On Pigs and People

This is a picture of a teacup pig, which those flakes and nuts in California are importing as the newest pet craze. My sister wants one. However, since it would be smaller than her cats, they would probably succeed in eating it.

Houston has the same humid, heavy air that has made places like New Orleans and Florida famous for ghosts. On a hot, humid summer night the air distorts light and sometimes you just can't be sure what you are seeing.

This past summer, I was walking Lady Bird around the neighborhood and from across the street, inside a gated yard, I saw a pig the size of an America bulldog. I was all like, "Whoa! Those people are keeping a pig as a pet." I quickly reported this freakishness to everyone I know. Met with their skepticism and my own inability to remember where I'd seen the pig, I began to think maybe I had not really seen a pig at all.

A few weeks later I was walking by a house and noticed that the yard was full of pig themed stuff, including a large statue of a pig. I realized that I had mistaken a statue for a live animal and was a complete idiot. I kept this to myself.

Later that week, Frank and I were sitting on the front porch and someone walked by across the street. She was walking an animal the size of an American Bulldog.
"Frank! Look! That is the pig I saw."
"Are you sure that is a pig and not a dog."
"Yes, well maybe not. It looks like a pig, right."
"I don't know."
"Hey, is that a pig?"

To this the lady replied: "I don't know. Maybe it's part pig. I'm just the dog walker."

So at this point I really did feel like a total idiot. There was no pig and I am crazy. (But maybe not as crazy as the walker of a part dog part pig.)

But then, last week, I was so excited to see that there was, in fact, a real pig around the block from me. I was walking Lady Bird, but this time we were on the same side of the street as the pig house. There is was, a large pig, just standing in the front yard, enclosed by the fence. The pig did not move at all as we walked by. This gave me a little relief. The pig was statueske. To my surprise, Lady Bird had no reaction to the pig. She did not go and sniff its nose as if it were a dog and she did not chase it like it was a cat.

Ta Da. A pig lives around the block from me and whoever is keeping that pig is as much of a nut as I am.

Wedding Photos

Our wedding photos are up!

http://dasophoto.zenfolio.com/f719540946

http://dasophoto.zenfolio.com/f663414146

Northern Exposure

My father has bought himself a vacation home on the Bay where he spend his childhood summers. All of his friends had vacation homes then, and they all do now, and, finally, so does he. To be clear: the Bay is Green Bay, off of Lake Michigan, and the house is half an hour north of the city of Green Bay. It is way far north of Houston, where we all live.

To help my father settle in to the house, change the locks, buy some sheets, and generally make sure things were OK, Frank and I accompanied him up there this past weekend.

We flew into Chicago, spent the night with friends and then drove the three and a half hours North. We got out to the house without issue. Thankfully, the road and driveway had been blowed and the below zero Fahrenheit temperatures had warmed to the twenties.

Lunch time arrived and my dad and I drove down fifteen minutes down the road to a place he said had great burgers. It was closed. The sign said it should have been open on Fridays for lunch, but no one was there. We went back to the house, which, of course, didn't have any food in it because we had just moved in. So, Frank and I drove about ten minutes down the road in the other direction looking for food. The first place we tried was also closed with no sign of explanation. We arrived at a bar that had pizza and I was very hungry. While the bartender made the pizza I ate a mediocre salad from a neglected salad bar and drank a great root beer.

This brought to mind the first episode of the television series Northern Exposure. Joel got to Sicily, Alaska from New York and was shown his cabin in the woods. As his landlady is leaving he asked about good delivery around there. She laughs, because there is only one bar with food and no delivery. That is how I felt at the cottage on the Bay. I just don't really understand how to get myself fed outside of an urban area.


Part of settling in to the house was making sure there were enough beds and sheets and towels for people to come and visit in the summer, when people would want to come and visit. My great aunt recently passed away and my dad's cousin had moved some of her stuff to a basement, holding it for us. To get the bed, lamps, and dishes, my father had arranged to borrow his brother's van. As we drove over there my dad explained that it was an old van that was used mostly for moving around band equitment. Then, he asked who wanted to drive it. I don't really need to drive on snow and ice, and I certainly was not going to volunteer to drive a cargo van. My dad was greatful when Frank volunteered.

We get to my uncle's house and as we are walking out to the garage my uncle asks Frank if he knows anything about cars.
"No."
"Do you know what a manual choke is?"
"No."
"The van has an automatic transmission and a manual choke."

I got pretty confused as he was explaining what that meant. I was pretty glad I hadn't volunteered to drive the van.

To paint a clearer picture of this interaction, imagine that instead of whoever you were picturing as my uncle, picture Cheech from That 70's Show talking about a manual anything. My uncle is a musian in Wisconsin and he acts a whole lot like Cheech. The van had a peace symbol hanging from the rear view mirror and an aged hula girl on the dash.

As Frank was getting into the van, I thought about how if my life were a sit-com the next scene would be a funeral. A funeral for a pet. For a pet's tail. As he backed out my uncle said, "Don't worry, if you hit anything you'll destroy it but nothing will hurt you. It's a lead sled. ha."

We stopped at a gas station to fuel up beacause "the van eats a lot of gas and there isn't any in it, man." Frank bought a Wall Street Journal. Walking up to the van in his New York coat and scarf (i.e. not the Wisconsin rigour bright orange hunting wear), carrying a paper, Frank looked way out of place.

Luckily, we moved the furniture and returned the van without incident. On the way home, we were lucky to get on an earlier flight because the snow was falling so hard all flights out of O'Hare were delayed. The snow falling in Chicago was the biggest flakes I've ever seen.

Last night, happy to be in my own bed, warm with my puppy, I had dreams of snowflakes as big as oven mits falling from the sky. Then I woke up put on a pair of running shorts and a T-shirt and took Lady Bird for a jog in Houston's 70 degree weather. It's nice to go places, but it's even nicer to come home.

On Christmas Shopping

This is my favorite memory of Christmas shopping.

Several years ago, before Frank realized that he could skip Christmas by skipping town, Frank and I found ourselves at a Super Target on Christmas Eve morning. For those of you who have never seen a Super Target, its a really big Target, that sells groceries. This Super Target is across the street from the AstroDome and the two parking lots are similar in size and stature. The Super Target does share it's parking lot with a Sonic Drive In, though.

Not surprisingly, the Super Target contains a full service Starbucks. Frank and I were waiting for our holiday, syrupy lattes when a man walked up with a five year old in his shopping cart. The little boy was wearing a helment. This was not some sort of therapeutic helment and it didn't appear that the man had deemed the dangers of riding a shopping cart to require a helment. In fact, it did not appear that the man had given any thought to the risk posed by letting a child ride in the basket part of a shopping cart: you know, not the part for kids, the part where your stuff goes. It seemed like maybe this child just always wore a helment the way some kids wear capes.

So the man walks up to the counter and asks for 3 shots of expresso with some ice. The little boy is using his fingers to shoot imaginary bullets at other shoppers. The barista asks if the man wants his expresso iced. He replies, "Just put a few ice cubes in there. I just need it cool enough to drink. My partner and I (he points to the little boy) have some Christmas shopping to do."