Packing up and moving again...

For some reason it has been a tough thing for me to write about. Maybe it's anxiety over the details. Maybe it is disbelief. Maybe it is just frightening. But we are definitely moving.

Our time here has been a dichotomy. We have come to love a few wonderful people, the sunshiny days at Sea World, Sammy's school, and some familiar haunts. But these have been overshadowed by painful job difficulties, housing failures, financial woes, and the stress of feeling like we don't belong.

I feel like I have been trying to walk wearing just one shoe. Things that should be enjoyable are surprisingly awkward. Our apartment has never felt enough like home for us to unpack our boxes. Half the time I can't point north. I still haven't gotten a Texas driver's license!

I really have tried to click here. I had a job, joined a band, and picked a good coffee shop. I attended parades and festivals, drank Lone Star beer, and even tried on some cowboy boots. I think I'm just a Missouri-shaped peg in a Texas-shaped hole.
So I find, once again, the impending descent of packers and movers. We are bound now for Kalamazoo, Michigan.

Why Kalamazoo? Dr. Wife has found a job there that is more her speed and pays better. I'm unemployed, so it is an easy time for me to switch. Sammy doesn't start kindergarten for another year, so this is a good time from that front.

The town itself is a small, college town. That part is more our speed. It is much closer to my brewing brother and to several other close friends. It has bike paths and a climbing gym, several microbreweries and a cute downtown. I will have to deal with some serious winters. They do not screw around that far north when it comes to snow.

My friends in Texas, you will truly be missed. You did a damn good job of loving us, but it's time to hit I-35 again.

Someone else's treasure?

So what is so special about this trashcan? After all, Sea World has hundreds of them throughout the park. They are in the standard pebbled-concrete enclosures. This one had a fine trash bag and lid. In fact, it was in most ways as natural as they come.

But apparently, this one is delicious. How do I know? Because I watched a two year old boy licking the concrete sides. Not just touching his tongue to it, but truly licking it. His face showed sublime ecstasy as he ran it repeatedly up the sides of this filth-sicle. No grimace of disgust, no hesitation, and no restraint. He licked it with passionate glee. God only knows where his parents were, though the scream that erupted from an angry mother moments later indicated that eventually they noticed Mommy's Little Angel was missing.

But really, all that I could grasp was:

HE WAS LICKING THE DAMN TRASH CAN.

It's made of people!

Aspect 3: Big Red Soda. In my never-ending quest for the Essence of Texan, I have come across something called "Red Soda" or "Big Red Soda". They appear to be much the same, but that is all I know of them. At first, I thought they might be bottled by the folks at Nihi, a division of RC that still produces Peach Nihi soda in some parts of the country, as well as grape and blue cream soda. But I was wrong.
So what is this stuff? Damned if I know. All anyone can tell me about it is that it's "good with barbecue." This makes it competition with beer in my world, and that's a competition nothing can win. When asked what flavor it is, folks around here reply, "Why, it's red, silly."
Red is a color. Not a flavor. I even marginally disapprove of strawberry, cherry, or cinnamon, the internationally accepted flavors designated as red, being called red.
So will I try it? Dare I sample something whose only claim to the world is "I'm red"? I shall. The next time I approach a fountain, I will swerve away from the Cherry Coke, or Dr. Pepper, or even my more usual water. My cup will runneth over with Red Soda, and I will drink with gusto. And maybe a straw. Hell, I drank Lone Star beer. I can handle anything.

Flash stupid

I decided this morning that I would go find a nice nature trail in the city of San Antonio. I did some searching, and found a trail site that described the location of a 5 mile nature trail. After a brief Google Maps consultation, I took off.

My bad choice occurred when, upon arriving at the desired area, I found a road block. You know the ones, the orange and white saw-horses that are put up when, say, a road has flooded out. I mean, come on, who really believes those things anyway?

Now, I'm an experienced driver. I know that you don't drive into water. And there was none, so I followed a little dirt access path past the barracade. Oddly enough, another driver did this shortly afterwards.

I drove slowly down the road, looking for evidence of this trailhead, and as I reached the top of a hill, I saw that there was indeed flooding across the bottom. So, I turned around, figuring I'd try again another day and just hit the gym. The car behind me turned around after I did, obviously reaching the same conclusion. However, she did so much more quickly. Which is why the cop who was guarding the flooded road caught her first.

I finished turning around and attempted to drive calmly passed the officer and back out past the barricade. He gave me a gesture of "talk to the hand" which I interpreted to mean "stop."

At which point, he began the rather intense interrogation. The sole purpose of which seemed to be getting me to understand what a complete idiot I was. He examined my Kansas information, and listened to me explain that I was a clueless hiker looking for a trail (thankfully, marked up Google Map was handy). He berated me with some pretty deserving little jabs, and then asked me a rather odd question:

Officer: "Are you a mass murderer?"
Confused me: "No, sir. I'm a high school teacher."

I left with a stern warning, and I doubt the woman pulled over before me (who was waiting in her car during my questioning) got away as cleanly as I did. A tow truck was approaching as I left...

One fiddle ... check

I am attempting to distill from the masses of people I encounter the true essence of Texan. Although the stereotyped "cowboy" and "Mexican" can be found, I'm pleasantly surprised at the range of characters. It is refreshing to know that my previous definition of "Texan" needs to change. So I am going to try to define and experience these common Texan commonalities, or Texanalities, as I filter them. My goal is to allow you, my precious reader, the dream of becoming a Texan without ever having to give into the stereotypes that you so feared (such as Fat Rattlesnake Rancher).

Aspect 1: Lone Star Beer. It seems to exist solely in 16 oz. tall cans, though it has recently been created as a "lite" beer. It is the favorite of cowboys, blues musicians, punks, psychobillies, and texicans alike. Upon cracking one of these tallboys open, one immediately tastes its peers: Schlitz, Natural Light, and Old Milwaukee. If it weren't for the good blues at the bar while I was consuming this rusty-urine flavored carwash water reject, I would have puked it back into the can. I will never drink it again. Ever. But since I have consumed one, I am closer to being Texan.

Aspect 2: Cowboy Boots. I am going to buy a pair. I haven't worn any since I was six, and I doubt that pair would fit anymore. It seems you don't have to be a cowboy to wear them here. Just willing to commit to wearing jeans. We may wait for winter for this experience. It seems that a true Texas man doesn't mind dehydrating through his undercarriage, but I like to let a cool breeze in from time to time. Cowboy boots around here can be worn with suits, slacks, dresses, kilts, jeans, but not shorts. It is amazing what a variety there are. There will be an entire blog about the shopping trip. Just you wait...

House of Lies

Well, it turns out that an agreement to let my wife move into a house, rent it, and buy it can change on mother's day while she drives to the house to sign the papers. That's right, it was sold out from under us. Dr. Wife is now in San Antonio, living in a motel, trying to find an apartment to rent. Our stuff moves in three weeks.

I'm so fucking mad right now I could throw bricks at kittens.

Baby drive south

For those folks in the area, we are hosting a little bye-bye shindig on Saturday 5/12 for the new Dr. Wife. Come on by between 3:00 and 6:00pm and say a little goodbye to the good doctor, because on Sunday she moves to Texas. The newly-three-year-old and I will be following her down at the start of June.

Here's another pic of the house. We dig it. Yes I covered the address. If you want to know where it is, let the bribery commence.

So humble

We have had our offer accepted, and will be renting this place until our home sells, at which point we will buy it. The back yard is full of more twisted versions of these trees, and there are already solid anchors for swings and hammocks. It has a lovely room just aching for guest room status, though I do ask that you all come visit a few at a time. If you all visited at once it would be a wild and naughty time in that room that I just don't think Texas is ready for.

It is ready to move in, though it needs new windows. The nice part is, we won't have to move our stuff into storage or an apartment. We can move right on in. I can fill the whole garage with junk, as is the way of my people.

So look out, San Antonio. We's is a comin'.