Diary

Alligators who wear vests

Well, I didn’t mean not to post yesterday.

Which isn’t exactly true because I’m in Bryan with Gulley and the kids at Honey and Big’s house and we were too busy laughing at a random assortment of things for me to take time to focus and write. Not that I really ever focus but, you know, there’s always a first time.

This trip wasn’t originally part of our Thanksgiving week plan, but Gulley and I went to lunch last Tuesday and agreed we were both a little sad that a trip to Bryan/College Station wasn’t on our agenda because we sometimes forget that a road trip with the kids is less relaxing than a trip to Walmart on Black Friday.

Because of soccer games and football games and end of season sports parties, we weren’t going to make it in town for the Aggie game. However, we would make it in time to eat homemade soup at Honey’s and eat brownies and that made it seem worthwhile. Plus, we really wanted to take the kids to Santa’s Wonderland because we have to face the reality that they may not be that into that whole thing for too many more years.

Actually, I don’t really want to face that reality. I find denial is a lovely place this time of year because passing of time LA LA LA LA LA I CAN’T HEAR YOU.

Anyway, we left town about three on Saturday. As usual being in the car with the kids made the trip feel at least an hour longer, largely because they like to spend the last hour asking “Are we there? Are we almost there?” and ten minutes later, “ARE WE THERE YET?”

And Will always enjoys waiting until we’re about five minutes from our destination to announce “I HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM SO BAD RIGHT NOW AND I CAN’T HOLD IT”. Truthfully, I think he just does it to mess with me. But I don’t want to bet the upholstery on my back seats on it so we have to pull into the DQ parking lot.

On Saturday night we stayed up late visiting with Gulley’s Aunt Diane and had the best time. Diane cooks Thanksgiving dinner and we spent some time discussing various Thanksgiving side dishes because I was a little puzzled by a few of you that mentioned noodles in Friday’s comments. I have never heard of a noodle for Thanksgiving. Now, my Me-Ma and Pa-Pa used to serve spaghetti and meatballs on Thanksgiving in addition to turkey, but they were Italian. Spaghetti and meatballs are pretty much an option at every meal.

But just a noodle? Like a plain noodle? Or an egg noodle? How does the whole noodle thing work? I don’t understand.

As for me, my favorite Thanksgiving side dish is a tie between broccoli-rice casserole and dressing with just the right amount of homemade cranberry sauce on the fork with it. I couldn’t care less about the turkey. I don’t care if it’s fried or smoked or baked or whatever. I think poultry is kind of foul. Get it? Foul?

I’m so sorry.

(I don’t really think it’s foul as much as it’s just not my favorite. But the pun worked.)

We also watched Baylor beat K-State and Stanford beat Oregon and wondered if the world was ending. Between that and the whole Hostess cupcake thing it doesn’t seem out of the realm of possibility. Although now it appears that the Twinkie may live to see another day. I have to think that all those people freaking out and buying up all the Twinkies haven’t actually eaten a Twinkie recently. Or ever.

On Sunday morning we slept late and then went to see Nena at the assisted living home. We visited and she was especially interested to hear about my visit to the eyebrow specialist. She told me she has always gotten her hair cut by only well-known hairdressers who cut famous people’s hair. (This isn’t exactly true, but she likes to say it because the woman who used to cut her hair once cut Barbara Bush’s hair.) Anyway, she’s been debating whether she should let one of the aids at the assisted living home cut her hair. Gulley and I told her she needed to feel free to say no because you can’t just trust anyone with your hair.

We also got in a discussion about marriage and she told us that she and Granddaddy had NOTHING in common, except, WELL, he really liked to eat and she likes to eat, too. Which, you don’t really hear people mention that specific commonality in premarital counseling, but it must have been enough because they were happily married for sixty-six years.

After our visit we got in the car to go eat and somehow we all started telling jokes. I don’t really know a whole lot of jokes because I usually hear them and forget them immediately. But my friend Annie Downs just finished doing thirty days worth of jokes on her blog and a few were still fresh in my mind.

I was feeling inordinately proud of myself for remembering the jokes so I asked the kids, “What do you call an alligator wearing a vest?”

Will called out from the back seat, “A PSYCHOLOGIST!”

Which, hilarious, but no.

The correct answer is an Investigator.

But Gulley and I have spent the rest of trip discussing various things going on in our lives and wondering if either of us needs to go see an alligator wearing a vest. And you have to admit that sounds so much more fun than saying you’re going to see a psychologist.

Feel free to use it for yourself.

Later that night we took the kids to Santa’s Wonderland. I’m happy to say they had a great time and still loved the fake snow and the hayride and all the lights.

They even sat on Santa’s lap and told him what they wanted for Christmas. Caroline wished for a puppy.

Thankfully, Santa was non-commital on that wish.

Because a new puppy might be enough to send me to an alligator wearing a vest.
Dear SEC, Welcome to Texas A&M

Y’all.

There are people who believe that college football is just a game. And to those people I say…well…I don’t say much because we don’t have anything in common.

After the game on Saturday, I got so many texts and emails from y’all congratulating me on the big win over Alabama and reminding me that I believed it could happen. But here’s the thing about being an Aggie, I always believe it can happen. That’s what Aggies do. We believe in each other even when everyone else says the odds are stacked against us.

And, sure, this has led to some heartbreak over the years. It was just as recently as last Thanksgiving when I had to console Caroline as she cried after the Aggies lost in the last minute to t.u. I stroked her hair and said, “Having great expectations and being disappointed is part of being an Aggie. We are loyal to our team. It’s what we do. It’s because we always believe the best is going to happen and sometimes it just doesn’t.”

But on Saturday it did.

It all came together in one of those perfect moments that people will talk about for years to come. We went into Bryant Denny Stadium against the #1 team in the nation and walked out of there with one of the biggest victories in Aggie football history.

At some point during my high school years, I decided I wanted to go to Texas A&M. We didn’t have any family ties or anything like that, it just seemed like a good choice for reasons I can’t even remember. Then I went to visit campus at the beginning of my senior year in high school and that sealed the deal. I’ll never forget watching an introductory film on the Spirit of Aggieland before taking a campus tour and getting chills at the legacy of spirit and heart and tradition.

My point is that I have loved Aggie football for over twenty years. During those years I’ve experienced some major football highs: Aaron Wallace holding up Andre Ware’s helmet as we shocked the University of Houston, destroying Ty Detmer and BYU in the Holiday Bowl, the 1998 Big XII Championship game when we beat Kansas State, the emotional win over the Longhorns after Bonfire fell in ’99, and beating #1 Oklahoma in 2002 at Kyle Field.

I have jumped up and down and cheered and yelled until I’ve lost my voice. I’ve said words you’ll never hear in Sunday School and probably let way too many of my Saturday evening moods be determined by how bad or good the Aggies played. There have been countless times that P has had to tell me to TAKE IT DOWN A NOTCH, GLADYS.

Because there have also been some serious lows. Standing in the freezing cold, possibly hungover, at The Cotton Bowl in ’91 with six of my friends as we watched the Aggies lose 10-2 to Florida State and shared one hot dog since we’d spent all our money the night before celebrating New Year’s Eve in Dallas because college kids are smart. Then doing the same thing the next year, but watching us lose to Notre Dame. And the next year as we lost to Notre Dame again. And basically the entire Dennis Franchione era.

But my love for the Aggies has never wavered.

Because it’s about so much more than just football. Texas A&M has given me some of the best memories of my life. I arrived there as a scared eighteen-year-old way back in ye olden days of 1989 and left in 1994 (shout out for a victory lap and an extra football season) with memories I’ll have forever. To this day, all of my closest friends are the people I met at A&M. I met P there. And I began to turn my life around there, thanks to Breakaway Bible study. Being an Aggie has left an imprint on my life forever in all the best ways.

I mean, I went to see the group Digital Underground in concert at DeWare Field House. That alone was worth whatever my dad paid in tuition money. “Stop whatcha doin’, ’cause I’m about to ruin the image and the style that ya used to.” It was The Humpty Dance, y’all.

That’s why I love Aggies. And that’s why I love Aggie football. It’s been over twenty years of throwing cotton on the field and wearing cotton in my gold hoop earrings. It’s yelling until I’m hoarse and freaking out and getting tears in my eyes every time I hear the announcer say, “Now forming at the North End of Kyle Field, the nationally famous Fightin’ Texas Aggie Band” and the crowd goes wild. It’s getting a job at the ticket office as a student so I could get fifty yard line seats to every game. It’s reading all the message boards and tailgating and following every step of recruiting to see what high school players will decide to come play at A&M.

Like our school song says, “There’s a spirit that can ne’er be told”.

So all that to say, I was half-psychotic on Saturday during the game. (Actually, I was fully psychotic but I’m afraid you’ll judge me.) My hands were shaking in that way they do when I’m running on nothing but adrenaline. I could have lifted a school bus and thrown it down a city block. And I believed we could win, but I never imagined we’d score twenty points in the first quarter. It’s Alabama. Nick Saban would cut out a player’s liver if it meant he wouldn’t lose.

And, sure enough, they started to come back in the second quarter. I was concerned. I was mentally preparing myself for a potential heartbreak. I told Gulley I hoped Sumlin was giving the team a halftime speech reminiscent of the scene in Rocky IV when Rocky is fighting Ivan Drago and Duke says, “You see? You see? He’s not a machine, he’s a man, he’s a man. You made him bleed.”

Then maybe I had a moment where I thought it was odd that my brain still automatically references Rocky IV with that much ease.

By the third quarter, my stomach was in knots. I stood up. I sat down. I paced. We told the kids to quit eating their chips so loudly. We may have permanently scarred the dog. Gulley’s dad called at one point to tell us he got a cramp in his foot during the third quarter and was worried he was having a stroke from the stress.

And, frankly, we’d been worried about the same thing. The human body can only take so much.

When we missed the field goal in the fourth quarter, my heart sank. I prayed we weren’t about to see a miraculous Alabama comeback. And when it finally came down to fourth down and goal and A.J. McCarron threw that interception to Deshazor Everett, I’m pretty sure I blacked out for a good three seconds.

And I’m not even going to lie. Gulley and I jumped up and down until we wet our pants. That’s the downside of being a fanatic football fan when you’re a woman over forty who’s had a child. But it didn’t even matter.

Because, y’all, the Aggies beat the hell outta Alabama.

I’m also pretty sure I sustained a fairly significant rotator cuff injury from flailing my arms about wildly.

Totally worth it.

It was a golden day. There have been other victories, but after a year of hearing how the Aggies weren’t ready for the SEC and that the Aggies were going to be a lamb to the slaughter and how we were making a huge mistake, it felt like vindication.

But the thing is, Aggies aren’t surprised. We always believed it would happen. We knew we could compete in the best conference in college football. Granted, I don’t think we expected it to be this year, but Coach Sumlin and Johnny Manziel and the effort and heart of our entire team made it happen.

And, y’all, it is so much fun.

Which is why, immediately after we counted off the last ten seconds of the game, we loaded the kids up in my station wagon, grabbed Gulley’s Aggie flag and made several victory laps around the neighborhood honking the Aggie War Hymn.

We wanted them to always remember the night Aggie football opened the page on a new chapter. The night that a new era of Aggie football was on display nationwide.

And the night they saw their mamas lose their ever-lovin’ minds as they yelled “GIG’EM AGGIES” all through the neighborhood while Will kept asking, “Is this legal?”

Yes. Yes it is.

Gig’em.

Also, a huge thank you to our Veterans. Thank you for your brave service and sacrifice. We owe you all a huge debt of gratitude.
There and back again

I’m sitting here on the couch right now and trying to keep myself from eating an entire bag of Lifesavers Gummie Sours. They are my kryptonite.

Actually, they’re only my kryptonite on occasion. I can go months without eating them and then all of a sudden I’m hit with a massive craving and then I’ll eat them until I can’t feel my tongue. I think this particular craving started when I took Caroline into Dylan’s Candy Bar in The Galleria last week and she got some of those rainbow sour belts.

And then I ate them all.

It’s the sour. I love the sour. She also got all manner of gummy alligators and sharks and bears. And I couldn’t care less about those. But the rainbow belts got me. And now I’m about to eat myself into a sugar coma.

Anyway, we had a great time in Houston. We spent the last day at The Galleria looking around but left with nothing but a couple of drinks from Starbucks even though the Starbucks in the middle of The Galleria is the slowest Starbucks that has ever been created and I vow every time that I’ll never stop there again.

And then we went and looked around Kuhl-Linscomb which may be my favorite store ever. If you’re ever in Houston you should check it out. They have everything from books to makeup to bedding that will make you want to hide out until they close just so you can sleep there like those kids did in The Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler. Except that was in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York but whatever.

(Now I’m also thinking about the book Where the Heart Is when the girl spends every night in Walmart but none of this is important and I could follow this rabbit trail all the live long day.)

On Thursday morning we drove from Houston to Bryan in the middle of a torrential rain storm. It was that kind of rain where you can barely see the tail lights of the car in front of you and I told Caroline I needed her to be quiet so I could concentrate on driving. It didn’t really comfort me when she took that moment to ask if I had ever written out a will. What on earth? Like she was worried if she was going to get the house?

Fortunately the rain cleared up around Hempstead and we made it to Honey’s house just in time for a late lunch. The kids were glad to see each other and I was just glad to be out of the car and not discussing my last will and testament with my child.

And when we arrived I immediately got to hear about Nena’s hair. Gulley’s cousin was getting married on Saturday so Honey had made Nena an appointment to get her hair cut and styled on Thursday and Nena was not happy about this. She exclaimed, “THURSDAY? Oh, my hair will look like hell on Saturday. And you know I hate to use that word but I know my hair.”

Friday was Gulley’s birthday and her husband surprised us with a trip to the spa for massages and facials. Truthfully, I already knew about it but I’d been keeping it a secret for over a week which felt like an eternity because when Gulley and I were both talking about how much we needed a break it killed me not to blurt out “WE’RE GETTING MASSAGES TOMORROW. WITHOUT THE KIDS.”

So that was heavenly. And then we followed it up with a super classy birthday lunch at Wings-N-More because everyone knows a place called Wings-N-More is pretty much the same as a fancy tea room. Meanwhile, Gulley’s husband took the kids to eat lunch at The Dixie Chicken which is an Aggieland landmark for those of y’all who might not be familiar.

I think it’s safe to say the kids were thrilled by the whole experience. Especially because there’s a real live rattlesnake in a glass cage there and really what goes better with cheese fries than a rattlesnake viewing? J told us the kids said, “This place is COOL. The Moms would never take us here.”

Yes. Mainly because The Moms might have forgotten that the Chicken isn’t just a place to drink beer.

Later that night we all went to eat at Christopher’s for Gulley’s birthday dinner and it was just a great night. We warned the kids on the way over that this wasn’t the type of place where it was acceptable to play the “Who Ate The Burp?” game or to see how many times they could visit the restroom in one meal and they listened to us. For once. In fact, I feel like they embraced their fine dining experience.

It was a great meal and just a great night. Lots of love all around the table and thankfulness for years of family and friends.

Saturday morning Caroline and I drove back to San Antonio and I’ve been doing laundry ever since. Except for the two hours when I went to the grocery store to buy food.

And Lifesaver Gummie Sours.
Maybe this explains why I’ve always loved fish ‘n chips

I really can’t express how much I would rather eat a chocolate chip cookie than the orange I’m about to eat. In fact, I think I’m starting to have chocolate chip cookie hallucinations. The other night I saw a small Ziploc full of Quaker Oat Squares and for a moment it looked like a large cookie sitting on the kitchen counter. I almost pounced on it in my excitement. But it was Quaker Oat Squares.

And so I ate an orange.

And now I’m about to eat another orange.

I’ve eaten so many oranges over the last week that you may want to buy stock in some sort of Florida Orange Grower’s business. Not that such a thing even necessarily exists. I’m just trying to make a point. Get off me, I’m starving.

In the moments where I can hear my brain over my stomach I’m actually pretty pleased with my accomplishments. There were a few moments this weekend that tested my resolve, but I managed to meet my friend Melissa at a Mexican restaurant and only ate a handful of chips as opposed to the the two bowls I normally eat all by myself. And I ordered ceviche for my meal and only thought about taking off my boot and throwing it at the woman eating a bowl of queso at the next table a few times. That feels like a victory.

And then Saturday night Caroline and I went to eat Italian food with Mimi and Bops and I ordered the fish. Generally the only time I order fish is in the drive-thru at Long John Silver’s (Don’t judge me. Two piece fish and fries with malt vinegar sauce has been my weakness since the days when I still ate it while wearing one of those pirate hats made out of cardboard.) but fish seemed like a decent choice and I managed to stay away from the pasta. Sure, I cried bitter tears on the way home but I avoided the excessive carbs. I didn’t want to spend the night full of pasta and regret.

Last night I made a veggie frittata that my people and I actually really enjoyed. It was flavorful and easy and I may want to eat it every night from now on. Because what I’ve discovered is it’s so much easier to eat healthy when I’m at home and not at a restaurant hating people I’ve never met for all the delicious food they’re enjoying while I take small bites of my fish to make it last longer. Fish that has not been battered and deep fried and soaked in malt vinegar sauce the way God intended.

Caroline and I went over to Gulley’s on Saturday (P was hunting. I know this is shocking.) and Gulley and I talked at length about our healthy choices and eating apples and oranges. At one point her husband walked through the living room and said, “It’s like I don’t even know who y’all are.” And honestly, we don’t know who we are either, but having someone to commiserate with makes the whole experience so much better. Friends don’t let friends give up chocolate chip cookies alone.

The good news is I only have one more week that I’ll be this strict and then I’ll lighten up just a little bit. Maybe have a potato. Or six Cheetos. I haven’t really decided yet.

In other weekend news that is really much more interesting and exciting than my hunger pains, Caroline had a friend over on Saturday night. That’s not really the exciting part. But I made Caroline and her friend go watch T.V. in my bed because I could no longer ignore all the raves I keep hearing about the show Downton Abbey and was so excited to see it was on Netflix. (We can only watch Netflix in the living room. You don’t need to know this, but it explains why I wrote the sentence about the girls watching T.V. in my bed. In hindsight it probably would have been easier to just delete that sentence.)

As much as I’d heard about the show, I had no idea what it was about. In fact, I thought the name of the show was Downtown Abbey and assumed it must be about a group of nuns living in the big city. And given that preconceived notion, I was a little shocked that everyone loves it so much. I figured maybe it was like a modern day Mary Tyler Moore show, but with wacky, fun-loving nuns that were going to make it on their own in Chicago or something.

Well, it is not about nuns or a big city at all. It’s Downton Abbey and you really need to pronounce it with a proper British accent. Fortunately people compliment me on my British accent ALL THE TIME.

In case you’re like me and haven’t made the time to watch a show about nuns in the city, I’ll just tell you it’s actually a show about the wealthy Crawley family and their servants. And it’s set in England in 1912. That is very different than what I imagined.

But, y’all, it is so good. It took me a while to understand what they were saying because I don’t generally speak to many British aristocrats on a daily basis. I kept turning the volume up trying to hear better and thought about turning on the subtitles feature. Don’t get me wrong, the British accents are lovely. And I am not throwing stones at accents that are hard to understand, especially considering I once met a group of people who thought my younger sister’s name was “Jaime”(say that in your head like the Hispanic pronunciation) because they didn’t understand the way I pronounced “Amy”.

Anyway, I was hooked after the first episode and before I knew it I was on the fourth episode and it was way past my bedtime. But it made me so happy because there are few things I enjoy more than obsessively getting caught up with a newfound television love. (i.e. the summer I watched the entire first season of Alias in two days or last fall when I watched all of Veronica Mars in about a week or a month ago when I watched Army Wives without ceasing.)

So I’m on Episode 5 of Downton Abbey. The writing is brilliant and Maggie Smith as the Dowager Countess is unbelievable. And, best of all, Season two started Sunday night on PBS. That’s right. PBS. And when I set my DVR to record it, I was delighted to see that it’s actually under the heading “Masterpiece Theater”.

And somewhere in my head that makes me feel like I’m making up for all the brain cells I’ve lost watching various seasons of the Real Housewives.
It would appear I have found my words

So here’s something great. Caroline’s out of school for this entire week to celebrate Thanksgiving. Which means I won’t have to be up at 6:45 a.m. packing ham sandwiches and carrot sticks in a lunch box.

Instead I’ll be up at 6:45 a.m. growling, “GO BACK TO SLEEP. IT’S ONLY 6:45 IN THE MORNING. WHY ARE YOU AWAKE?”

I know this to be true because it’s what I did on Saturday and Sunday morning and I see no reason why it should be any different at this point. Even though it’s 10:33 p.m. right now and she’s still awake playing some game involving a barking Chihuahua on my iPhone.

I’ve never wished more that I didn’t own an iPhone.

Anyway, I picked her up from school on Friday afternoon and we went straight home to finish packing our suitcases so we could meet up with Gulley and her boys and hit the open road. We’ve had tickets to go see the Aggies play Kansas since August when I was naive and optimistic enough to believe the Aggies would be going into that game undefeated, ranked in the top ten and about to win a final Big XII Championship.

Bless my heart.

Hope springs eternal.

But we were still excited because it’s become a tradition for us to go see Honey and Big the weekend before Thanksgiving and it was going to be Caroline’s first Aggie football game and she doesn’t care if they’re ranked. She just cares if there will be popcorn and large snow cones.

We ended up taking two cars because Gulley’s husband was going with us and Caroline and I planned to drive to Houston on Sunday instead of home to San Antonio. (I realize this post is chockfull of unimportant details but we all know I have a fondness for over-explaining.) This led to much debate about who was going to ride in which car and with whom. For some reason Gulley’s husband didn’t go for our suggestion that he drive the car full of kids and let us ride together and so the journey began with me all by myself in the stay wag and Caroline in the car with Gulley, Gulley’s husband, Will, and Jackson.

It was a blissful forty-five minutes full of much loud singing to whatever I wanted to listen to.

(On a side note, I can’t explain how disturbing it is to me that I can remember ALL THE WORDS to any song by Juice Newton or Alabama even thirty years later. Yet I threw away my car keys in the trash last week. The human brain is a mystery.)

(Just call me Angel of the Morning.)

(Just touch my cheek before you leave me.)

We made a quick pit stop in San Marcos because Gulley and I are both at a point in life where we have to go to the bathroom every hour. It’s very glamorous. And while we were taking a bathroom break, Gulley hopped in the car with me along with Will and Caroline. Unfortunately Will had spent the previous forty-five minutes eating an entire bag of gummy bears and began to feel a little queasy right as we got to Bastrop.

Which led to Gulley having to climb into the backseat of the car and hold an empty bag of Doritos while he threw up in it. Needless to say the entire experience caused me to suffer from post-traumatic Ecuadorian bus syndrome. The bag of chips, the car sickness, the crying. It was a dark time for me. And I had to MIND OVER MATTER myself to not pull over and get sick right along with Will.

I called Gulley’s husband to let him know we needed to stop again, chiefly to dispose of the offensive Doritos bag but also to procure a Sprite to settle Will’s stomach. We pulled over at a Shell station and Gulley and Will got back in their own car. Caroline chose to stay with me because we both know that once Will blows there’s a good chance it will happen again.

When we finally pulled up in Honey and Big’s driveway an hour later, Gulley told me that she’d sat in the back seat with Will the rest of the trip and stroked his hair until he fell asleep. He woke up about five minutes outside of College Station, lifted his head from her shoulder and said in an accusatory tone, “Next New Year’s Eve if we go to the ranch I wish you’d remember to bring my jacket. I was so cold last year because you forgot my jacket.”

Isn’t motherhood full of special moments that warm your heart and make you consider throwing your own child out of a moving car as you yell, “I JUST HELD AN EMPTY DORITO BAG FULL OF VOMIT FOR YOU. YOU CAN REMEMBER YOUR OWN JACKET.”

Fortunately, Saturday brought a day full of great memories and good football. The game started at 11:00 but the kids got up early to go to their first tailgate party with Gulley’s husband.

They practiced sawing Varsity’s horns off before they left.

And then Gulley, Honey, Big, and I met them at Kyle Field right before game time. I’m all about tailgating, I just prefer to do it at an hour that I don’t consider the crack of dawn. The Aggies had a 35 point lead going into halftime and, even though we’ve shown we can blow a halftime lead like no one’s business this year, I felt like we were probably safe.

And then, to our great delight, the entire Aggie band plus the Corps of Cadets formed a block T on Kyle Field for the first time since 1956.

After the game we all decided we were up for a little tailgating and were so excited to meet up with AJ for just a little bit.

And our friend, Michelle. Even though my hair is so unfortunately windblown in this picture. Easy on the hairspray, Nancy.

I cannot explain why my hair appears to be the only one affected by the wind. But that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Michelle was kind enough to say it was a windblown look like in a magazine, but it’s rare to see a magazine featuring hair that looks like it could make a nice home for a small bird.

We eventually made it back to Honey and Big’s house. Honey had cooked a huge dinner and Gulley and I went to pick up Nena so she could join us. Nena lives in a retirement center that’s full of activities and she asked to live there about two years ago because so many of her friends are there. They are constantly getting together plus Honey visits her almost every day whether it’s to take her out to lunch or to do her laundry. Nena is self-admittedly a social butterfly and even enjoys happy hour at the retirement center on the days when Mrs. Herzog doesn’t kill the mood by coming in and playing hymns on the piano.

But Nena decided that she was going to serve up some guilt along with the ham and beans Honey made for dinner. And as we sat around the dining room table we were talking about someone who was all alone. Nena said, “That’s like me. I’m all alone. All the time. I’M JUST ALL ALONE.”

Honey piped in and said, “Mother, that’s not true. You have friends all around you. Your children visit you almost every day. Most days you eat three meals a day in the dining room with all your friends.”

Nena replied, “Yes and it’s exhausting. I feel like all I do is dress for dinner.”

Which kind of contradicts her earlier statement about being all alone.

And that’s when Gulley looked at Honey and said exactly what I was thinking, “”Next New Year’s Eve if we go to the ranch I wish you’d remember to bring my jacket. I was so cold last year because you forgot my jacket.”

Because guilt really is the gift that keeps on giving.

No matter how old you are.
We are the champions

It seems like something momentous just happened, but I can’t remember what it was.

Oh yeah, now I remember.

THE AGGIE WOMEN’S BASKETBALL TEAM JUST WON THE NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP.

Y’all. I realize I am slightly biased but it was one of the best basketball games I’ve seen all season. Those girls played their hearts out. I was seriously impressed.

And then when Tyra White hit that 3-point shot that essentially won the game, one of the ESPN commentators announced that Tyra’s nickname is the Silent Assassin. I turned to P and said, “That’s so weird because the Silent Assassin was my nickname back when I played sports.”

He didn’t even acknowledge that with a response.

Probably because he knows me well enough to know that my one season on the B team in Varsity soccer wasn’t really enough to warrant a nickname. Certainly not one as cool as the Silent Assassin. If I’d had a nickname it probably would have been something like “that girl who sits on the bench and wears bows as big as her head”.

Which lacks a little something in the fierce department.

Congratulations, Aggies! So proud of how hard you played all season long and how you never gave up.

photo from Dallas Morning News