Posted in Comedy, Tragedy and What the F...?

The Dominant Gene, and the Gracious Ladies of the Ranch Readers Book Group

Melinda’s divine cake, with a frosting to die for . . .

For most of my adult life I have been a carrot juice swilling, veggie chomping, sugar eschewing, fitness buff.  I’ve made good choices.  I value health. I stand strong and somewhat smugly in the light of that truth.  And then I moved to Texas.

Texas women are belles. That means they are beautiful, elegant, smart and gracious all in one package.  I’ve never met women like them anywhere.  And they all have a certain gene.  The more Texan they are, the more dominant the gene.  It’s a cross between mothering, welcoming, sisterhood and baking.  Oh my God, the baking. 

Early on in my new Austin life, I was invited into a book group.  I’ve been in groups before. Writing groups, book groups, bang-on-a-drum women’s groups, but nothing in my past could have prepared me for the change that this group would thrust upon me with its room full of belles, seeking expression for their dominant gene.

I’m talking about Texas hospitality. I was warmly welcomed into a sisterhood that conducts its book group in a way that would put Martha Stewart to shame.  And they make it look easy.  First, a light dinner is served.  It’s perfect. Everything is arranged in an inviting way, and even though the food is being dished out as guests arrive, the kitchen remains mysteriously clean and sparkly.

Only after the meal is consumed, and wine is poured is there talk of the book.  The conversations are smart, and emotionally intelligent. Once the book has been discussed, that genetic snip raises itself up, and the hostess brings out dessert.

Please keep in mind my earlier statement about “sugar eschewing.”  The first time dessert was served at a meeting, I wanted to be polite, and so I took a little bite. There are no store-bought desserts in this group. The gene to which I refer concocts an alchemical decadence of creamy, sweet, tart, crunchy, luxury that has powdered sugar sprinkled on top.  Like a siren calling to the mariner, I am moved to another bite, as I try making deals with myself: “Okay, just one more bite, and that’s all.” Ha!

And then came the second book group. Dessert was brought out and my mouth began to water.  Are you kidding me?  Who bakes like this?  I knew that I was hooked when I began to moan.  “Oh God. Ohhhhhh.  Oh, this is so good.  So good,  Yes, yes, yes.” I’ll have what she’s having takes on new meaning.

We have no control over the events in our life, only our attitudes.  So here’s my attitude:  “Bring it!”

My life is changing before my eyes.  I think about building a shrine to Paula Deen on my front porch.  I dream of what ingredients these women keep in their cupboards.  I fantasize about being in their kitchens and licking bowls.

Last night, I wanted to throw myself into a tray of banana pudding, so I can’t really be held responsible for what escaped my lips as I finished the last bite of pudding.  In front of these warm, kind ladies, the words just wouldn’t stay in my head and without my knowing it, escaped into the space:  “This is so fucking good,” I moaned, unaware that I had pierced the veil between thought and, “did she just say that?”

But, no one judged.  They laughed, so I don’t think I’ve been thrown out of the group for bad behavior just yet.  I am not a belle, more like a street urchin who has probably been exposed to one too many Fitbits and too much kale.

I’ll get in my 10,000 steps today. I’ll prepare vegetables and protein for dinner.  I’ll drink a protein smoothie for breakfast . . . with fiber. I know that for the next month, if I have dessert at all, it will be fresh berries with coconut milk and a little stevia.  Then in May, it will happen again. I’ll go to the book group.  I’ll adore all of those wonderful women.  I’ll participate in the book discussion and hope that when dessert is served, I can behave.

My life is different now.  My design on the pure and healthy diet has met its match. The sweet taste of homemade dessert served up on a bed of southern graciousness is too difficult for me to resist. The truth is I want to fill a bathtub with their chocolate torts, vanilla cakes and banana puddings, inserting myself naked into the center of it.  This is probably an indication that I need serious therapy. 

God I love living in Texas . . .

Posted in Comedy, Tragedy and What the F...?

The Super-Mighty, Texas Drivers License Fiasco That Ate My Month

Welcome to Texas road sign at the state border with some bullet holes

This isn’t the first time that I’ve overthought something and maybe tried a little too hard to get something right.  Relocating from Oregon to Texas had a lot of moving parts and being a logistical queen, I handled most of them efficiently.  There is, however, a kind of weariness that ensues when you’re dealing with so many challenges and changes.  My little Type-A personality won’t rest when it’s tired if there’s more work to be done. So that “trying-too-hard” thing tripped me up and resulted in a demonstration of what I’d call, a super-mighty fiasco. In other words, I just wasn’t paying attention.

According to the Texas Department of Public Safety, which oversees drivers licenses, you need to get a license within 90 days of moving here. What they don’t say however, is when that day starts.  Is it when you close on your house? Is it when you actually move in to your house? Or maybe it’s when you register your car, because that’s the first time that you are in the system.  I chose the “I’m in the system, date” as the official marker for my residency. That’s when I started counting — October 31st. Therefore I must get a Texas driver’s license by January 31st.

Somewhere around January 10th, my husband and I went into hyper gear.  We downloaded the Texas Driver’s Manual from the Texas Department of Public Safety web site and began to study.  Reading the manual, the first thing that I noticed was that there was an awful lot of information about DWI ‘s and DUI’s, the fines, the jail time, how many years, yes years, it would take you to get your license back if you’re convicted of a DWI.  

On the practice tests that I took, there were so many questions about DUI fines and convictions that it began to dawn upon me that maybe Texas had a little bit of a drinking problem.  Seems that there was a ton of legislation passed in 2014 meant to deter the bad combo of the drink and the drive.  Studying how that legislation applied to me, the Texas driver, also proved to be a deterrent for committing to memory every fine, sentence and charge that comes with a “driving while under the influence” conviction.  And yes, it was enough to make me want to drink. I was never going to be able to pass this test. I spent three hours on a Sunday afternoon trying to memorize what could happen to someone who was bonehead enough to consume an over abundance of alcohol and not call an Uber.

On the day after the Martin Luther King holiday, I was ready. Hubby and I made our way to Texas DPS to take our written tests and get our licenses.  It’s important to note at this part of the story, that the last time I took a written driver’s test, I lived in Ashland, Oregon — population 20,000.  There were exactly three people in the line in front of me the day that I took the test.

Austin though, has a population of 2 million. There were 65 gazillion people waiting in line in front of me to get their license. Someone in a uniform announced to the masses that it would be a minimum 3 and a half hour wait.  That same official person told us that we could make a reservation to stand in line by going to the website. So we did. We got on our phones and reserved our places.  We went home, had some lunch, walked the dog and returned to the DPS almost four hours later.

On our second trip to get a driver’s license in the same day, we checked in at the kiosk and found that the mysteries of the digital universe had recorded my information and my reservation to stand in line, but not my husbands.  So we cut our losses, went home, ate chocolate, and whined about the wasted day.

Three mornings later, we were now old pros. We got up early, got on-line, made our reservations to stand in line; and it was then that I noticed the fine print under the check-list of documents we were supposed to bring to the Texas Department of Safety.  It said something to the effect that if we had an unexpired license from another state, we would be exchanging it for a Texas license.  Wait. What? No written test?  I searched the website and found a second reference to “no written test when you hold an unexpired license from another state.”  How the hell did I miss this?

An odd combination of relief in knowing that no one would question me about how many days I’d spend in jail if I was convicted of a DUI, and regret that I would never get back all those hours when I studied the meaning of signs that contained pictures of cows, little men with flags and speed limits. The cows do not mean rodeo ahead; the men with flags, do not connote football game nearby; and the speed limits are more than just suggestions.

I think that one of the ways that you can tell you’ve settled into someplace new is that you start relaxing and you stop trying so hard to do everything right and right away.  At this writing, I’m lying around in my pajamas hoping to master the art of doing nothing today, while simultaneously laughing at myself and the super-mighty, Texas drivers license fiasco. I’m told I should receive my license in the mail in the next couple of weeks.  Sigh . . .