Back Home Again in Indiana

"Back Home Again in Indiana" is one of my favorite songs. It always comes to mind, when the weather here in central Texas turns chilly and damp - like today. It's gray, on/off drizzly, and in the 40s. The leaves of what few deciduous trees we have are on the ground or about to be blown to the ground.

Red, orange, and gold leaves aren't abundant like in the midwest, east, and northeast. Mostly they are green or brown, but in the hill country we are blessed with "real" trees: live oak, sycamore, maple, and another variety of oak with smaller leaves. These are the only trees that grow "tall." Few grow above a second-story house, which bugs me. In Indiana there aren't any scrub mesquite or palm trees, thank goodness. I really dislike those species. People who never leave Texas do not have a clue what real trees are like.

A few years ago my husband and I lived in the Santa Cruz mountains with the towering redwoods all around us. Now those are TREES and I was in heaven.

In Indiana most houses have basements. God, what glorious structures! They are cool in the summer and warm in the winter. We made the most of our basement with playhouses and rollerskates.

Most of Texas doesn't have basements because of either the shifting sand or the impermeable rock.

Although I'm not pleased with the topography and biology of Texas, the people of the lone star state are quite friendly and homespun - for the most part. Those who aren't are either California transplants or snooty Republicans...but that's another post.

Holiday humbug

Tomorrow's Thanksgiving and then will come Christmas/New Year's. These holidays used to be more meaningful when I lived away from family. Now that we have moved back to Texas and into the heart of the family, holidays just aren't special. We see my parents a couple times a week, sisters several times a month, grandchildren and children daily, weekly, or monthly. Every time it's like a mini-reunion. Geez! How much love can I take?

I'm not a conversationalist. I'm an observer and writer. I say something when I have something to say. Chit-chat bores me; however, several of my family members talk enough for both of us.

I keep Christmas for the grandkids. The rest of us don't need presents. Good grief! We can buy what we want or need. I don't have room for more stuff.

I'm thankful all year round. I don't need an appointed day dictated to me. Ugh!

Happy Holidays to you!

Oops!

Just got back from San Antonio, where I took the grandkids to see their mother at the finish line of the marathon. We went out to celebrate the 13- mile run and her birthday, as well. (You don't really expect me to tell you which birthday, do you?)

So, I'm exhausted from the four miles we had to walk to/from the Alamodome, I unload the Costco stuff I bought on the way home, and think about a nap. Of course, the three glasses of iced tea I had at lunch has filled my bladder. As I head to the bathroom, I discover my skort zipper is down. Yikes! When did that happen? At the restaurant, I think, and I only went to Costco. My shirt covered the "oops," I hope, the whole time I was there.

This immediately brought to mind a couple other fashion disasters. Many years ago I dressed for work in the dark on a winter morning so as not to wake my husband. When I got to work, I saw that my sweater was inside out.

Several years ago I needed some new jeans. I found some, bought them, and put them on. When I got to the grocery store, I looked down and saw that the long, sticky size-label was still adhered to the thigh. Geez, talk about embarrassing!

A few months ago I was in a hurry for my niece's shower and pulled a pair of loafers out of the closet. After greeting everyone, I sat down and happen to see my feet, upon which were two different colored shoes. (That happens more than I like to think because, when I like the fit of shoes, I buy several pairs in different colors.)

Locked doors

Today I came home with arms full and fumbled with my keys to unlock the door. I resented having to lock it, but we had a break-in last year. Only our laptop and a camera were stolen. I was gone less than an hour during the middle of the day. (Previously, because of our "safe" neighborhood, we usually only locked the doors when we were going to be gone all day or overnight.)

A policeman took notes and the serial numbers, etc. Our neighbors saw nothing awry. No detective came over to take fingerprints. The door had been unlocked, so it was our fault. Neither item was ever recovered; they weren't pawned locally. It was surmised that someone was just walking along, saw our empty driveway, tried the door, and took what was close at hand.

These things were replaceable, but that isn't the point. Someone invaded our home and stole from us. The police weren't helpful or encouraging. Our security had been compromised, so now we have to lock up every time we leave the house. That sucks!

Our belief in the innate goodness of others has been chipped.

In the wee hours of the mornin'

Took hubby(Danny) to the airport this morning. Been up since 4am. He's going to visit his daughter(Megan) and 1-year-old grandson(Necalli) in CA. It's just a long weekend visit; he'll be back Monday night.

It was foggy out on the freeway, but some drivers ignored it. Traffic wasn't heavy at that hour, but I still was amazed that there was any at all. I expected the semis, which run heavily up and down the I-35 corridor. That there were so many others driving was surprising. Who needs to be at work so early? Then I thought: Well, Toyota's in San Antonio, probably with 24-hr. shifting, medical personnel at the plethora of hospitals, airport personnel and passengers for the six o'clock flights, and all the rest of the 24-hr. places. In a city of a couple million, I guess, those are reasons why there is never "no traffic."

I like to be the only one on the road, but that only happens in rural areas and not really that much anymore. Texas' wide open spaces are becoming narrower.

Driving in the pre-dawn hours on a Sunday is about as good as it gets. The sky gently dimming up, houses still lightless, neon road signs beckoning - sighhhh.

Listing

I love lists. Guess that would make me a lister!

It all began when I was a child and made a list of what I wanted from Santa. Then I would write to my best friend and list all the presents I received. Bam! I was hooked.

While I was raising my three children and working, lists were a must. At night I would make a list of the following days activities/errands. In the morning I would expand and embellish that list. Then, throughout the day another list or two would be necessitated.

In the past few years, for the most part, my listing has been limited to shopping and I seem to have managed. Of course, there are days that would be too confusing without a list to guide me. It has nothing to do with age and memory loss (I am grinning here).

I make lists of names, unusual names, while watching football. There are a lot of weird names on the backs of those jerseys. It's really fascinating!

In the medical transcription course I am taking, lists abound. It's soooo exciting!