sleepless in Austin

Well, it's past midnight and although I realize it isn't *that* late, I can tell already there's no way I'm going to be able to fall asleep easily. Even though I'm physically tired, my brain is not doing a good job at shutting off. Normally I can will myself to drift off. I am after all a huge fan of napping/sleeping/dozing/lying comatose. This hobby I place second only to eating. Speaking of which I'm hungry again.

Currently my mind is thinking of the "Evil Pink Sugar Cookies." The local grocery store, HEB, carries these things in 10 pack clam shell containers and they precisely look like this spinkles and all:



There's something about the mouth feel that makes these things delectable. They're super soft and in reality, have absolutely not substance. In fact, you get maybe a 2 second high off of these things because there's not any chewing involved. And yet, the delicate flavor (they're actually not too sweet) and inviting aroma of butter makes you want to eat another one...and another...and thus a new form of crack is born.

I offered one to my mom today who tagged along with us for grocery shopping. To my horror, she wiped off the icing before eating the cookie:

"The color scare me," she said.

Indeed, there are very few edible things in nature that come in that shade of pink. I asked her if she liked it.

"Like what?"

The cookie.

"Oh, I forgot I ate it. I bet it's fattening."

See? Not even my mother, who I inhereted my gluttony from, could even remember she tasted such a thing.

T thinks they're vile and in a lot of ways they are because aside from flour, sugar and egg, I can't quite figure out what other ingredients are. Caranuba wax. Why would you need that? They're also 90 calories each. Still, they taste darn good to me.

***
My brain is also abuzz because there's been so much going on lately. As you know, my mom moved up here into our home and then a couple of days later found an apartment in the neighborhood, so it seems like all we've been doing lately is moving boxes, packing and unpacking.

My brother came down Saturday morning to help mom move (again) and I only got to spend about 10 hours with him. My friend Mark had already planned to introduce me to his friend Dave who works over at Guitar Resurrection (a fantastic locally owned shop specializing in vintage guitars and amps) because he was looking for a theremin player for his band. That conversation went fairly well above all the ripping and roaring from the sound room next door as Mark was hammering out power chords over the Bogner Amp (3 grand...sheesh, amps are expensive) he's been eyeing for some time. I ended up buying a guitar slide for my brother, oohing and ahhing the various accessories in the store, musing over various guitar picks all shades of the rainbow and then settled on some heavier gauge ones simply because I liked the color. I'm really not a guitarist, but I do appreciate the accouterments. Mark kept mentioning he always feels like a kid in a candy store whenever he visits and I don't blame him...

I have mentioned this before, but I'll say it again. If you're a single woman and you really want to find a guy, just walk into a guitar store. It would help if you knew music, especially if you can play guitar (because your hotness factor will shoot through the roof) and bonus points if you can keep up in conversation about types and feature of guitars, but just knowing an instrument helps. If you don't you can always be the one asking for lessons---believe me, they staff will want to teach you. I have yet to meet a chick who actually worked at a guitar shop. For whatever reason, even though I know there are a lot of gals who play guitar, you'll find mostly men, roughly in their early to mid 20's in various manners of dress (yet all slightly dishelved even if the outfit consists of a suit) hanging out on a Saturday afternoon there. It's like Fry's electronic store but with less geeks or Home Depot with less dads.

Anyway, after the music store excursion, Mom, T, JBRo and I watched Beth perform works by Hayden and Beethoven with the Austin Choral Consort at St. Matthew's Episcopal church. Mark was there too since his vocal coach is Barry Scott Williams, the choral conductor. That was a lovely affair and would have been a nice way to end the night except that mom really wanted a television and the only place open that late was Walmart.

I hate Walmart. Not even just the corporate aspect of it, but the layout, the chaos, the shitty products and the people! This is where my classism and judgemental side rears its ugly head. Arrrgh! People, just because it's Walmart doesn't mean you suddenly need to look the part of trailer trash. A tube top should never be worn on anyone over 150 lbs. If we can see your ass crack when you're not even bending over, the skirt is too darn short. Wear deodorant....I mean, I don't see these types of people on a day to day basis in the city. I only see them in Walmarts. Makes no sense. Do they live there?

Not only were we at Walmart, it happened to be during tax free weekend, so the lines were enormous. Here we were at 11:00pm fighting to grab the HD flat screen TV for mom amongst wailing kids, screaming parents and a whole mess of weirdos who were there just because they had nothing better to do. We just sat next to a timpani and 200 piece choir for the past 2 hours and the night before T and I were at a rock concert, so the sounds of whiny kids really got on our nerves.

Nevertheless, we got mom a TV.

***

It's about 1 am now and I'm starting to crave hot sauce and chips. I'm thinking if I stay up longer I'm eventually going to want a steak dinner. Better go to bed now. Long work day ahead....

Goodbye old house

T and I visited 2919 Cane Field Drive in Sugar Land, TX for the last time today. On the way back home we drove up HW71 with a van packed with the last remnants of my mom's "necessary" possessions--pots and pans clanging, boxes of photos a beloved plant or two. But, we didn't have the most important item along: Mom.

She'll come up a couple of more days later after the closing date, but there's essentially nothing left in that childhood home of mine to warrant ever going back. It's cleaned out. All the memoirs and useful items taken out. Mom seems eager to leave as well. The homemade curtains left in the kitchen have very little sentimental value. It's just sweeping and cleaning rooms now. All the personal affects that would spurn any sort of memory, good or bad, are simply gone at this point.



It was near the corner of Planter's and Cane Field that the 5 bedroom 3 1/2 bath red brick abode sat amongst other nearly identical houses in the boring and snotty master planned community we lived in. I can't complain although my first few years living in Sugar Land were pure hell for me. I just didn't fit in with the affluent blue blooded ass holes in my school with their designer clothing and selfish ways. Still, I look back at the sacrifices my parents made to move there to ensure my brother and I got the best education possible. My high school education at WP Clement was especially robust (how many high schools offer Differential Equations and American Sign Language, for instance) and full of opportunities only the well off could experience. For this, I'm grateful.

We put in the pool a couple of years after we moved in. This I never understood since as you know, I hate swimming. So does my mom. My brother, I'm not sure. My dad, however, would do laps every now and then, but had no concept of water chemistry, so he'd throw in fistfuls of powdered chlorine without much thought causing the pool water to be so chemically infused that your eyes would turn red just by thinking about wanting to swim. My dad also made some bizarre attempts at landscaping throughout our stay. There's a massive rose bush growing in the middle of the side lot. Just there. With a rubber plant next to it. Tell me how that makes any sense?

I still recall the two allergy inducing live oaks out front as mere twigs...now they're full fledged trees. The house served as the residence for my mom and dad for the past 21 years. My brother mainly grew up in that neighborhood. I think we moved there when I was 10. It's the house I moved out of to go to college. It's the house my dad died in this past March.

So, without any reservations, the last Chang resident of 2919 Cane Field Drive will be driving up HW 71 with a small suitcase of clothing and my dad's ashes in the front passenger seat...on her way to her new home and her the beginning of her new life to Austin, TX. I know mom's excited and so are we.