How Can I Be a Yankee?

Week Two on the coast, and I'm learning a lot. But first, my really big news. I got back the test results from my oncologist and all is clear. In fact, she said, "your blood work is the best ever." So, my husband and I toasted to the great news. Now, I have to find another oncologist nearby and hopefully he/she will be as compassionate and awesome as my original one.

Now, let me detail my most recent lessons. First, I've been warned about snowbirds. As Nydia from the nail salon told me, "they come down here beginning around September. My husband calls them "the 'M' states." Oh, the "M" states, I said. Nydia looked at me and then said, "Montana, Michigan, Massachusetts..." I know the "M" states, I said. I passed geography and U.S. history. "They come down here in their big RV's," she said. Check, I will be alert for RV's from the "M" states.

Then yesterday, the worst lesson came. The Internet repair guy was over and when I told him we are from Dallas/Fort Worth he said, "I wouldn't tell people that around here." So, I just had to ask, "why?"

"Because you're a Yankee," he said.

Jump back Jack! "I'm not a Yankee. I'm a native Texan," I corrected him.

"Don't matter," he said. "You're from north of Austin."

Well, if that doesn't crumble my brown bread! If he wasn't bigger than me and wearing steel-toed boots, I might have argued with him the point. But really, how can a Native Texan be a Yankee?

I mean, I know a Yankee. He's my father. AND, he's from an "M" state (Massachusetts). So, I guess, I'm guilty by association.

I'd better give Dad this insight when he visits.

Wondering if he could admit that, yes, he's from an "M" state -- Mississippi.

The Wondering Texan

Can We Make It In This Small Town When Starbucks Couldn't?

At the beach yesterday

Well, we're here in small town Texas on the coast. We've gone from a metroplex area with more than 6.5 million people to a small coastal town with 9,400 people. The main thing I ask here is "why?" Not "why are we here?" but "why is that driver waving at me?" and "why are the day camps free?" and "why are total strangers talking to us and giving our kids Popsicles?"

People in small towns are friendly. It's a broad statement, I know, considering I have only one week of experience in one small town, but I think it may be true across this nation.

Our neighbor in our temporary home has two boys, a trampoline without the side netting and a rickety tree house consisting of two plywood boards, no railings. This would never do in the 'burbs. The homeowners association would have you tarred and feathered. The boys wanted my son to come into their home to play. My son responded "I don't think I can since my mom doesn't know your mom." The boys looked at my son as if he were a martian. In the city, you teach stranger danger before potty training.

Then, the other day I signed the kids up for day camps next month. "How much are they?" I asked the older lady with soft white hair and broad smile. "They're free," she said. "Why? What's the catch?" I asked. "There's a grant for all county residents allowing children to attend for free," she said. Quickly, I signed the kids up before the rules changed. As I looked over the dates and times trying to coordinate schedules, the lady stared at me and said, "You're confusing me." Apparently, scheduling isn't a big problem in a small town.

The local coffee shop named "The Daily Grind." It's also an art gallery.

Yesterday, I was in dire need of a pedicure, so I popped into a nearby place and met another lady named Nydia.  She informed me that next weekend the city hosts its big arts festival. "Have you ever been to an arts festival?" she asked me. I had this one in the bag. "Of course, I'm from Dallas/Fort Worth. There are really big ones up there." She smiled politely at me and then said, "This is a really big one too. You better get your grocery shopping done before Friday." I blinked and stared at her. "Why?" I asked. "Because the tourists all come in and buy up all of the staples. But you can still buy beer. The town never runs out of beer for some reason." Good to know.

I also popped into a decorating store hoping to get some ideas for recovering my sofa and chair. "Do you reupholster?" I asked the saleswoman. "No, we don't. We just have some fabrics. But we do recommend a man who does boat covers."

When it took a week to get Internet service, I asked our other neighbor where the nearest Starbucks was. She laughed at me (a common reaction my family generates). "It went out of business. It's now the Burger King. And Chili's left too. It's now being turned into a K-Bobs." Good to know.

So, next week, my list of things to do is buy groceries before they are gone, contact the boat cover man, and figure out something for the kids and I to do on Mondays since everything is closed here on that day. 

Wondering if a man who makes boat covers can really reupholster my sofa.

The Wondering Texan

Unearthing Memories

Our life in boxes

Well, we're finally moving! Over the weekend, my husband and I had a great time cleaning out files and drawers unearthing old photos, cards and letters jammed among the old pay stubs, receipts and other miscellaneous papers. I found a card he sent me when we found out I was pregnant with our first child. He found an old apology letter from me after our first real argument as newlyweds. I carefully gathered the cards from my mother's passing and after my cancer diagnosis to take to our new home. As long as I live, I will never let those words of comfort from friends leave my possession.

So, at 7:30 a.m., yesterday, the movers appeared with boxes and tape in hand. And unfortunately for them, they are from Wisconsin and we're Texas natives and TCU alumni. After running errands yesterday, I was greeted by the movers with, "She's back!" Then the lead mover joked, "You can't leave again. Your husband gets mean when you're not around."  I laughed and said, "Really? I usually have the opposite effect on him."

As most people know, in Texas football is king. No sport comes close except for maybe barbecuing, which is also taken seriously. Apparently, my husband has been rubbing in TCU's victory over Wisconsin in last November's Rose Bowl. Apparently, it was getting brutal.

So, at 7:30 a.m., today, the movers dutifully appeared at our door. And promptly, my husband turned on the recorded Rose Bowl game on our flat screen TV.  My husband shows no mercy.

In addition to having to succumb to my husband's ribbing, it's suppose to be 100 degrees today. Summer is in full swing in Texas. 

Well, that's it for now. I've got to get back to refereeing.

Wondering if men ever outgrow boyish antics.

The Wondering Texan

Guys Be Gone

Well, I'm back. For the last 20 minutes, I've been checking my email which I haven't been able to for a week. The kids and I went to Corpus for the weekend to look for homes and when we got back, our router was fried. Which brings me to today's topic -- guys. Not my guys. But the kind of guys who wear uniform shirts with their name on the breast pocket and they usually carry clipboards.

For the last eight months, I've done almost nothing but talk to guys. The appraisal guy, real estate guy, painter guy, home repair guy, A/C guy, inspection guy, lawn guy, roofer guy, Internet guy, and carpet cleaning guy. And they all look to me for two things -- direction and money. They're all nice guys, but seriously, the only decision I want to make now is whether or not to wait until 5 p.m. (Central, Pacific or Mountain time) to have a frozen margarita.

The other night, the home repair guy was trying to install new bathtub stoppers which didn't fit. He patiently illustrated for me why they weren't working. I tried my best to cover my "seriously, do I look like I care?" facial expression. A few months ago, the painter guy asked me what color did I want for the upstairs playroom. "Something neutral," I said. Painter guy quickly pulled out of his pocket a Pantone packet, fanned it out like a peacock's tail and asked, "Which one."  Clearly, I lack in providing focused direction.

The one relief came earlier this week when my realtor asked if I knew an extermination guy to haul out a dead rodent from our attic which was found upon inspection. "I do, my brother," I said. "He owns his own extermination business." 

So, I called Carl. Although he wears the standard uniform shirt with his name embroidered on the pocket, he doesn't look to me for any answers. Forty-plus years of experience of me being his sister has taught him not to look to me for solutions. When I called him, the conversation was more him thinking out loud then asking me.

Me: Can you come get a rodent out of the attic?
Him: I wonder what kind of rodent it is?
Me: A dead one.
Me: When can you come?
Him: Sometime soon. I'll let you know.
Me: Before the 17th. Please.

So, I'll be glad when this chapter of my life ends. No  more home guys. Just my guys. By the way, my little guy lost a tooth today and upon pulling it out, dropped it down the sink drain. Guess I'll have to get a guy to get it out.

Just wondering why guys always seem to be so handy.

The Wondering Texan

Passing Time in a Man's Domain

Some of the elk on display

Over the weekend, we had to get our family out of the house for three hours so our buyers could have their home inspections. Well, my husband and son thought it would be great to whittle the hours away at Cabela's, the mecca of hunting/fishing/boating, and all things sporty.

Do you know how many types of deer there are? I don't either, but I guarantee you they are all stuffed and on display within the store. I've dashed in the store before to buy gift certificates, but this was the first time I've actually looked around. I soon became separated from my family and had to go on a search and find mission. I first tried the gun section. I was the only woman there with guys in camo. Nope, they weren't there. Shocking I know. Then I tried the boats section. A lone salesman asked if I needed help. "Yes," I said. "I don't need a boat, but I need my husband." He couldn't help.

Then it dawned on me. I was alone. No one was whining to me about anything. No one was pulling on me. No one was asking me if I had gum or mints or money. Peace. I love Cabela's!!!

USPS mail catcher

So, I wandered up to the "Home and Cabin" section. If I were buying a mountain home, this would be a good start in decorating it. Anyone need a big mouth bass mailbox? Then, I found the candy section. Yummy, fudge. And then I saw the candles. I love candles. I discovered a new Yankee Candle scent called Pink Sands just perfect for our new Gulf Coast home.

Finally, I called my husband and found my family in the fishing section. Our 12-year-old daughter said, "Mom, PLEASE can we go?" My husband said, "Look at this! I'm going to buy it." He was holding up a large machete that said "Gator Machete" on it. Our conversation went something like this:

Me: "Why?"
Him: "Because I don't have one."
Me: "Are you planning on hacking gators?"
Him: "Cool, I could."
Me: "It looks dangerous. We have children. You had better safeguard it."
Him: "I'll keep it in my car."
Me: "That's not what I had in mind."

Pretty toes for summer

Finally, exasperated, I looked at our daughter and asked if she wanted to get a pedicure at which she squealed with joy. "I want zebra print nails," she said.

As we left, I told the greeter guys up front that Cabela's really needs a mani/pedi section for all mothers/wives/daughters dragged there. Keeping nails pretty during the summer months is a sport too.

Still wondering how many types of deer there are.

The Wondering Texan