Where There's Smoke

There's usually fire. But I guess y'all probably already know this. There have been a lot of fires popping up in Texas lately. Not surprising since we're in a drought. It seems like Labor Day weekend brought out the hazards. There was a small one in town but not too much damage occurred, thank goodness. The BF and I went to visit his parents in Blackwell for the long weekend. It was a great trip, if a touch windy and chilly. And by a touch, I mean 30 mph and we almost sunk the paddle boat in the waves. Lesson learned. Always bring a bailing bucket.

On the way home, we kept seeing big plumes of smoke in different areas. That part of Texas is pretty flat so you can see them for miles. Unless you're right near the fire, the air is really clear so that, and the flatness, make it easy to see the huge columns of smoke. They just sit there, all tall and grey and mushroom-y. Really, if they weren't gray, you'd think they were fluffy clouds, sitting up there in the blue sky. Looking at them, I was struck by how still they were. They don't move like normal clouds do, with the wind. They're generated from one place and most of them stays there for a while. Which is so different from how the fires are on the ground. With the high winds, they were moving quickly, I'm sure.

Once those smoke clouds start to dissipate, though, they look really creepy. They thin out on the edges, like grey skeleton fingers reaching out. It was like the sky was ready for Halloween or something. I don't have much experience with fires like that. It's not a common thing where I'm from. Historically, it's a wetter, more humid area and not often in a drought (although there was one for the two years I was in grad school at Georgia. I may have brought it here...). I'm familiar with bonfires and campfires but not large, dangerous, out of control fires. Those scare me.

Now the clouds are gone but there's a lingering smoke smell in the air, like someone's grilling went awry. It's fading but for a while my throat was hurting. Not pleasant, not at all. Here's to rain!

My Super Hot Birthday!

So, yesterday I turned 26. My Daddy came in to town on Thursday, before my birthday, to spend a birthday weekend with me. The high was 104 each day. Heat index of 110. We helped my boyfriend move, which was kind of brutal. He was a total trouper though and I'm pretty sure I would have been crushed by H's massive futon couch if he hadn't been there. Which my father would have been REALLY mad about. As would I. 

Besides my birthday presents, the best thing that happened was queso flamedo. You know what that means? Flaming cheese. And not just any flaming cheese. Flaming cheese with chorizo in it. It. Was. Awesome. So delicious. And fun. Now I'm trying to dry out (too much to drink) and thin out (too much to eat). But I'm also homesick.

That's the problem with being so far out here, I guess. I really do like it but I miss home. Miss it a lot sometimes. Especially after I see someone from home. Poor H had to hold me while I had a little breakdown. I just get so sad that I don't get to see them more and sad to see them leave. It wasn't like I went home every weekend when I lived closer, or even saw the fam more than I see them now but I just feel the distance, I guess, when they leave. Sad times. After a day or so, I'm back in action though. So more adventures to follow.

On Living Alone

In less than a week, I will be 26 years old. Too old to be scared of the dark, one would think. 

If one was talking about me, that one would be wrong.


I seriously like having my own space. I like wandering around comfy outfits not fit for public consumption. In fact, I went through a leggings-ski socks-large fleece stage over the winter. Cute, let me tell you. I like always knowing where I put things and having the cabinet doors closed. I like talking to the dog (don't judge). What I don't like is when I get creeped out by something, Snapped, Law and Order: SVU, a scary movie, and then I "hear noises" and can't sleep because I'm convinced someone is trying to break in to my clearly occupied and alarmed residence. This is when I feel 8 years old again and I need my dad to come rescue me.

When I was much younger, my bedroom window looked out onto the roof of out porch. It was a relatively low roof, one that I climbed on frequently, either out of my bedroom window or up from the porch. One night, I was sleeping, as children do, and I happened to wake up. I glanced around and saw a weird circular light outside my window, through the curtains. It was flicking on. Then off. Then on. Then off. 

I. Was. Terrified. 

I lay there, covers up to my chin, trying to figure out what sort of criminal was on my roof, turning a flashlight on and off. I don't know how long I laid there but it seemed like forever. I finally got up the nerve to holler for my dad. He came to scare the criminal away and what did he find? 

A lightening bug.  

Terrifying creatures, as I'm sure you know.  A few nights ago, I was closing up the house for the night and my dog kept staring at the back door. I'd just let her back in from being outside and didn't feel like waiting on her again so I just put her on the bed, brushed my teeth and climbed in. She promptly jumped back down and went to the back door again. We repeated this one more time so I turned on the back porch light- nothing doing. I put her back on the bed and closed my bedroom door. She stared at that door, which really creeped me out. So I checked all the locks, the alarm, my pepper spray, put her back on the bed and locked the bedroom door. Then every noise that my house usually makes seemed amplified and sinister. I desperately wanted a stun gun or a Tazer, though my boyfriend is opposed to them because he's a true firepower man (guns) and also he once got Tazed by a friend. 


So I tried to content myself with pepper spray and a dog that would welcome an intruder because she would think it's a new friend for her to play with. And I coveted my friend Anna's matching pink Tazer and stun gun and the 130 lb. Doberman I saw outside of Lowe's last weekend.

'Dillas

When I was at the College of Charleston, I took a beginning theater course to satisfy some humanities requirements or some such thing. We paired off towards the end and had to do a short scene that we picked out of a pile the professor brought. One group did a scene of two strangers who met on a cross-country bus trip. I'm guessing it was set somewhere in the southwest because every once in a while, both of them would pop up a little in their seats. Why? Because they were running over 'dillas in the road. 'Dilla, of course, means armadillo. 

But I'm sure you knew that.

Me, I didn't really know anything about armadillos though maybe I'd seen one on TV or in a zoo. It was also the age before smart phones (Gasp! Such an age exists?!) so it's not like I could look it up on my handy dandy phone. You shouldn't be on your phone in class anyways and I always want to snatch it out of people's hands and throw it across the room but I couldn't get away with that unless I was famous. Hollywood! Here I am!

But, I digress. The reason I bring this up is because of a incident on Monday morning. I was walking my dog, as I do every morning (except Saturdays when I'm too lazy and I just open the back door), and we're heading toward the back of my complex when she starts pulling on the leash harder than usual. I vaguely wonder why but this early in the morning it takes all my brain power to hold onto the leash and walk at the same time. I make the left turn and I see a gray lump in the bushes. I feel a (very) mild rush of adrenaline because I think bunnies are totally cute. My sister and I each had one when we were younger and they each died a tragic death. We, the dog and I, get a little closer and I discover that this is the weirdest looking bunny I've ever seen. A little closer still and I see no cute long ears, no poufy tail, just what appears to be and overgrown rat. Then I recognize the shape from the roadkill I frequently see around here: an armadillo. The adrenaline rush becomes less mild because I have no idea what these things can do and I hear they cause leprosy. Plus, possums and raccoons can be very aggressive and an armadillo seems similar to possums and raccoons at 6:15 a.m. 

I pull the dog away and text a real Texan when I get back to the house to get an armadillo update. They aren't aggressive but you shouldn't touch them because they can carry leprosy (due in part to a very low body temperature). I file this info away in my brain and carry on. Tuesday morning, we go for another sleepy walk. The armadillo is back and isn't hiding in the bushes. He's (they all look like boys to me) digging up the grass in the back of the complex. We get real close and I'm sad I don't have a camera or a phone because this is the closest I've ever been to an armadillo! Then Hope sniffs him (probably not a good idea, what with the leprosy potential and all) and he scurries off. Well, kind of waddled off, like a pregnant lady.

This morning I was prepared. I brought my phone in case I saw Dillon (that's right, I named him) again. Alas, he was not there but I could see where he'd been but the ruts in the grass and mulch. Maybe tomorrow!

Texas Road Signs

For the past few weekends, I've been traveling to various Texan locations: Shiner, Blackwell, Denton. In the next month, I'll hit Houston (again) and Flower Mound, TX. And you know what I've been noticing? Texas has some crazy road signs. They really do.

For instance, as I'm driving to Shiner, we go through some town somewhere that has some hills. In order to warn the hill-illiterate Texans driving through the town, they had a handy dandy sign they posted on the side of the road in the typical warning-sign-yellow and black. And this truck was going almost straight up the hill. It was comical. I was laughing so hard tears came to my eyes. It would have been dangerous if the hill has actually been that steep but it wasn't! It was just a hill, same as any other hill. The sign kind of looked like this:

 Except going up. Is it even possible to drive up a road with that steep of a grade? I doubt it. Regardless, I didn't have to. But I did laugh about it.

This weekend, on the drive between College Station and Denton, I saw at least three awesome road signs. First: Sadberry Lane. Seriously? SADberry? Who wants to live there? I felt bad for the road with it's depressing name!

Of course, I perked right up when I saw the cross street a ways down the road: Pneumatic Tool Rd. Really? Why this name? Was some woman trying to get a point across to some man? Or is there a tool shop down there? I couldn't tell. 

Something else I was confused about: Hog Island Cemetery. An island? Doubt it. Hogs? Probably. But who is this cemetery for? People or hogs? I had the same question about the Buffalo Cemetery. Is it for buffalo or the citizens of Buffalo, the town? I need more information.

Texas Summer Heat

It's hot here. I don't know why that surprises people but apparently it does. It's southeast Texas in July. It gets hot. But every day I still here people complain about it. Filling the hot air with their hot air. There's nothing you can do about it, y'all, except move to Alaska. Of course, even there it's getting warmer than usual, like every other place. 

Here we've had our hottest month on record (June) and the driest weather on record from October to now. It feels nice when I walk the dog in the morning and by the time I leave for work, it's warm enough to make you sweat. If you're outside a lot then, which I'm usually not. However, I frequently have to walk (partway) across campus for presentations. I leave my cool office around 9:20 a.m. and get a little glow on while pulling the dolly. When I come back at 11, I'm in full on sweat. Needless to say, summers are not my most attractive season.

When I lived in hot, humid Charleston, you learned how to walk. First of all, it's old so a lot of the sidewalks are all crazy and uneven so you have to pick up your feet. Second, during the day, you find the shade. Depending on the time of day, one side of the street would have more traffic than the other. Third, you picked your own special pace. You found the speed of walking that worked for you: fast enough to create a breeze but slow enough to keep the sweat from pouring off of you. I still do the same thing here but when pulling a dolly, you sweat and there's no getting around it. 

And you'd think some of these nice Aggie gentlemen would offer to help.