A two-fer... Two postings in one day. I was going through the "my documents" file, when I ran across the letter posted below. I had just finished reading a book (From High Heels to Tractor Wheels) by Ree Drummond. You may know her as "The Pioneer Woman." Honestly, it was she that inspired me to blog... so, Ree, if you ever run across my blog, thanks!! Anyway, this thing below actually started out as a fan letter to her. I fully intended to write a short note, thanking her for the entertaining book and the awesome blog/webpage she has... But, this thing morphed into a 3 page ramble... Mama was in the hospital, I was on family medical leave.... in short, I was sort of nuts.... Anyway... I never actually sent the letter. My mother has already sufficiently chastised me for this, thank you very much.

So, I hope you enjoy this entry... It's just a glimpse into the kinds of things that go on here. I really can't begin to tell you about it all. But, with this blog, perhaps I can chronicle some of it.

to old friends that I once worked with.. if you are reading this, know you are missed...

And, Ree, if you're reading, feel free to comment... you were my inspiration for blogging to begin with....

Monday

April 4, 2011

Dear Ree,

I just finished your book yesterday. Loved it! I read it while waiting in the hospital with my mom. You see, my mother and her only sister run a small cattle ranch in South Texas. Her parents ran this farm/ranch until Daddy Bill died in 1972, and then Mom in 1985. By time Mom (my grandmother) finally died in ’85, Mama had been pretty much living at the farm semi-permanently, helping out, spending most of her time at the farm, but going home to Corpus (the biggest town nearly an hour and a half away). I had not lived on the farm myself, since I was 6 years old. My being 56 now, well, it’s been a long, long time… When my Daddy died in 2001, the farm became a permanent home for Mama. My aunt, who never married, retired from teaching and coaching and had taken over the running of the cows. Mama pretty much handled all the cooking and paperwork, and seeing to the non-farm animals (14 dogs, and I don’t know how many cats to date), keeping the bills paid (sort of) and all the other gazillion things that need doing when you have property, hired hands, animals, vehicles, and what-not.

The farm, as we call it, has always been a part of my life, but since I was 6, on short-term only visits. I have spent the past 20 years in the Houston area, teaching, and now testing kiddos for a large school district to see if they qualify for special education services. I am now what’s called an “educational diagnostician.” Sounds important, but it’s not really… Anyway. I’m not really a country girl. Oh, I can drink beer and drive a standard pick-up. I can wear jeans, and Cotton-eye Joe, and I know most of the words to many Patsy Cline, Johnny Cash, and Willie Nelson songs. I can spot the difference between a bull and a cow. But I’m really a city girl. I like Central air and heat. Room service. $4 coffee/lattes with soy milk – hot or iced. I like Bobbie Brown make-up, and think nothing of paying upwards of $40 bucks+ for a hair cut. I get pedicures at least once a month, sometimes twice a month in summer, and love that I can drive 40 minutes, even in bumper to bumper traffic, and be at the Museum district, the Galleria, Reliant Stadium, see the Astros get beat, get to one of the finest medical centers in the US, and see just about any movie at about any time of day or night that I want. I can get Thai food, Italian food, Vietnamese food, Indian food, Mexican food, Cuban food, seafood, chicken fried steaks, shrimp, oysters, crawdads, delivered pizza and just about anything else you can think of without too much trouble. I know where to get the coldest beer in a funky icehouse in the Heights and can find several places that serve up great Cosmos or Margaritas. There are any number of great places to have breakfast or do lunch. I have a house that needs fixin’ and a great husband of 32 years. I have a job and friends I love. All of that is back in “civilization.” I am, temporarily at least, living 3 miles outside of a small town of less than 3500 people on my mom and my aunt’s farm. There’s no hospital or dry cleaners. There’s an HEB grocery store. Since the main part of town is just off a main highway (281) that links the US to Mexico, there is a Wal-Mart, McDonald’s, Subway, Burger King, Whataburger, and a Dairy Queen in town. There’s a bakery. There’s a funeral home and a free health care clinic. There’s a vet’s office and dentist that comes once a week. It is small, hot, dirty, and there’s not much to do. The public school system is dismal. The population is mostly Hispanic and poor. 

Today, I didn’t go to the hospital that is an hour and a half drive from here. Instead, today was dedicated to farm stuff and my aunt. I took a sick dog to the vet. He had thrown up on the bed, on me and my clean and freshly ironed shirt, and on the carpet in at least 3 rooms that I saw. So, off to the vet – a 30 minute drive b/c the local vet was not available. While driving there, I had to pay the direct TV bill with a check over the phone by lying and saying I was my Aunt, so they wouldn’t cut off the service. My aunt is a basketball fanatic and today is the final of the NCAA tournament. Missing that probably would have prompted a call to the only mortuary in town to pick up the body. I spoke to a guy about leasing some property south of here for deer hunting. They want to know if we are doing the contract, or is he and his partners drawing it up. I confer with my mom by phone and try to call the guy back, but he is not answering. I spent a few minutes trying to find a set of keys that my aunt needed so that our cousin could open a gate to come pick up some heifers for the sale. She was convinced the hired hand had stolen them (the keys, not the heifers) because he’s crazy and didn’t want to do the cattle work tomorrow. But that was not the case. My aunt has stage IV Liver cancer and her mind is going. She had forgotten that the keys were in the possession of the cousin that was helping her with the cows tomorrow. The bug guy came to spray for roaches and I talked to him about the growing flea problem that has resulted in at least 5 very annoying flea bites on my foot and hip. And he wanted $185 more dollars to kill the bees. We decided we’d see if the county could take care of it for free. So, I had to talk to the county guy about the horde of bees that seem to be interested in taking up residence here in an old ash tree that’s been here at least 50 years. Since the day was too windy, he couldn’t find the bees. I swear we have them, but darn if I could find them when the bee guy from the county was here. So, he said he’d come back when it wasn’t blowing hurricane force winds. Then, at some point in the day, my aunt, who is an insanely picky eater, decided that the chicken spaghetti casserole I had made (very much like the one you make) was not to her liking, so she wanted me to take her to the Whataburger to get a hamburger so she could have it while it was hot. Now, taking my aunt anywhere is a production. She has lost so much strength and coordination that she is barely able to walk, even with the help of a walker. So, I have to go out and bring the Escape around right next to the ramp. This involves dodging 9 of the 14 dogs on the place and straddling the sidewalk and paver stone next to the ramp, all the while trying not to drive too much on the grass, less my mother be pissed that her yard will be ruined. There’s 9 big huge dogs of various mixed breeds. Most weigh in the neighborhood of 100 pounds and love to dig big trenches to lie in. So, a ruined yard due to infrequent vehicle traffic seems to be the least of her worries. She damn near died a week ago. I mean, really, in the grand scheme of things, is a nice yard in deep south Texas, where there’s about a 10 year drought and a burn ban that’s been in effect for years, that high of a priority?? Really??  Anyway, auntie shuffles down the ramp to the waiting Escape. The wind is gusting at least 30 or more mph. The caliche road and sandy soil is blowing grit directly in my face. All that’s missing from this sandy experience is water and surfing. It’s like a big sand dune has decided to relocate into my shirt, pants pockets, hair, eyelashes, up my nose and between my toes. Auntie is also very skinny, her being a weirdly bizarre picky eater and having cancer. I thought for a minute that white polo shirt she was wearing that is at least 2 sizes too big was going to act as a sail and send her across the Rio Grande. So, we travel the 3 miles east to arrive at the local Whataburger. There’s only 2 cars, so I think, stupidly, “Oh goodie. This won’t take long.”  I forget that I am not in civilization. I forget that this Whataburger is notorious for the worst service of all Whataburgers on the planet. So, the trip to the fast food establishment is anything but fast. We wait. I’m wondering if my aunt is wearing her Depends, or is she in regular panties?? This could be a disaster waiting to happen. We finally get to the window to pay. Young guy is very apologetic about the wait. I smile through my gritted teeth and force myself to say “no problem”. My aunt’s burger, of course, is stone cold. With Picky Eaters (notice the capitalization for emphasis) this is not good. I drive away. She makes me turn around because she wants to take it back and demand a hot burger. Not really a totally unreasonable request. But, alas, (or maybe hooray) when we return to Whataburger, the line at the drive through is longer than auntie is willing to wait in. And, thankfully, it is deemed too windy to get out and too much trouble to deal with.  So… we go home. She eats part of the burger on the way, but it ends up in the trash as soon as we get home. Too much mustard, too cold, not enough salt, the bun is hard. And the fries are stale. At least I got to drink her drink, which she did not want. Glad I ordered a Diet Dr. Pepper. My favorite.

Hope you enjoyed a glimpse into my day. Perhaps I should write a book and entitle it

“Memoirs of the Funny Farm”. Or, “My mama killed a snake and I saw a dead cow.” My daughter suggested that one, because those two events were the highlight of a day we shared here recently…. You can’t make this stuff up. My city friends just don’t get it. But you… I bet you do… J

Sincerely,