"And when you're 2 years old, I'll teach you how to fly it!"

Now that Caleb had reached the ripe age of 18 months, Adam decided it was worthy time to take him up flying in an airplane. It was a four seat Navion owned by a retired Marine Corps veteran that did the deed during a small fly-in at Bishop Airport, just North of Kingsville. Due to illness the owner could not fly the aircraft any longer, so our pilot was a former Navy aviator that went by "Bobby."


After a test run (which I discovered much later) involved power loss due to insufficient fuel, Adam, Caleb and myself piled into the aircraft and taxied towards the runway. (The picture below is of Adam and Bobby doing some low passes during the test flight.)



Me, doing my best at confidence as we taxi out.

Caleb was far braver than I. The entire time he just sat there with this perplexed look on his face like he was trying to make sense of what was going on.

Definitely a brave kid.

So brave in fact that he soon became bored and fell asleep on Dad/Hubby (who is seen here striking a sexy pose).

I also got to test my hand at flying during our excursion. That's right, you can say it. I look like a natural.

And everyone thought Adam was the pilot in the family.

If Ever Asked I Can Now Answer, "Why yes, I have flown in formation."

Saturday, October 24th, 2009 started out like many other Saturdays before it. Adam and I were planning a list of work to do around the house which began with a trip to the local Wal-mart to get Lupa a fresh supply of dog food. Adam sat in the driver seat, engine running and anxious to get on his way, as I bombarded him with a small list of items I had forgotten during my last supermarket excursion. Just as he caved and began writing down the items his phone rang.

I knew by the excitement in his eyes and the use of words like: "fly-in," "T-6," "Stearman," "What time?," "Right now?!" our day was not going to continue as planned.

I went back inside quickly and freshened up (since I was still in my jammies) while Adam followed me, excitedly devising the plan. I brushed my teeth and wiped at the mascara debris from beneath my eyes before grabbing my purse. I dropped Adam off at the airport so he could fly up with Levi (one of the jet pilots in training) in his Yak.

After I was ready I drove up to Robstown to meet him.

Just being there was quite an experience. There were a couple old World War II era planes, a few Cessna's, an RV4 (which belonged to Ryan, also a student going through jet training), Levi's Yak and a lot of other planes that I don't have names for. The people were awesome to talk to. Some were retired military, others flew as a hobby. All were really cool.

Adam introduced me to Ryan who offered to take me up in his RV4.

Levi took off in his Yak along with us and flew formation. It was the most incredible thing to look over and see another plane so close to by!

The last time I had been flying in a small airplane was on our honeymoon over two years ago. There was a guy on the island right before Key West that took us up in his Waco, an open cockpit bi-plane. He had done some mild aerobatics and left me terrified of small planes-and, more importantly, their pilots.

So I was pretty nervous going up. I begged Ryan to go easy on me and he did a great job of keeping me comfortable. We flew a few lapse over the small airfield before we broke formation. One wing dropped towards the ground and I got to experience about 3 positive G's as we descended. Okay, so most of the guys down here would laugh at that, but there has to be a first step!

We hung out there the rest of the day. Adam went up a number of times as "camera man" and Caleb had a blast watching the airplanes come in and out.

The other military wife, Carrie, that came up with me got to fly in one of the T-6's which I was very proud of her for doing so. I had only met her once before but already was aware of her claustrophobic fears while flying. I don't know if she'll go back up any time soon though. As they were flying a four plane formation over Corpus Christi, they ran out of gas which killed the motor causing them to start descending. The pilot (a retired military guy) worked fast to switch tanks and start the engine again. They made an emergency landing in Corpus and refuelled before heading back.

As the sun began to set, Adam left with Caleb leaving me to fly back to the airfield with Levi. The Yak was a few times bigger than the RV4 so it felt like a whole new experience. We each had our own parachute which Levi briefed me on. Though it was a necessary conversation, it was a little nerve-wracking hearing instructions on how to bail out.

We took off at the same time as Ryan and flew in formation back to the airfield where Adam was waiting. Here's a picture of the Levi's Yak. That is not me in the back.

After Ryan broke off we did some mild (in Levi's opinion) aerobatics. I honestly was so preoccupied with surviving that I really don't know what all we did. I know we went inverted a couple times and I definitely experienced both negative and positive G's, though he did try to stay away from the negative ones at my pleading. It was terrifying! But so much fun! He was definitely more aggressive but still kept it within reason. As he put it, "there's no one that doesn't want you to get sick more than the one who has to clean it up."

It was comforting.

Playing My Rockstar Guitar

The Rantings of a Good Housewife

A while back I was presented with this supposed excerpt from an article written and distributed in the 1950's as a "good house wife's guide." The woman that shared with me the article did so with complete disgust and scoffed at the "rules" that it described. I did not know this woman. I had gone on to base to get the tags on our windshield replaced and she was a random employee working in the building. As I was waiting for my tags to be printed out, this woman said, "listen to this!" and began reading the so called article. When I returned home I did some research on the article and found it many places, mostly on feminist blogs like below:

http://sylviagarza.wordpress.com/2009/05/06/1955-good-housewifes-guide/

Here is also a link to Snopes.com and what they have to say about it.

http://www.snopes.com/language/document/goodwife.asp

Beside the fact that it is most likely partially (if not completely) fabricated by those wanting to "make us feel better about how far our society has come" it still makes me laugh that feminists have to dig so far back and deep to try to scar men's character. I've found this article on so many feminist sites ranting about how ridiculous it is. Do they have nothing else to bring against men than a fabricated article (or at the very least taken completely out of context) written in the 1950's! Obviously different time periods had different standards of living and societal rules that were followed without much questioning. For the most part, it was what their mothers did and how they were raised. What they were raised to be and (dare I say) what they WANTED to be! (Side note: The divorce rate was A LOT lower in the 1950's than it is today. Here is a divorce rate graph from 1950 to 2000: http://www.bsos.umd.edu/socy/vanneman/socy441/trends/divorce.html)

Needless to say, it wasn't even the men demanding such duties from the women. It was other women. The moms. The grandmas. The elders who knew how to please their men and have happy marriages. On top of that (excepting a few lines in the article which were either Bold, highlighted, or circled in every version I came across to emphasize its ridiculousness) are these suggestions even that bad? I think if we as women more often went out of our way to make sure that our husbands came home to a clean house, dinner on the table, a fresh smile, and/or just an all around pleasant, welcoming environment, wives today would be much happier as well as the men. Men would want to come home. They would want to spend time with their wives rather than needing to "escape" the home life. There would be fewer men committing adultery. There would be fewer unsatisfied wives. There would be happier, more successful marriages and a lower divorce rate.


Both the man and the woman would be happier. Not just because of the satisfaction that caring for your husband brings with itself, but also because of how much that effort would alter the husband's affection and desire to love and provide for his wife.

Its marriage 101. When your spouses needs are met, yours will be in turn.

When I have a hot dinner on the table when my husband gets home, take his shoes off for him, kiss and hug him and greet him with a smile, he wants to give me the world in return! When I'm treating him the way I should treat him, he follows suite. And that goes the other way around too. Its not complicated, ladies. Our grandma's had it down.


I think another interesting fact to note is that we (whether we work or not) expect our husband's to provide some if not all of the family income. Even feminists would look down on theirs or a their girl friend's husband who was sitting at home all day while she went out and worked to provide for them.

You can't have it both ways. If you are going to set the bar and demand he provide, then shouldn't he have the right to demand a few things himself? Hmmm...

I've heard so many woman say that, "if my career was to become successful at some point and my husband and I decide to have kids, I would just make him stay home with them. Its your turn honey."


Okay so let me get this straight. He provides for you now. He had to work up from nothing and provide for you and your family while you get started doing whatever you want to do. And then when you become successful during the comfort and security of his job and hard work, you are just going to demand that he just stop what he has worked for and desires to do because you're ready to take over? No, really. That sounds like a recipe for a healthy marriage. I'm sure he won't resent you at all.

The same angry women that complain about some fabricated article forged to resemble the ideologies of the 1950's are the same women that would enforce the very same rules on their own husband's, given the chance. Can we have some consistency, please?


For better understanding, lets reverse the situation: John Doe has a wife (Jane Smith-she kept her last name, refusing to take his just because they married) who works at a major law firm in New York. John Doe has had some trouble getting his own business on its feet, so he is relying on his wife's income to support them both in the process. 10 years and a lot of procrastination later he taps into a good market and creates a very profitable business. The problem: they've just adopted two Indonesian children before Angelina Jolie could get to them. But that's okay; John Doe has a solution. Its a no brainer. He's successful now, so its Jane Smith's turn. She can drop her job, salary and desire to work (now not as worthy of notice beside his own success) and stay home with the kids - I mean after all, he's successful now, right?

I could feel feminists cringing as I wrote that. It looks so much worse from that angle, right? But, why? Shouldn't men get at least equal respect and consideration? I mean, that's all woman are asking for. Why should it be any different (since we're equal and all) that John Doe demand this of his wife (who has had the last ten years to work) just like some feminists demand this of their working husbands?


In the feminists effort to make themselves "equal" in their own understanding they belittled the men. And in doing so the image of men has been brutally scared. He has been emasculated, disrespected, made out to be the bully and the bad guy, but still forced to provide every bit as much as before, though given none of the respect or credit for doing so. We take at face value current Hollywood films and popular books that depict the past male generations (like men in the 1950's) as abusive, overbearing, condescending to women and their intellect, exaggerating stereotypes to make a point about the struggles women face against the "evil man." We are urged to believe that these depictions of male history are accurate. Examples may even be given or portrayed, but they are exaggerated, taken out of context and most importantly (when considering truly selfish and immoral men) presented as "normal."


But when actually researched in the context of the societal setting (like in films or books actually made in the 1950's), we find a healthy respect for women and (even more shocking when paralleled with today's woman) a healthy respect for men.

Unlike today, in the 1950's the majority of men were raised (and desired) to provide for their wives and the majority of women were raised (and desired) to, in turn, care for their husbands who provided for them. Women today are trained to expect that men provide for them but not trained to deserve it or even acknowledge it! The man's effort is taken for granted, belittled, disrespected and even scoffed at. It is even taken as a threat or a ploy to become superior over women. Do we not realize that we are the ones they are working hard to provide for, and we never even had to ask for it? As they support us financially we are given the opportunity to pursue anything we love or desire- career, education, children or hobbies. A chance that very few men ever get because they're too busy providing for their family. But we are refusing and even appalled at the idea of wiping the dust of a table before their return. Astounded at even the hint of being obligated to freshen ourselves up and plan a meal for his return. Disgusted at the idea of welcoming him home with a smile.

Are we out of our minds?

Instead society tells us to mock him for even suggesting that we needed his provision. After all, we can provide for ourselves just fine, so why should we thank him or show him respect for doing so? Instead we treat him as if he's holding us back. We demand and expect our husbands to do so much for us. But then we turn up our noses at the idea of giving them anything in return. We feel entitled to his provision and demand the opportunity to work - if we feel like it.

And then we wonder why the divorce rate is at 50%.

IHOP + Angry Employees = Strange Breakfast Experience

This morning began with Adam fulfilling a promise to take me to IHOP before leaving on an all-weekend, cross-country. We arrived at the IHOP around 9:00A.M. enthusiastic at the prospect of drinking coffee and gorging on extravagantly sweetened stacks of pancakes. It was as we expected. Wonderful.

But as we sat sipping the last of our coffee and discussing Adam's design for a four-seat aircraft with hovering capabilities, a commotion arose from the direction of the kitchen. At first it sounded like the typical bustling and talking that you might hear in a restaurant - only slightly louder - so, I didn't pay it much attention. Soon, however, Adam was listening more intently. I stopped whatever I was jabbering about (most likely the intake system and probability of sufficient air flow... or not) and listened as well. The noise coming from the kitchen had escalated into an obviously heated argument with one woman's voice overpowering the others. She was screaming and ranting with other voices mingling loudly with hers. It grew so loud and obvious that everyone in IHOP was focused on the kitchen with some measure of interest or concern.

Our waitress came to our table, obviously embarrassed, and joked that "somebody" was going to get fired.

Faster than it arose, the commotion died down to a barely audible hum and the atmosphere went back to normal. I assume "somebody" was forced to leave through the back door.

Though IHOP has had its fair share of strange occurrences, this one topped the list of ones I have witnessed. I was just glad at that moment we had already received and eaten our food. I know its selfish to think of such trivial things under those circumstances, but I would have been suspicious of any food that was prepared in such an emotionally charged kitchen.

And that would have been sad, for I so love their strawberry cheesecake pancakes.

A Few Things...

A few things have happened during my absence from blogging. There was, of course, Lady Redhawk Day. However, due to my husband's thoroughness in backing up family photos on an exterior drive (and my unwillingness to plug in a USB cable), I have only this one picture to document an entire day of the bliss I felt dressed in a Marine flight suit, practicing in legitimate military aviation simulators and sitting in fired-up T-45 jets. That's me in the middle with my Marine face on. (I swear I was happy.)

There was the repairing of a battery powered, John Deer tractor we picked up from Goodwill a few months back for five bucks. Caleb helped dad fix it. If sitting on the seat and pulling loose wires constitutes as helping. Either way, both dad and kid had fun fixing it up...

And both dad and kid had fun driving it around...

One evening there was a tandem bike ride down to the Star's Drive-in hamburger joint. Excepting the "Star's" logo on the sign, the place is a complete knock-off of Sonic's, menu included. It's as much as we can ask for here in Kingsville though. To have the real thing we'd have to trek 45 minutes to Corpus Christi. Nevertheless, the food was good and I treated myself to a Butterfinger Blast which Caleb greedily fought me for.

I don't know what sick power that child has over me, but he always seemed to get to the spoon before I could.

There was a random photo of Caleb's cuteness taken.

There was my daring venture to an unknown salon in Kingsville to get bangs cut. For real bangs this time. Not what the last stylist thought bangs were. They're fun, but they are hard to keep up with. I have to seriously saturate them with product and dry and straighten them into submission for them to look half decent. Even after all that effort though, it doesn't take much for them to rebelliously part in the middle or wave at the ends. It was worth a try though.

Here's a side view (for the necessary full effect).

There was a Saturday night spent with my little family at a dirt race track. It was fun and my first time experiencing such a thing. I now know where everyone I see at Wal-mart spends their Saturday night. And then Adam reminded me that we shop at Wal-mart... and we were there with them... Crap.

Caleb sporting some way-too-expensive-cause-daddy-gets-them-for-free-at-work earplugs.

He was obviously enjoying the race... And so was I.

I just couldn't resist thinking that one of them needed to break away from the same-old same-old and turn right.

To Home From Home Again

On the 2nd of September my siblings, John and Mary, my son, Caleb (Monkey) and I trekked upwards and to the right towards the home of family and long-time friends. The drive took two solid days with one night's stay in a nice, shiny new hotel (thanks to military discounting) in Muskogee, OK (yes, just like the song).



Arrival to the cooler state brought the welcoming arms of family and friends, an excuse to drink coffee and eat sugary carbs in excess, sports such as volleyball, softball and scrabble, and a realization that apparently everyone has a garden except me.



The two week stay swiftly came to an end during which I had tagged along with my sister-in-law, Laura, to her writing class, taken Caleb to watch his first softball game, helped (well, more like watched) my sister-in-law, Bekah, make cinnamon rolls (best in town) and introduced Caleb to his grandma. It was a good visit.



A few realizations during my visit:



1. Caleb goes easily and willingly into the arms of any woman, but is suspicious if not terrified of most men - even ones related.

2. The above mentioned garden fad that I was not aware of.

3. The annoying fact that Caleb defiantly opposes me if I attempt to show him off. For the moment I try to coax some impressive act out of him in front of a crowd of expectant and intrigued onlookers, he plops down and starts drooling. As I'm trying my best to defend him and myself, he's gnawing through one of his shoes.

4. Indiana Farmers are hotter than Texas Cowboys. Though I could still be just a little bitter about not having actually seen a Texas Cowboy yet...

5. Caleb is a drama queen and a neat freak.

6. I miss my hubby a lot when we're apart. Deployments will suck. - That's not actually a new realization but worth noting.

For the more visual ones, here is a photo:

Caleb and me at the Fort Wayne zoo. We went with my husband's brother, Luke, his wife, Bekah and their two boys. Luke is cursed (or blessed, depending) with A.D.D. much like me, but worse, so we made it through the zoo in record time.

I returned to Texas on the 16th via two short plane rides and one agonizingly long one. Though Caleb made it difficult during the flight, the hardest and most nerve racking part was changing planes, scheduled a matter of minutes apart from each other. Having not enough time to strap Caleb into the stroller, I was forced to race across both airports carrying everything in my arms. A backpack clinging to my shoulder by one strap, Caleb, his teddy bear, sippy cup and diaper bag in one hand and the useless umbrella stroller clutched in the other, I ran as fast as my poor choice of attire (a close fitting, knee-length denim skirt) would allow. It was a long, exhausting day with no time for food other than a few snacks, a tired child unable to sleep, and toddler spit-up at the most inconvenient times.

Its good to be home again.

Since We're on the Topic

This is Caleb's new camera face:

I don't know what inspired it or how long it will continue, but I was taking pictures of him last night and every time I told him to smile, this is what would happen:

In Other Caleb Related Events...

A couple of nights ago I was folding clothes and watching a chick flick accompanied only by Caleb. Caleb, apparently uninterested in my choice of film, found his way into the kitchen (which is usually a fairly safe place for him) and preoccupied himself in the pantry shelves. I, feeling quite confident listening with my "mom ears" (which are scientifically proven to be far more advanced than normal ears) heard the crumpling of plastic and knew the little rascal had found the stash of individually wrapped caramels. When I got up to rescue the helpless, sweet treats from this dangerous enemy, this is what I found:

Rather than grabbing for the caramels - I grabbed for the camera. This image was too good to keep to myself.

When I came in he had finally gotten the wrapper off of the poor little morsel and he wasted no time in devouring it. It was a violent demise.

I did manage to save most of the late caramel's companions, however.

Little Redhawk's Day

Friday, August 14th was Little Redhawk's day (Also, my sister's birthday. Happy Birthday, Jerusha!). Little Redhawk's day is when Adam's squadron (VT-21 Redhawks) have all the children of students and instructors come in and tour the base.

Side Note: There is also a Lady Redhawk's day which (as I'm sure you've guessed) is for the wives. More on that in a couple weeks.

Little Redhawk's day started at 9:00 in the morning (which was a little earlier than we were used to). I had to wake Caleb up and its not very often that I have to do that. We rushed to get ready and ate breakfast on the way. We met Adam there (he had volunteered to help lead a group and had to arrive a little earlier) and the day began with an introduction from the CO (or Skipper) of the base.

The first place we explored was the flight gear room and hangar. A few of the T-45 trainer jets were parked inside waiting for repairs or inspections.

(Due to an absent camera, I scavenged the Internet for a picture of a T-45 in a hangar. I think this might actually be NAS Kingsville... although its much cleaner in this photo.)

All the children got to climb up a ladder and look in the cockpit of the T-45. We also got to watch Adam try on all of the flight gear. Here's Caleb in Adam's helmet. Caleb feels like he needs to hold very still when we put a hat or glasses on him. He is also sporting some graham cracker crumbs on his bottom lip.

We also got to climb up into the control tour. And what a climb it was. At one point I was thoroughly convinced the stairs had no end.

Following that, Caleb joyfully got to punch away on an inactive computer in the radar room and then it was on to the simulators.

If I had known how amazing the simulators were, I would have harassed Adam to let me visit them long before Little Redhawk's day. The simulator is a giant theatre-esque screen wrapped halfway around an elevated cockpit. Its like the coolest video game ever. Needless to say, I asked for a turn after the children had finished.

In my simulation I flew down to the specified runway and gently touched the asphalt perfectly. Then flipped and crashed in a fiery, red ball. I suggest a computer malfunction.

Next, we explored the base fire station. Caleb was just happy to be able to run around rather than being held. I tried on the fire jacket, Co2 tank (which is absent in this photo) and helmet. Adam got to fire the water hose at full power (I think it was full power). And we both realized that Little Redhawk's day was turning into Mommy and Daddy Redhawk's day.


Nonetheless, Caleb was the one that walked away with a certificate and Little Redhawk's T-shirt.

Pizza and juice boxes (to Adam's delight) followed and then we all broke for nap time.

Eyeglasses and Somoa Bars

For the last couple years or so my vision has been becoming less and less accurate at far distances. I have put off pursuing the issue because, well... I'm cheap and I knew even with insurance, that the frames would cost something. So I have been living life experiencing, most vibrantly, only that within a 6ft radius of the world around me. Where this has usually hindered me the most is in social settings and while driving. For example when attending some military ceremony where all of the men are dressed exactly identical. This could present a problem even if I wasn't half blind and near sighted.

So, here I am in the middle of some massive banquet hall, teetering on heels and trying to act comfortable when I realize, my husband is no longer by my side. My eyes dart around the room but only see a blur of Blue, White and buzzed hair. Any one of these vague forms could be my husband. I begin the tedious mission of non-chalantly mingling with complete strangers in an effort to determine if one if them is the man I have promised to love, in sickness and in health. The whole time imagining what I'd give for a simple pair of glasses. However, such trials are so easily forgotten. For as soon as Adam comes up behind me as I'm straining to scrutinize a dark haired Marine across the room, I sigh in relief, cling to his arm and dismiss the idea of eyeglasses all together.

That is until I am behind the wheel of a car. Perhaps cruising down the interstate at 75mph. I realize the highway is splitting in two different directions and I have to decide quickly which direction I want to go. If only I could make out the letters and numbers on those big green signs! As they pass over my windshield I define the lettering and swerve to stay in the correct lane. That was close. I nearly went to Pittsburgh... again.

Well, no longer do I fear separating more than six feet from my husband in a social setting! No longer do I have to get Adam to read the subtitles of the latest Action Flick involving a mercenary who only speaks Russian! No longer do I have to pay $8 for a toll road fee that, if I had not wound up in Pittsburgh, should have only cost me $3.50! No longer do I have to pay the $4.50 in toll road fees to get me back to where I should have turned off! No longer must I suffer from near sighted-ness! And it only cost me $69! (The shop was having a sale and some of there frames where only ninety-nine cents after the purchase of lenses.) I of course did not venture further than the ninety-nine cent rack.


In other news: Samoa Bars...

I found this recipe online, and fell in love immediately. I, like just about every other person on the planet, love girl scout cookies and Samoas are one of my favorites. As there was barbecue get together Sunday night, I decided to make them that day to bring for the guests.

I started three hours ahead before the barbecue, just to make sure there was plenty of time. This recipe promised easy success and delicious results. Needless to say, my Samoa bars did not look like their Samoa bars.

Everything was going quite well, though it was one of the more time consuming recipes I have attempted recently. But the shortcake cookie layer was baked to perfection and cooling on the side. My coconut was toasted (which was a first for me) and also cooling and I was in the process of melting caramel squares, butter and milk.

Things continued to look promising as I mixed the toasted coconut and melted caramel and pressed its gooey perfection atop the cooled cookie layer, smiling with satisfaction. Next came the chocolate base and finishing drizzle across the top. Over two and a half hours into the process and I could feel my anxiety rising as time was running out. But I also felt with relief that the end was near. How hard could it be to dunk 30 bars in melted chocolate and drizzle the rest on top?

I began cutting the bars with my sharpest knife only to find the caramel/coconut layer did not create a very adhesive bond with the cookie layer and that the cookie layer was extremely crumbly. Undeterred (too much) I persevered.

It was 6pm now and the barbecue had already begun.

I melted the chocolate and dunked the first bar into its dark, satiny smoothness. Immediately the cookie base crumbled off into the chocolate, leaving very little cookie and even less chocolate where it was supposed to be. I tried again, carefully scooping the bar into the chocolate. It looked a mess but it was good enough. On to the next!

Thirty bars later, my heart was in my throat, more cookie was in the chocolate than chocolate and the bars looked like they had been in a mud slinging fight and lost. Crumbled, sad, misshapen fragments of what was intended, my bars sat lopsided on wax paper, crudely slapped with chocolate where it was willing to stick.

I stared at them, depressed and wondering if I should even take them to the barbecue we were now late for. The chocolate was not hardening and I definitely couldn't take them still dripping and gooey. Deflated, I finally scooped them up on to a clean sheet of wax paper I had placed on a tray and readied to go.

How disappointing it was as they sat on my lap during the short car ride. Not that the time and effort put into my poor, disheveled bars wasn't bad enough, Adam continued to glance over from the driver's seat, smile and confess that the lumps of chocolate on top resembled his childhood pet raccoon's trails of poop. What made it worse was that I knew he was right. I had been thinking something similar since I had finished.

I swore to never make them again. From now on I'm leaving Samoas to the Girl Scouts.

The Examination of All Things Texas

For the few that do not know, I have always wanted to live in Texas.

Reason: My dad was born in Texas and their slogan is "Don't mess with Texas." You can't beat that.

I also was almost born in Texas. I believe I missed it by a matter of weeks. I have never forgiven myself. I use to say I was a Texan at heart. I was a Texan who had never been home.

Well, like a prodigal child, I have come home and was greeted graciously with indescribable wind, raging heat, $500 power bills and... cockroaches.

Sometimes things should be left to the imagination.

In my vivid mind's eye I had always seen tall, muscular cowboys in typical garb riding horses through the dirt or pebble stone streets of town after a long day of herding cattle. They would humbly say, "howdy ma'am" as they passed me and the other lady's as we swayed delicately in long ruffled and laced dresses and bonnets.

As I have come to realize, these images are not current. It was in Wal-Mart that I finally saw an authentically dressed cowboy. He was in his forties to early fifties, cowboy boots and hat, a worn, padded jean vest about an inch thick over a long sleeve shirt and all leather accessories. By his side was his wife in blue jeans and a white, sleeveless, button-up shirt, no make-up and sun-baked skin. Two boys roamed close by respectfully and not at all rowdy like the other children. All looked like they had just crawled out from under a barn, covered from head to toe in dust. Their clothes were well abused and dirty from the obvious long hours of laborious work.

I couldn't help but smile to myself. It had been months since we had moved to Texas and nothing so far had resembled even slightly what I had imagined it as.

After filling my shopping cart to its full capacity, I checked out and headed for the parking lot. I walked through the 100 degree, late evening heat. Fought the violent wind as I loaded bags of groceries into the truck. Drove home to kill a rogue cockroach feasting on counter crumbs; and did all with a skip in my step.

For I finally felt like I was really in Texas.

Every Blog Must Have a Beginning - And This One is No Exception

Like most people with families and a life, I hesitated to begin this. This being a blog. Something else created to torment those not participating and, for those participating, a torment to continue participating.

So often I have read a friend’s blog or that of some faceless username with a keyboard and a cure for society and thought to myself, “I should write a blog!” I think this not because of a belief that I could write one better but because it often inspires me to want to start writing again. But then I begin to think of…

1. The multiple diaries I’ve bought (mostly for the ornate design on the cover) and the 2-10 pages that have experienced the warm touch of ink before interest is lost.

2. The multiple other hobbies and interests in general that haunt me relentlessly as I continue to ignore the pursuit of them.

3. The feeling that I’m cheating on my other interests when I pursue a different interest. I know. That ones a little weird. Don’t judge.

So, I promptly float on back down to earth or wherever I am at the time, and continue on with the normalities of life and all that that involves. Perhaps I feel a bit sad but at the same time elated that I will not be bombarded with the guilt of a stagnant blog floating somewhere in a dark and unvisited corner of the internet.

Well, much like those intricate and specifically targeted designs calling sweetly to me from the shelves of the “Diaries / Journals” section of Barnes and Noble, I have blinked and found myself knee deep in endless, blank, digitally created pages meant for my filling.

In looking around I realize from this point I can only move forward. And forward I move realizing also this could be my first and last blog. But if this is my last blog or I don’t revisit it for several months to update it, just know that as much as it may be annoying you, it’s haunting me. And if that doesn’t help then start your own blog or a second blog or a life. Okay, that last one was a little mean. I hope it didn’t offend you (you know who you are). Okay, that was mean too. Let’s move on…

Until the unpredictable end of these random pennings (or in this case, typings) my desire for this blog is to create a view into random aspects of my life and thoughts (no loitering please), to articulate my personal perspective on everything political and social (not for the faint of heart), and to be a home for the many other useless things I manage to conjure up in my seemingly vast imagination.

Until guilt drives me back…