Politics, Weather, and Death

Nothing daunted by the fact that she lives in a strongly conservative bastian, Fio will be hammering a sign into the ground tomorrow morning that ballyhoos a liberal candidate running for the State legislature. May Jane Hegar identifies herself as a veteran Navy pilot who loves her country (the usual stuff), but she also seems to have a pretty good grasp of what's going on in the country and what should be going on. Texas is in political turmoil now--for once--so we'll see what happens.
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Central Texas, which was a veritable Sahara three weeks ago, is now a swamp. Fiorella has TOADSTOOLS growing in flowerbeds that were parched for water in August. (She'd post a photo of the elfin newcomers, but still can't quite get the hang of transferring a photo to FB or her blog.)
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Harvest time seems to be just around the corner. Sharon Kite died in December, Corny Spinks died in January, and Karen Haverlah died just this week. Fio can only hope all three of her friends meet up in heaven and have a rockin' good time together.

Stability

Mother's house was her snailshell, except that she never moved it, perhaps because her childhood was spent moving from house to house according to her father's employment fortunes, which were controlled by how well he knew the local politicians and how much he drank. Well, Mom did move once, to Texas, because Dad, who was also good with people but who didn't drink, got a job promotion.

Waco, Texas, was a shock to her because it was so different from Akron, Ohio. Texas accents back then were so strong that they sounded like a foreign language. And there weren't many natural trees around. And the rather plain one-story house Dad had bought for the family was so different from her charming two-story in in Ohio. Sure, the Texas house came equipped with a dishwasher, washing machine, and two bathrooms, but its front porch was minuscule, the kitchen was a quarter of the kitchen she had left behind her, it lacked a real dining room, AND THERE WAS NO BASEMENT.

Fio remembers the look of horror on Mother's face, the tears in her eyes, when she met the house for the first time, but being her mother's daughter, she rolled up her sleeves and went to work, dragging Dad in her wake. The garish wallpaper was the first thing to go.

Through the years, Mother brought that little house on Proctor Avenue to its glory. It was her creation, her haven, her stability, and she lived in it the rest of her life, never having to move again.

Morning, Noon, and Night

Fiorella lives by lists and systems. Her major lista is the one she writes down for the next day (manana), but she also consults her calendario. Her sytems include such things as feeding la perra her daily pildoras--Fio puts a gob of peanut butter on the handle of una cuchara o tendedor (spoon or fork), sticks una pildora in the mess, and presents it to Sonia, who eagerly gulps it down.
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If there's a body count category for the Mexican telenovela awards, La Piloto will win it hands down. Not only have the extras died like flies, but several of the minor characters have also been killed off. Of course, our heroine is in peril--again. The only way she could save the life of la bebe de una amiga (who had been killed) was to surrender herself to the sadistic Santamaria. Of course, she was rescued by Dave and her friends, but not before Sanamaria, quien no es un santo, strung her up by her wrists and branded her with a red hot cattle iron. Her scream could be heard all the way to Hollywood.
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The day is surprisingly cool for central Texas in late June, and the house is quiet. Maybe Fio can get through a couple more chapters of her work-in-progress before anyyone gets back to the house. Ah, pandemonium, I know you well.

Walled Cities

The walls of Jericho aren't tumbling down anywhere near rural Georgetown. Instead, everywhere Fiorella looks, walls are being built around new subdivisons, as if to protect the homeowners from the non-gated savages like Fio that roam the boondocks. Fio thinks the walls are a developer fad that will soon pass, but in the meantime, they're eyesores. And she bets the rancher who lives across Hwy 29 and has a walled city being constructed next to his property is not too thrilled either. Gonna spook the cows.

Rocks in Her Head

Fio must have been a rock in a previous life because she LOVES rocks. She's always loved them, ever since she was a child in Ohio and sat on the huge glacier rock on the edge of the backyard. When her family moved to Texas, she explored the driveway for pretty pebbles, which her mother did not appreciate. In college, she delineated a boundary between her side of the desk and her roommate's side of the desk with rocks she and her boyfriend had gathered while out driving in the country. When she and Husband moved to Georgetown, she gathered stones from their long, long country driveway--pretty stones, sparkling stones, weird stones, flint--all of which are stored on the back porch in plastic boxes. Now, of course, she's in her glory building a rock retainer around the drveway, and when that's finished, there's the brick curb around the lawn that needs to be reinforced with rocks.

There is something wrong wth Fiorella, but you knew that all along.

Jeanell Buida Bolton

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Fio has always loved rocks, as you can see in this picture of her perched on a glacial rock on the edge of her back yard in Ohio.(It's a glacial rock, if you're interested.) Then, when her family moved to Texas, she explored the driveway for pretty pebbles, which her mother did not appreciate. In college, she delineated a boundary between her side of the desk and her roommate's side of the desk with rocks she and her boyfriend had gathered while out driving in the country. Wh...
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Language Addiction

Kifallah! 

That's how you say "hello" in Egyptian Arabic, which adds yet another greeting to Fiorella's ever-growing repertoire.  She learned it from the golden-haired  clerk who checked her out in H-E-B a couple of days ago, then solidified it in her brain by repeating it to the woman yesterday when Fio realized she'd wound up in the same register line.

Where did Fio's fascination with languages come from? Maybe from the early exposure Fio has previously described--her great aunts and uncles teaching her a "soft Russian" phrase ("God, give health") to use when she sneezed, maybe from a Louisiana-born neighbor teaching her to say "I love you" in French, another neighbor teaching her hose to count to ten in Spanish, her mother teaching her how to count and recite the alphabet in German. Maybe from moving from Ohio to Texas and having to learn a whole new version of English. Maybe from her desire to communicate with everyone she meets, or from her own weird brain, which seems to be attracted to unraveling intricacies.

Whatever, Fiorella is hooked. The next time she goes through Goldie's line, she'll ask her how to  say "thank you."

Fio's First Home Run

Fio encountered softball for the first time when when she was seven and her family moved from Ohio to Texas.  At Ellet Elementary, recess had meant running around and playing on the swings, see-saws, sliding board, monkey bars, or jungle gym. Recess at North Waco Elementary meant being sent out to the barren school grounds with a bat and ball (or, according to season, a kickball or a jump rope).
Needless to say, Fio panicked when a softball--or any ball--whizzed toward her.

Well into junior high, she couldn't hit, although she always tried, so when the her father's department at General Tire held a picnic and  set up a softball game, she lined up to participate. The pitcher gave her a long, slow ball, virtually aiming at her bat--what else do you do for the boss's daughter--and SHE GOT A HIT!
 
Maybe it was the feel of the bat thwacking the ball, or maybe it was that the slow pitch had given her a moment to think about what she was doing, but from then on,she was a reliable playground batter.

We'll save the story of how she learned to catch for another day.

Deep in the Oven of Texas

As previously reported, Husband has taken up scratch breadmaking, and he does a pretty darn good job of it. He's gotten Fio involved too, but Fio being Fio, she soon tired of forming pedestrian loaves out of her allotted dough and started experimenting with braiding and furrowing.  Yesterday she made a trial run with cookies cutters--stars, flowers, and, on a whim, an outline of Texas. Surprisingly, she had the most success with Texas.  Not only did the rolls keep their shape, but they were fat and fluffy.

Hmmm.  Wonder what the market would be?

Christmas Cards

Fiorella has finished off her Christmas cards and is sending them on their way, fully realizing she is in a minority population--the cards she proudly displays on her dining room doors get fewer and fewer each year. If people want to communicate holiday greetings, they can text each other, or send emails, or sign up with Jacquie Lawson.

Fio remembers when Mother would spend days not only signing Christmas cards, but adding a little note inside each one.  It was called communication, and was particularly important before the invention of computers that engendered instant contact to anywhere in the world.  In fact, when Fio's family moved to far-away Texas, the voluminous letters written by her three sisters-in-law, Aunt Miriam, Aunt Hattie, and Aunt Julie, were what kept Fio's parents in touch with life and family at "home."

But Fio likes Christmas cards for more than communication.  She likes to design them.  She likes to create something interesting and pleasing to the eye.  She likes to add something new to the world, something that is uniquely Fiorella.

Like this blog.

Three Ebola Questions

Why it that measles, pneumonia, and cancer are written with a lowercase initial letter, and Ebola is written with an uppercase initial letter?

Why do people complain about being quarantined for possible Ebola when it's a public health issue?

Why is it that Governor Perry wants to keep passengers from Ebola-infected countries from flying into Texas (stopping the plane in mid-air?), but hasn't proposed check points on highways?  And why hasn't he quit flying off to points around the country himself, where he comes in touch with Lord only knows who from Lord only knows where?

Unclean

Now that Ebola is loose in the United States, how can we protect ourselves?  Maybe we should seal off Dallas,  But, no, already people who had contact with that Liberian guy have traveled to other cities in the state.  Well, how about sealing off Texas, something Rick Perry has been trying to do for years?  Won't work--people who were on the same plane as the guy, but traveling to other states, have already landed.

In fact, some of those passengers may have been heading to other countries too. Let's face it, Ebola is worldwide now.  It's a new form of plague.

God help us.

Hot, Hot, Hot!

Welcome to the dog days of August.  The temps have been running over 100 degrees in Central Texas, and Fiorella is totally innervated, even inside the house.  No matter what the air conditioning reads, her body tells her it is way too hot.

But we should bless August, because that means all the months that follow will be cooler.  Well--except that September sometimes gives us a run for our money.

Same Ol', Same Ol'

No matter what kind of specs he puts on
Perry's day has come and gone.
Dewhurst is icky and Patrick's a fluke
Abbot's a pawn, and Cruz is a kook.
Wendy Davis doesn't float my boat
But Leticia VandePutte gets my vote.
It's politics as usual down Texas way
Nothing new on the horizon today.

Early Music Project

At the invitation of Brother and his wife, Fio and Husband attended a performance sponsored by the Texas Early Music Project last Sunday.  No, it's not early Texas music--rattles and tom-toms--but early music of the Medieval, Renaissance, Baroque and Early Classical periods sung by young, upcoming vocalists and accompanied by a small orchestra of period instruments.  Fio was entranced, especially by the little coloratura, Gitanjali Mathur, whose voice was liquid as water.

There are five more programs this year.  Fiorella recommends them. 

Husband Speaks

Fiorella is out of town, at a writers' conference in Atlanta.  ATLANTA?  Hey, give me San Francisco or Las Vegas or Colorado Springs, or even Philadelphia.  I would even find more to do--and a lot better food--in Fort Worth, right up I-35.

Of course, everything is right up I-35, or over on !-35W.  Elder son and his wonderful wife live right up the highway 1500 miles north, in Minnesota.  Yes, Texas is the center of the world.  From here, you can go anywhere.