Fish Sticks and Middle School

The other night my husband asked why I'm not writing as much anymore. I told him I'm really busy and besides, I haven't had much to write about.

He looked at me and said, "Seriously, you work in a middle school."

True, middle school is a target rich environment with acne, young teenage drama, drug sniffing dogs and  adults who are simultaneously trying to maintain control and stay sane.

Last week was my first encounter with a drug sniffing dog. He was black and white with a patch of black fur over one eye. He was so cute I wanted to pet him but figured that probably wasn't allowed. Anyway, the principal, the assistant principal (who is a giant of a man), and the police officer came into the classroom asking everyone to leave the room minus backpacks, jackets and purses.

Afterward I told my husband who asked if the dog found anything. "No, except probably my leftover venison chili."

Which brings me to another school topic  -- lunches. Occasionally I will eat a school lunch. And let me tell you, the school lunch matrons are as intimidating as they were back in the '70s and '80s when I was in school. Hair nets are never a good look on anyone. Anyway, right before Christmas I was going through the line when one of them asked, "Why are you here?"

I was stunned and felt like Oliver Twist asking for more porridge. She then caught herself and said, "It's just that in the teacher's lounge a special holiday lunch has been set up for you guys."

Last week, my husband made my lunch. I hate making lunches. I would rather clean an entire kitchen after a tornado than make lunches. I went to the teacher's lounge and opened my bag. Inside he neatly tucked a little note saying, "I love you. Have a good day." And then I pulled out two pieces of cold, leftover pizza; a handful of red grapes, and about six pieces of Hershey's kisses in red and green wrappers. It looked like a five-year-old's lunch. Poor guy, apparently packing lunches isn't his favorite thing either.

Occasionally at school some students will ask me if they can eat in the classroom with me. It's OK with me as long as they follow my rules: 1) clean up their own messes 2) don't be too loud, and 3) don't bug me when I'm reading my Kindle.

But I imagine they are eating in the classroom for the same reasons as me -- it offers a quiet refuge from the noise and drama of middle school.

Some of these kids are in desperate need of a hug. But since I can't do that I smile at them, listen to their stories and tell them to take another bite of their turkey melt.

Wondering why after all of these years the basic dynamics of middle school haven't changed?

The Wondering Texan

Miles and Miles of Texas with a Deer on the Hood

Skull on the ranch.

As with everyone else, I've been busy with post holiday craziness -- packing up Christmas ornaments, trying to lose the extra 5 lbs. that has landed on my hips, and cleaning out the refrigerator of unrecognizable leftovers wrapped in red Saran Wrap. So far, I've be successful with clearing the clutter and tossing the bio-hazards from the frig.

But we did have a nice holiday seeing friends and family in Fort Worth, and trip to our friend's ranch in Noodle, Texas, where my son killed his first deer. No 11-year-old could be prouder. You know that scene in Family Christmas Vacation when Chevy Chase ropes a huge Christmas tree to the top of his family's vehicle? Well, for the seven hour trip back home, we had the deer affixed to the top of the SUV. You know you're in Texas when you pull through a McDonald's for lunch and not one person is surprised, startled or disgusted by the deer. They only register a mild raised eyebrow. So, us and deer headed home through Paint Rock, population 273; crossing Hog River; and skimming through the Hill Country. As the song by Asleep at the Wheel says, we saw miles and miles of Texas.

Now, our son has the hunting bug and last Sunday he and my husband went duck hunting at a nearby ranch in Fulton, Texas. Rain was coming down and it was something like 40 degrees outside. Surely they wouldn't go hunting I thought. I was wrong. When they came home, my son raced through the den as I asked, "How was it?" He immediately shot into a steaming hot shower where he stayed for 10 minutes. His lips were purple for an hour. But he had fun and they shot a duck.

So, to my friends who have only girly daughters and/or husbands who don't hunt, let me tell you what it's like to live with these types of men and a tomboy girl.

1) I have waders drying from a hook on my patio. They will probably be there for a while since it's been raining for two days now.
2) I have shotgun shells drying out on my laundry room counter.
3) I have a deer head on my patio shelf that the dogs have pulled down in an apparent attempt to make it a raw hide.

Our wonderful Abilene hosts.

4) I have to separate my laundry in the usual fashion -- whites, colors, darks. Plus add one, camo/hunting clothes which stink like dirty feet and cheese.
5) I have homemade dried venison jerky.
6) I have to light candles to mask the smell of gun cleaner out of the house.
7) I have to be the sane one when my husband suggest we should put the gutted deer on the front lawn as a deterrent against neighborhood deer eating our plants. I told him we would probably be reported to MHMR and PETA.

An old gas station in Albany, Texas.

8) I have to find an ice pack for my daughter who got a huge raspberry between her eyes from the rifle scope as it kicked. Yes, my daughter. And I had to reassure her that it would be gone by the start of school.

So, add all of this to the normal routine of managing a house. Not that I'm complaining. I'm really not.

Wondering how to cook duck.

The Wondering Texan

An Albany church.

Albany has a few cute shops dotting it's old town center.