I want is indeed impossible to ignore. And yes, my life is changing---every day. In every possible way.

I hope for all of you, the best of dreams. And I hope that's it's also impossible for you for your dreams not to come true. Just listen to them. And listen to the radio.

The Rest of Saturday . . . A Park, Rosa’s, and an Offer?

Up early, Howard and I started the day with a walk---after stopping to oooh and ahhh over the new kittens next door. After the walk, it was out the door early; a showing of the house was scheduled between 10 & 12.

And what to do with a dog in tow for a couple of hours? That’s easy---when it’s not raining. The dog park! Fort Woof is our off-leash dog park, and it’s a fabulous place. Howard recognizes the park as soon as we begin to turn in from the main road, and his excitement is almost contagious.

The park has two large fenced-in areas. On one side, any dog can enter; the other side is limited to dogs less than forty pounds. Both areas have drinking fountains---for people and dogs---and picnic tables. In the summer, people often bring small kiddie swimming pools to fill with water, most especially for the labs. Howard could not care less for such foolishness, and he looks at the labs who lie down in the water as if they’re completely nuts.

On this particular day, two Italian greyhounds were on the small-dog side, and it seemed as though their mission in life is to have every dog around chase them, well, until they tired or a dog got a little too close. At that time, Daisy would make a dash toward her owner and leap to her lap, several times actually jumping up almost to the back of her neck. Howard ran a bit, but he was a bit more interested in chasing two other dogs---trying hard to find a, um, girlfriend. Umm Hmmmm.

After the park, we headed back to the house, having been away for just over the required time. As I got within four blocks of the house, my cell phone rang: the agent showing the house had to reschedule for the afternoon---forty-five minutes from then. Alrighty. A stop by the house, help out to the neighborhood kids who found a lost kitten, and it’s back out for Howard and me.

We had lunch at Rosa’s---where they allow dogs on the patio. And afterwards, we killed a little time in Petsmart. Saturdays are so busy there---with lots of adoptions going on. It is, after all, where I went to meet Howard for the first time, having found his (and other) profiles of dogs up for adoption through the humane society website. We didn’t buy anything this visit, but the cashier did allow us to come through the line, laughing at Howard as he leaped repeatedly at the counter, looking for a treat.

As an aside---not only does Rosa’s allow dogs on the patio, but they have dog treats in the drive-through window. My local CVS pharmacy does too, as does the drive-through at Starbucks, one of the nearby Sonics, and even some banks. Well, actually, one Sonic has dog treats; the other has the good ice. Indeed---when Howard’s with me and I need a diet cherry diet Coke, but of course---we go to the one with the treats. (Why doesn’t the other Sonic have treats? Seems (according to one of the carhops) that a dog got too excited about a treat and bit a carhop as she was handing the treat to the dog. Why not just tell the carhops they had to give the treats to the dog owner to give to the dog? Seems like a simple fix to me. Oh well.)

After all that, we were back at the house, with time for a nap before readying for the BBQ. Needless to say, after the busy morning and afternoon then all the excitement of the BBQ, Howard and I both had quite a day!

Ah---and the folks who rescheduled the showing? They emailed an offer on the house late Saturday evening. WooHoo? Well, it’s a dreadfully low offer. I’ve sent a counter, and we’ll go from here. But if you ask me, this person isn’t really interested in buying my house. Still—this was just the second showing, and with that, an offer, so that’s nice. I also had a long conversation with a good friend who’s a real estate appraiser, and he’s going to make sure my asking price is reasonable such that a bank would approve a loan for it.

Today was nice and relaxing---enjoying a little down time, catching up on missed movies, and tending a bit to the flowers in the back. Even Howard took a break from napping long enough to join me in the yard.

I'm going to miss my herb garden---and the dependable daylillies in the yard. When I moved in, one little daylilly plant was growing in the yard. Since then, the daylillies have grown to a massive mound of gorgeous orange blooms every May. In fact, they just started blooming this past week. Additionally, I've put in all the flower beds around the yard---a place for perenials, for my trumpet vine (a trellis built by me and my father), another bed for tomatoes and my irises, and yes, my herb garden. It's now in its fourth year, and it's great---rosemary, thyme, chives, oregeno, tarragon, lavender---and those are just the ones that come back each year. Every spring I add some annual herbs too---basil's one of my favorites. It's great to be able to step out the back door in the summer to gather what you need for a little pesto.

And there we go---another weekend behind us. And in all, the weekend was quite a good one. Next week, it’s back to grading papers. I've set aside most of the days to focusing on getting almost finished with those, although I have a dear friend having surgery on Thursday, so I'm availing myself to her for whatever she might need then. Otherwise, it's a week with me and my green pen. Oh boy!

(P.S.: Happy Birthday Clay!)

Good Fences? No--Good BBQs Make Good Neighbors

Your neighborhood---it's where you live, where you walk your dog, where you allow people to see you at your grimiest when you're working in the yard. It's home. I've been in my neighborhood for eight years now, and I've seen a lot of people come and go. In all, it's been quite good.

In the last two years, more kids have moved in to the neighborhood, and they are a joy. And I love that these kids actually play outside! They hit the street with their bikes, scooters, roller skates, and tennies by about 8am on the weekends, and they play until the last light forces parents to call them in. Granted, I don't have my own kids out there running along with them, but I have Howard. And to the kids around here, he's one of them.

Yes, hardly a week can go by without my doorbell ringing and anywhere from one to several children are at the door: "Will you bring Howard outside?" "Can Howard come outside?" It's adorable! And so quite often, Howard and I go outside; Howard, of course, loves all that attention. And days when Howard and I head out without having been asked, we're usually greeted with a chorus of "Howard!" from children down the street as they come running to say hello. Howard, upon hearing them come near, excitedly waits---sometimes looking down the street for them (or when spotting a stray cat).

It's not that most of these kids don't have their own dog. There's Crockett who belongs to Krystal & Ty (who have two sons (10 & 7), three houses down. He's half basset and half border collie. And he's a cutie---long body, short, and insanely muscularly stocky. He also has quite a bark. Then there's Chuey, a pug who lives two houses down at Doug and Melissa's (who have a boy (9) and girl (4)). He runs to greet Howard whenever he sees us, and he gets so excited, his whole body shakes---as if his tail being all curled up releases the wag all the way up his body. Then there's Maya---the chihuahua from the other direction down the street who belongs to Ed (around 11---don't know Ed's folks). Maya thinks she's the queen of the street, usually greeting Howard initially with a ferocious bark and baring of the teeth before finally playing the "let's sniff each other game." Let's just say she's very chihuahua. Oh---and let me not forget Spooky. Spooky used to live across the street and two houses over with Lee, but they moved to the end of the street; she's now eleven houses down (and now has Whitney and Whitney's son (4) living with 'em). And yes, Spooky, however, still sometimes comes down to visit us all, much to Lee's dismay. Spooky is almost solid black and resembles a collie. Poor thing, though, we think she got hit by a car, so she walks with quite a limp now and has gained weight due to the lack of mobility.

Other kids include Tony's girl and boy (9 & 5), who are perhaps Howard's biggest buddies. They play outside all of the time, and they simply love helping me in the garden. Carlos & Olga have two boys (about 9 & 11), the younger of whom also greets Howard at every opportunity. And most recently, Maria moved in across the street with her two---a boy and girl (about 10 & 11). There's another thirteen-year old who lives about four houses down, but I don't know his folks either; he just hangs out with the rest of the kids.

My role in all of this? First and foremost, I'm "the lady who has Howard." I've learned that the kids all talk about Howard to their families, bragging about the tricks he does. They get so tickled when I hold up my fingers as if pointing a gun, say "Bang!" and Howard lies on his side---not quite "dead," though, as he always keeps his head up, watching for me to say "Look alive!" so he can jump up and (he hopes) get a treat. The kids have all shot Howard using skittles, gummy bears, and goldfish---Howard's favorite among the kid treats---as temptation.

But I'm a little more too. I'm the lady with the bird feeders, and all the kids get so excited to be able to help fill the feeders. And when I insist upon taking turns, they do so with no fuss. And this year I started a new tradition---when it snows, I make hot chocolate for everyone. No, not that plain ol' instant kind---they kind with real hershey's cocoa that you have to cook. Of course, living in north Texas meant it was pretty safe to agree that when it snows, I'd make hot chocolate. I'm also the lady with the flowers and garden, and several of the kids think it's the biggest treat in the world to help me water and feed the plants. Finally, I'm the one who makes a tin of Christmas goodies for each of the families around. (When I announced plans to move, most neighbors protested and bemoaned, "What about your Christmas goodies? We look forward to those every year!")

But several weeks ago, I became someone else---the lady who agreed to BBQ for everyone. We chose a date, and the kids eagerly counted down until the big day, generating interest among the older folks too. Granted, I had to leave things a little up in the air---if the house were showing at the designated time, we'd have to have a back-up plan, but fortunately, the showing was over by 2:30.

One neighbor laughed and said, "What, now that you're leaving, you're going to get all the neighbors together for a street party?" I said yes and told him it could be the legacy I left for 'em all---to socialize with each other more often.

So I (with a neighbor's help) wheeled my grill around to the front of the house, and what a fun time we all had! First it was just the kiddos, but soon the parents followed. I grilled burgers and dogs and had all the fixin's; Ray brought a cooler full of soft drinks and water. (He works for Dr. Pepper, so he's the "soda man.") We all brought out our lawn chairs and had a grand time until late into the night. I guess we had about eight families over at varying times, with a couple more stopping by to say hello.

Maya, the chihuahua, came too--and she stole at least two hot dog buns. Funny girl---she would reach and snatch the hotdog from a child who'd turned attention elsewhere, but Maya would wind up running off with only the bread. Howard swiped Miguel's burger, which I promptly got from Howard and tossed in the garbage, quickly making Miguel a replacement burger. But Howard did have several pieces of hot dog as he performed his many tricks.

As a speical treat, Carlos & Olga even brought a special bottle of Mexcal that Carlos's brother brought from Mexico for us to try. No, this bottle didn't have a worm, but it was 100% agave and it was anejo---aged the longest. The aging process gives it a fabulous smoky flavor, reminding me of a good single malt but without the peatyness found in some of those. And at the end of the evening, Carlos gave me the remainder of the bottle as a gift! How sweet! (Carlos & Olga are so kind. Olga brought over lots of homemade tamales this past year on Christmas Eve---providing the perfect treat to feed folks after we got home from the movies on Christmas night. (Do they have places where you can order yummy tamales at Christmas time in Tennessee?) And they've often given me plants and such from their yard.)




This morning, some of the kids rang my bell at 8am, bringing my paper to the door. Lene' said it was the best party ever and thanked me for having it. But Howard---well, he's been asleep all day. After our very busy morning and afternoon on Saturday (see other post for that), Howard stayed in the center of all the action for the BBQ until I finally made him go inside, where he sat and watched the festivities from the front window.

Here's Howard this morning:
What a great BBQ. And what great neighbors. I'll keep good thoughts that my next set of neighbors are just as wonderful!

It's All About the Plate

The Flying Saucer---a fabulous joint in downtown Fort Worth where I've learned I like hops. Lots of hops. What are hops, you ask? Something in really good beer.

Okay, so taste in beer is personal. And granted, many people can't stand hops. But not me; I love the hops. And the Stouts. Don't get me wrong---some days are made for a cimple ol' Miller Light or Corona Light. But at the Saucer, I've learned more about what I call "the good stuff."

And the Saucer has this special thing where you get to taste lots of different beers---it's called the UFO club---aka, being a "beer knurd." And yes, I am a card-carrying member of the UFO club.

To be a beer knurd, you sign up (and pay a small fee) for your card and t-shirt. With your card, you keep track (electronically---gotta love the computer age) of all the beers you've tasted. The rules are simple: you cannot count more than three beers in any one day and you cannot count a single type of beer more than once.

Back in 2000 (yes, when I was still in law school), I joined this UFO thing and got my card (and t-shirt). That was when I used to visit my friends in Arlington on Wednesdays at the Flying Saucer there to catch up and throw a few darts. (That Flying Saucer closed, but the one in downtown Fort Worth remains; it has much more character too.) The following fall I even got more people to join; the night I met Rob (aka "the Godfather"), he joined and became a beer knurd too---as have several others of "the Gang."

Anyway, I don't go to the Saucer that often, and what's more, many times I've gone, I've simply not swiped my card, kept track of what I'd tried or not tried, or turned in the slips to get credit for trying a new beer. Needless to say, it is taking me a long time to get to 200.

Yes---200 is the goal. When you've had 200 different beers, you get placed in the "Ring of Honor" with a plate hung on the wall bearing your name and whatever phrase you choose--that will fit on the plate.

Me? After seven years, I'm still under 125. I know. I'm quite slow.

But not my friend James.

I introduced James to the Saucer early last fall, and he loves the joint---and the hops! He promptly joined the UFO club, and this past week, James hit 200. He'd had all the really good hoppy beers, so he let one of the trusted bartenders (our faves are Landon, Brian, Sara, and Judd (yep, Judd---same name as my nephew)) choose his final beer. Here are some pics from the evening:

And what happens when you hit 200? You get the before-mentioned plate-----AND you get a party: the plate party. At the plate party, you're given a substantial tab to use fo you and your invited friends. And yes, but of course James invited me to his plate party next week. WooHoo!

How serious is this UFO thing? Well, when I joined in Arlington, I received my membership card, which is now coveted by all who see it. See, when I joined, I got the original card. The newer cards are relatively plain---with just "UFO" on the front and not much of anything on the back. But back in the day, back when I joined, they printed the following on the backs of the cards (don't be offended, just see the humor):

Our lager, which art in barrels, hallowed be thy drink.

Thy will be drunk, won't drink skunk, at home nor in the tavern.

Give us this day our foamy head, and forgive us our spillages,

As we forgive those who spill against us.

Lead us not to incarceration, but deliver us from hangovers.

For thine is the beer, the bitter and The lager.

Forever and ever, Barmen.

So now, you might be worried---seven years, over one-hundred beers, and now I'm moving?! Oh no! I'll never get the plate!

No fear. Turns out--Memphis has a Flying Saucer! But of course, I might have to return to Fort Worth for my plate party.

First Showing

Finally! The house was shown today. I must admit it was quite frustrating to have worked so hard to get the house ready by Friday only to have no lookers over the weekend. But finally, the call came today. Someone would be showing the house tonight between 5:30 & 7:00.

Fortunately, I had already mowed the yard early this afternoon. And the house was still very clean---it’s easy for it to stay that way when you’re out of town. But a once-over with the vacuum was still a good idea.

Okay---going through my mental checklist: all lights & lamps on, light music in the background, a yummy baked-good candle burned just before I headed out, and Howard and I split for a couple of hours.

First stop: Petsmart. Howard thinks everyone at Petsmart is there just for him, and he adores the place! After making a dash to the grassy area, where Howard must leave his mark every time, we go inside. And Howard thinks we should go ahead and check out now; they have treats at the check-out counter, see. But no, first stop---the scale. Poor Howard. I fear if he were a teen-aged girl, my obsession with his weight would give him an eating disorder! But no, not our dear Howard. He’ll eat all that I’d let him,

Weight’s great! He’s holding steady under twenty-four pounds (23.1), so all is fine. (Howard had put on about a pound and a half during his last vacation---about ten days with Grandma then ten with my sister’s family. He’s lost that weight, and we’re back to maintaining.) (Too bad I don’t have as good of control over my own weight as I do Howard’s!)

Next, we wonder around the store a little. Howard takes on the duty of cleaning up any and all stray pieces of dog food in the aisles---being so helpful even as to stick his head under the shelves. How kind of him. And along the way, naturally he makes many friends. When he sees someone he thinks needs to meet him, he tries to run to greet them. Of course, however, he’s on a leash, and they have slick floors in Petsmart. So instead, it winds up looking more like Howard’s running on a treadmill---always to the amusement of other customers.

We find the dog food we need (plus some new rawhide treats---these flavored with peanut butter), and finally---it’s time to check out!

Howard entertains the check-out guy by leaping repeatedly to see over the counter. Most people have the same comment: It’s as if he has springs in his feet! After a few “freebies,” though, I do make Howard work a little for his yummy goodies. He jumped from a held sit, played dead, and gave me a “high five,” gathering admiring praise from all those around. (except for the one man behind us in line. I guess he was in a hurry, but it seemed he just doesn’t “get” Petsmart---or Howard!)

And next we stop off at Sheridan’s. Howard’s learned to recognize this place too, and as soon as I parked, I couldn’t get us both out of the care quickly enough for his pleasure. See, Sheridan’s is a frozen custard place, and they give away free “pup cones.” It’s basically the size of a Dairy Queen itty-bitty cone. (egads, I cannot recall what those were called!) And Howard thinks it’s just the BEST THING EVER!

But when others are in line, I make Howard wait his turn, although he charms each other customer around him, all the while eyeing their frozen treat they have in hand.

Finally it’s our turn. I don’t even have to order any more. Howard walks up to the window and proceeds to activate those springs. He leaps repeatedly to see above the counter at the walk-up window---allowing all those inside to see him. The guy behind the counter laughs and simply asks, “Pup cone?” I smile and say yes, and Howard looks at me as if I hung the moon.

Of course, the hardest thing is trying to get Howard to eat the cone slowly. I fear his poor little doggie head must scream in brain-freeze pain, but I guess not, for he still loves the place and still eagerly eats it as quickly as possible. (he’d eat the scoop in one bite if I’d let him.) And yes, he eats the cone too!

We then spend a little time finishing up my latest book on tape---just a basic Stuart Woods novel, listened to because I know his books are short enough to entertain me and are almost just right for the drive down to Mom’s.

And finally---I go ahead and grab dinner at a neighborhood Italian place. (My plan had been another local joint with outdoor seating, but it was raining, so Howard had to hand out in the car anyway.)

I wasn’t starving, so I just had a glass of wine and some calamari. But turned out it was the owner serving me. He, proudly, asked how the calamari was, and of course, I said it was good. But I’ll tell ya, once you’ve had super-fresh calamari in Hawaii, well, it was foolish of me to order it here. I knew better, but I took a chance, and now I know not to do that again. But all wasn’t a total loss. I asked for my bill, ready to leave, but he grabbed my glass and said, “just a little more on me.” To my surprise, he returned it---full! Hmph. And why haven’t I had a glass of wine in here before?! ;-)

Happy Mom's Day!

Happy Mother's Day!! ---the other reason for the drive down south for the weekend.

Mom and I made the drive back to her place Saturday night after dinner, and Clay (my older brother) joined us there too. We were all quite tired from the day's events, though (and Mom & I from staying up too late on Friday!), so it wasn't too late of a night. (However, I did stay up a while blogging about the day---finally got pics up with that today.)

And even though we'd been gone all day, the critters were tired early too. Sophie even retreated to her carrier---for the first time EVER! They say (whoever "they" are) that cats have a hard time with change and with travel, but Sophie really does wonderfully at Grandma's house. She adjusts almost immediately upon our arrival and settles into her routine without incident.

You may be wondering why I would take Sophie for just a weekend. Well, I didn't. Sophie went to visit Grandma for an extended vacation. With the house on the market, I didn't want to scare away any prospective buyers with a litter box. My house smells great, but you never know what might put someone off.

Sophie's visited Grandma's twice---both other times for three-week visits. And they get along splendidly! Sophie tends to follow Mom around just like a little kid, tailing her from room to room. And during this last visit, Sophie began to visit Mom in the middle of the night, enjoying curling up in bed and watching late-night tv.

Anyway, back to Saturday night---Howard just went to bed without me. He did not care to wait for me to finish writing. On Sunday, Mom's Day was nice. We had a relaxing morning, tending to some things around the house and getting Mom's pics from Final Review uploaded and shared. We filled her bird feeder too and enjoyed the back yard. (we both love watching the birds in our feeders---something that always makes me think of her mother and her bird houses she had out at the farm.)

Mom's got a gorgeous backyard---very lush and green. She's always worked really hard in the yard. (When my neighbor told me he'd never seen a woman work so hard on her own on her house, I though "you haven't met my mom.") Alas, as age creeps up, she still has a great place, even if that's accomplished with a little hired help.

The pecan tree that my grandfather planted provides ample shade for the huge wooden deck she now has---one ideal for evening meals outside. The tree leans quite a bit, and it leans toward the house, but to me it seems like it's leaning over Mom's house as if it's a sign that her dad's looking over her.

Her squash and tomato plants are doing wonderfully; she picked the season's first tomatoes while I was there! And even the pepper plants have itty-bitty peppers.

While outside Sunday morning, we enjoyed watching a busy hummingbird travel among the many red salvia plants, drinking up lots from each one before it paused to rest on a clothesline. The bird was so tiny, but its wings beat so fast. Amazing little creature.

Howard, of course, kept quite busy checking out the backyard. Mom's yard backs up to a heavily wooded area, and she has a wire fence along the back of the yard. You can hardly see the wire fence, and so it feels like there's open forest out there. (the fence is behind other plants in the yard, so you really cannot see it---great design.) But the fence does keep Howard in the yard---and sometimes the deer out of the garden.
Howard also relaxed sometimes, but usually he'd stay at least a little on alert.

Sunday afternoon, we all went for our Mom's Day lunch at Archie's---a local place owned and operated by one of my high school friend's family. Not having the opportunity often enough for really good catfish, Mom and I both had that. And indeed, it was tasty & perfectly cornmeal battered. Clay enjoyed the frog legs.

But poor Mom. She said she wanted to sit in the middle, but she didn't know how literally "in the middle" that'd put her. I suppose my brother and I couldn't be more different when it came to political opinions. And he wanted to talk politics. Honestly, after a gross misstatement of fact he made (where do some sources get their info?!), I didn't have a lot of patience to participate. And as I said, it was sticking Mom right in the middle. Bless her heart---she does have to listen to each of us espouse our (strong) opinions separately. She didn't need to hear 'em together.

Don't get me wrong---a good debate is indeed healthy and can be quite thought-provoking. But I also recognize a twenty-year-old argument when I hear one, and I am not interested in debating how things used to be when those things have been changed dramatically since then. For example, if you want to argue about welfare, then don't complain about the system that existed in the 80s. Let's talk about it after the reforms of the 90s. And when I know I've gotten into a conversation with someone who won't admit error, I don't see an upside to that conversation. Or when you're in a conversation with someone who's in it "just to win" and not actually to exchange ideas and really provoke thought, well, that, by definition, is not thought provoking to me. And through the years (and oh my, yes, in law school), I've figured out many of the signs of these types of arguments. (and throwing in unfounded accusations about a political party's dirty secrets is just silly to me; don't we all know that BOTH major parties are accused of dirty work? Oh, goodness.)

Not that everything from above was going on during lunch, but enough was that I did not see a benefit to any debate. And more importantly, I also know that Mom doesn't want discourse. Thus, we moved the conversation to topics a little lighter, a little less controversial, and a little bit better for the Mother's Day lunch table.

And to clarify, while I may disagree with most of my brother's political views, I recognize that he is fascinatingly educated about histories of war, battles, and such world events. (Although, the awful misstatement of fact that was made---apparently gotten from some sort of political gossip made by someone who was unbelievably uninformed---put up a slight barrier to listening for a while.) Now does that mean I'm interested in hearing about every war that's ever occurred? No. But he's a great source to chat about those that I am.

And back home for Sunday night---the night I enjoy settling in for a little good TV. Tonight was a little different, of course, because I had to record the regular stuff while I watched the Survivor finale. Enjoyable! I wasn't at all shocked of Earl's landslide victory, but it was sad Yau-Man didn't win. But what I respected most about the producers of the show was that not once did I hear anyone reference the race of the final three. Bravo, Survivor! (Maybe something was said, but I didn't hear it, so it wasn't a big deal if it was mentioned.) (I've always thought it was such a shame when a person's race is mentioned as if it's important to know in a conversation when it has absolutely nothing to do with the topic.)

But I did manage to also catch up on my favorite Sunday night show: Brothers & Sisters. It's funny, it's sad, it's thought-provoking, and it's poignant. It even has a brother and sister with polar opposite political views! (And a mom who tries to play peace-keeper...sometimes. (Sally Field is excellent in that role, and too often I see glimpses of my own mother in her (and glimpses of all of my family in combinations of the other characters.) The character, Nora, loves her children (all adults) so much, but she also gets frustrated with them, angry with them, can laugh and joke with them too---the full spectrum, acted out wonderfully.))

Here's a line from Brothers & Sisters Sunday night: "Sometimes being a good parent is knowing when not to parent. You have to get out of the way and let life happen to your kids."

I think that's sage advice. Although mine is not a family that's always there for all the occasions, and a big part of me thinks that's unfortunate, we tend to raise relatively independent folks. I was so raised---to be independent and to make my own decisions. I've also always known that advice---and help---is just a phone call away. So thanks, Mom & Dad, for knowing when---and when not to---parent, and for letting life happen to me. :-)

Hullabaloo, Caneck, Caneck

If you're an Ag, you'll totally get this post. If not, well, I hope I can convey at least a fraction of Saturday.

Mom (aka "Grandma" to the critters (yes, she even has a shirt that says "Ask about my GrandDog." She adores my dog? She uses them as the substitute because I've not given her human grandchildren? A little of both. And that's just fine.) So anyway---Mom and I were up early Saturday to head to College Station---after a stop at Starbucks, of course. (being from such a small town, though, means the nearest Starbucks is twenty miles away! Yowza!) We were headed over for what's called "Final Review." It's the day when all the outfits of that Corps pass in front of the officers essentially checking 'em all out---making sure the commanders are doing as they should and that the outfits are looking alright. And it's the last thing on campus at A&M in the spring. Graduation's over. Most folks have moved out of dorms. It's indeed the final thing of the academic year. (well, except Boot Dance---more on that later.)

Venti (iced---it's a hot one today) nonfat latte, and we're back on the road.

During that drive, though, I realized how much nostalgia was involved with that trip. Not just seeing family I hadn't seen in a while, but visiting the ol' hometown, recalling college days, and . . . .

Driving past what once was a Pizza Hut---it's now a Mexican restaurant, but still in the Pizza Hut-shaped building, and yes, that looks quite odd---where I had my first date. Seeing a house of an old boyfriend on the drive . . . later, after seeing a few young men sitting on that same counter where he'd been sitting when we met, recalling meeting another college boyfriend, Mike, . . . (funny story--I wound up dating about three guys in a row who were all named Mike. My brother called me one day and said, "Hey, it's Mike." He wanted me to have to say, "Mike who?" But ha! I knew his voice. :-) Man, caller-ID has spoiled a lot of big-brother jokes, eh? ;-) . . .

Okay---enough of that nostalgia. Back to Saturday.

What a day! The drive is gorgeous. Mom's in the eastern half of Texas very near Huntsville, so the tall pine trees rise like cliffs on each side of the road. Getting closer to College Station, the hills really start rolling. Everything was so green, dotted with patches of yellow black-eyed susans and purple vetch.

Upon arriving in College Station, though, the memory floodgates open, and it's not hard to think back to eighteen years ago when I lived there. (wow---to put in writing that it's been eighteen years since I graduated. Hello, reality. Nice to meet you.) Harvey Road. Post Oak Mall. Texas Avenue---all the same. Granted, the restaurant where I worked has changed names. But so much is just the same.

We made it to the "Quad" (the area where the Corps (that's the Corps of Cadets) dorms are--- the quadrangle) and found Judd's dorm (Judd's my nephew---the oldest of that generation & my older brother's older child). As of that time, around noon, he was still classified as a junior. And in the Corps, it's all about what class you're in. Shortly thereafter, we found Judd!

I'd been to Final Review for my younger brother---his third and fourth years in the Corps. But I hadn't seen the stuff in the hall. Umm Hmmm. That's a whole other side. The upper classmen call out the "fish" (freshmen) and have quite a time. Judd calls it "good bull." Okay. Being there for that was something. Then they all run out to line up in formation, getting ready for the first "Step off."

We followed along---and Judd found us, dutifully stopping to pose with Grandma as I took a few pics. And we went to the designated area of the quad for his outfit---Squadron 23. As we snapped more photos and watched Judd, along with other juniors, um, well, explain to the Fish what was wrong with their appearance, their expression, etc., BOOM.


Ahhhh---the Aggie cannon. what a sound. And it rocks you to the core. In a good way.

Then...the sound that stops every Aggie I know:

da ta ta ta da daaahhh da ta tah ta ta ta da ta ta daahh. [Whoop!]
and a little higher pitch...
da ta ta ta da daaahhh da ta tah ta ta ta da ta ta daahh.
and you sing in your heart...
Hullabaloo Canek, Canek. Hullabaloo Canek, Canek.

Indeed. It's the band. The Fightin' Texas Aggie Band. And it's the War Hymn. (Umm Hmmm---other schools have fight songs; we have a War Hymn.)

I hear that band start playing the Aggie War Hymn, and talk about nostalgia. I showed Mom my arm---it was a hot day, and we were standing in the sun, but all the hairs on my arm were standing at attention onceI heard that intro. Man, that band. That sound. It's the Fightin' Texas Aggie Band, people! Whoop! There's nothing else like that sound.

I soak that all in then turn my attention back to the man of honor for my day---my nephew. his outfit, the final one to step off, finally heads out.

Mom and I walked over to the area to see them march past, snapping, of course, even more photos. Along the way, though, we noted my stellar parking job.


The Corps marches on, over to Reed Arena for commissioning of the officers, and Mom and I decide to take this time to shop. Okay, actually, she indulged my desire to do so. Moving out of state, Aggie gear might not be so easy to find. So today was my day to stock up.

And stock up I did! I am now wonderfully armed with a long-sleeved shirt, two short-sleeved shirts, and other goodies to keep my Aggie spirit lively. I found the cutest wooden cutout (about 3 x 1 x 8 inches) of the Dixie Chicken building---perfect item for any and all of my future offices. And then we stopped at the music section. I made the mistake (had the fortune?) of picking up a four-disc CD set: all the Dixie Chicken classis songs. From Luckenbach to You Never Even Call Me By My Name to Redneck Mother to yes, Goodnight Irene. I have road trips coming up. I'm leaving Texas. I had to have it. And yes, I got it. (along with a CD of the Aggie band, but of course!)

Shopping done, and now it's time for Grandma to finally meet Northgate. And first stop has to be, but of course, the Dixie Chicken---the place where I spent way too many a late night while in college, the place where I drank my first beer legally in College Station (the day I graduated college, I was only twenty-years-old (yes, twenty: I've always been a bit of a nerd---but a fun one), and Dad bought me a beer that day, making it legal), and the place where I try to visit each time through town.

Lunch. A beer at the Chicken. But of course, we had to also have one just down the road at Duddley's, and finally, a walk through bottle-cap alley. Indeed: Grandma has seen Northgate.

We drove around a little after that---finding Dexter Rd first, where Melissa and Allen lived (Melissa, my best friend whom I met in college, has two dogs now---Dixie and Dexter. See a pattern here?) and snapping a pic of the duplex that's still there, and to me, still looks the same. Then we drove past my place, continuing down this journey on memory lane. And eventually, it was time to head back to the quad.

Finally. There he is. My nephew---a SENIOR in the Corps! And how handsome he looks!



















Lots of photos, meeting some of Judd's girlfriend's family, and my opportunity to get over to the main area in time to watch the band step-off. And hear---no, feel---that special sound.

Next, we head over to Kyle Field. (Final Review used to be held on the drill field, but it's been moved---fortunately because today we got some shade.) The outifts are taken through a few drills of commands and such, the band plays, they all march past us, and that's it.

Well, not really. See, at A&M, this is unique. Most military institutions hold one "pass" of the cadets marching past the folks who review 'em. But we hold "first pass" of all the cadets in the Corps that year marching then we---and this is what's different---hold a "second pass." And thus, for Judd now, it's the very start of a new academic year; he's officially a senior in the Corps. And he's in senior boots.

Judd is my only nephew, and a special man he is too. He was scholastic officer of his outfit this last year, and in the coming academic year, he'll be the Executive Officer of his outfit. I'm very proud of him and the man he's become. What's he going to do after this coming year? I'm not sure. I just hope for him that he'll find the path that will make him happiest. Sure, money's nice, but you gotta be happy at what you do too. It took me a long time to figure out that I had to find my own path---not that of a parent, a teacher, or anyone else. I hope he finds his path too. It doesn't matter what that path is, but I do hope it's the one that he wants.

And yes----it was indeed a fabulous day. But it wasn't over quite yet---there's still dinner! We enjoyed some icy margaritas and good ol' Tex-Mex (I'm soooo going to miss good Tex-Mex!) at Los Cucos (ironically, the same place another half of my family and I had dinner at the night before my younger brother graduated from A&M). And then, it was indeed time to call it a day. And what a good one it was.

Good Night Irene.