Feathers here, water there.

The baby barn swallows up over the kitchen windows are just about to leave their nest. Just like their mama bird, they watch us as we walk in and out of the back door. They're curious and watchful, but they don't seem to be afraid of us. The baby birds are getting too big for all three of them to hide in the bottom of the nest, so when Gatsby is out on the porch, they squeeze themselves down into the nest a little bit, with just their heads peeking out over the top. I would guess that within the next day or two, their feathers will be ready to fly.

On any given night, there must be nearly a hundred barn swallows and sparrows in the pecan trees. We can hear them from inside the house, chirping and singing, and it sounds like an open-tree party out there at times. If we go out on the porch and walk down the back steps, the birds will stop chirping all at once and it gets as quiet as a church out there. When we come back inside, the singing starts up again, and I can see the birds flying back and forth from branch to branch. I'm guessing that the birds use those big pecan trees for sleeping..... so maybe all that hopping from branch to branch to branch as the sun goes down is their way of finding just the perfect spot for a good night's sleep.

My red hen Scarlett has decided that it's time to settle herself down in the nesting box again. Last time she did this was late Spring, and she stayed on her imaginary egg for 40 days. So here we go again...... I will have to lift her up twice a day, to make sure she isn't sitting on an egg from one of the other hens. I thought that a hen goes into this 'broody' stage just once in the Spring..... I didn't think Scarlett would want to keep herself in that hot nesting box during these hottest of days. Maybe she'll change her mind. Scarlett..... that hen has a mind of her own.

It has indeed been hot..... over 100 degrees for countless days and weeks now....... and still no rain. A tropical storm hit the Gulf last week, and friends in the Houston and Clear Lake area told me that they had some good soaking rains. We had nothing up here, unless you count the two rain drops that fell in our courtyard the other night after J and I went for our walk.

We were over at B & G's last night... she invited some of the neighbors over for home-made ice cream. The vanilla ice cream was served over a berry cobbler-type of cake...... very good, and very pretty in fancy glasses........ but it was so hot out on her porch that you couldn't linger over the ice cream because it would have turned into soup very quickly.

The neighbors who are building the huge pond with the island in the middle...... they were at B's last night as well...... and talking about the construction of their swimming pond. They plan to use it for swimming, but as of now aren't planning to line the huge moat-like hole with cement. It's a pond, it's a lake, it's a swimming pool....... it will be all of those...... and it will take thousands upon thousands of gallons of water to fill it..... and then they will have to hope that the dirt will hold the water in place rather than let it all seep through the sides and the bottom. They don't seem to be concerned. "It's only water!" (Pardon me? We're in the middle of the worst drought this state has seen!)

Oh well. To each their own. If they're going to be happy having the Texas version of the Suez Canal in their backyard, then so be it. The rest of us are just going to be keeping our fingers crossed that the filling up of that over-sized moat won't be taking away from the water supply for the rest of us.

Another day on the ranch.

The broiler.

That's what it feels like outside.... a broiler. We've gone way beyond the oven, way beyond the baking stage. We are flat-out into broiling.

And what do we do at that point? Go for a walk, of course. I asked J if she would like to walk, once she got somewhat settled in after the big move here from Pennsylvania. That's walk as in exercise, not walk as in strolling. However.... the temperatures being what they are, we are sort of strolling down the hills, up the hills, across the hills, then back again. On the way back, we sit on my porch and drink cold water before J continues on up the hill to her house. The chickens sometimes watch us as we sweat and drink.

I can hear my Aunt Dolly saying "Ladies do not, ever, sweat." Well, I beg to differ.... but in this state, in this heat, in these broiling-over-100-degree temperatures, we do indeed sweat. But still, we're walking. There are just two prime-time walking portions of the day here at this over-heated time of the year... either first thing in the morning, or after dinner as the sun is going down.

Getting out of bed and going for a long walk isn't really my first choice, especially since I have cats to feed, litter boxes to clean out, chickens that are squawking to get out of the coop, and a coop that needs cleaning. All morning things to do, especially the coop, before you put on clothes that you care about. (When you live out here, you seem to collect a bunch of clothes that you don't want to be seen in outside of your own property. Those are my cleaning-the-coop ensembles.)

Walking after dinner seemed like a good idea, as long as we started out as the sun was going down, but not so late as to risk having to walk back in the dark. Even walking back in the dusk is risky-- how can you see spider webs and snakes when you have limited sunlight? Plus, when you know you're going to be walking after dinner, you tend to eat less. Which isn't a bad thing at all, considering it's the calories you eat after six o'clock at night that end up on your thighs.

So we walk. Starting out in the sunlight, which is blindingly bright on J's side of the hill. I can see her as she starts out from her gate, so I walk up my part of the hill to meet her up there, then walk back down. And we're in the bright sun the entire way until we get by our property and then we're in the shade of the pecan trees near our gazebo. The shade doesn't last all that long once we get near our front pasture.... then we're in the sun again till we get down by the trees surrounding our pond. In case you haven't guessed, during these walks of ours, we live for the shade.

Our pond, by the way.... It's no longer a pond, really..... just a huge football-field sized hole in the ground. Not a drop of water in there these days. How could there be? We haven't had rain in too many weeks (months) to count. And that little bitty morning-long rain shower that we had last month doesn't really count because all of that rain got slurped up by the dry land as soon as the wet drops hit the ground.

The television weather wizards say we have a 50% chance of rain tomorrow. 50%--- that's a higher percentage than they've been promising all year long. However, we had a 30% chance of showers the other day..... we got exactly two raindrops-- one fell on the stones in the courtyard by our garage, the other fell on J's arm as she was leaving my porch after the cold-water pit-stop following our walk.

I will believe the rain when I see it. Till then, we walk. I carry cat food in a little container in case I see the stray cat (she usually comes by at 7:00 in the morning, but just in case she gets hungry at dinner-time, I'll be ready for her). We gave apple cores and peelings to B's horse Diablo last night.... apples and carrots are his favorite treats. Diablo nuzzled up to J last night as she calmly put her head next to his face. I am not that brave.... Diablo is a huge horse and his head looks like it's four times the size of my own. It's all I can do to put the apple pieces in the palm of my hand and trust that he will gobble up the fruit without gnashing his teeth into my fingers.

Broiling. With a capital B. And of course, Walking, with a capital W. That's about all the news there has been from up here in the hills.

Baby birds... and the stray cat.

The nest of baby barn swallows near our kitchen windows had four little baby birds in it...... the mama bird was (and still is) flying back and forth, back and forth.... countless times a day to feed those tiny birds whose wide-open beaks look bigger than their heads.

A couple of days ago, one of the little birds fell out of the nest. I found it on the porch, struggling to get up on its legs. The little thing looked at me and opened its beak wide, I guess expecting that I had some food for it. I was able to get it back into the nest-- the kitchen step-stool was just about the right height... so back in with the others it went.

Next day, that same little bird was down on the porch again. It had been out there for a good long while and by the time I saw it, the poor thing was barely alive. I looked at it more closely, and it wasn't as developed as the other three baby birds were. I'm guessing that the mama bird tossed that one out of the nest--- not once but twice. According to the bird books, the adult birds won't take care of babies who aren't keeping up with the rest of the group. I don't know just how the mama bird got the baby bird out of there, but I imagine if she kept moving it around with her beak, eventually it got to the edge of the nest and down it went. So now there are three baby barn swallows up there, all doing very well... and by the end of next week, they'll be out of the nest and flying around the porch with the dozens and dozens of others here.

The little stray cat was back this morning, and yesterday morning as well. Seven o'clock seems to be her breakfast time...... and I've been giving her a little dish of dry cat food and a bowl of water. She's getting friendly and playful..... I was able to pick her up and carry her almost to the house this morning. As soon as we got in the driveway, though, she was wriggling to get away. I'm guessing that she's tried to get near the house before, and Gatsby has chased her down the driveway.

I will keep feeding her when I see her...... it's too hot to just ignore her...... and who knows if anyone else around here will put food and water out for her. I don't think I'll try bringing her to the house again, though. Gatsby isn't going to like it..... he'll chase her away...... and (most important) I do not need another cat.

Repeat: I do not need another cat.

Saturday stuff.

We went for a walk this morning before it got too too hot. It was already too hot when we started out, but it was definitely too too hot when we got back nearly an hour later. Along the way, we saw a few of the neighbors. One neighbor who has livestock (horses, cows, goats) told us that he has had to sell off some of his animals because it was getting too expensive to feed them. No surprise there... we've heard the same thing on the local news every night. This particular neighbor used to have four horses.... I've only seen one in his pasture for weeks now, so I'm guessing that the other three have been sold.

The neighbor also raises cows and goats-- not for pets, but for the meat. Cabrito-- that's what he calls those goats. He says it's a delicacy and a tradition. I call it what it is-- baby goats. He is also selling a lot of his goats because all of the pregnant females gave birth to sets of twins, which gave him too many new mouths to feed. Within the next month or so, he'll be selling the babies..... which means that the mother goats will be over there crying in the fields as they look for their babies. Ditto for the mama cows, when he takes their calves away. (Those are the times when I just stay in the house and try not to listen to the sad sounds of the neighbors' livestock.)

One of our other neighbors has had workmen over there to expand their pond. They're making it bigger-- more like huge. Actually, they've made it into an island. There's tons of dirt that they had dug out with those digging-machine things.... the dirt was taken out of the field in the shape of a circle, leaving a round island in the center. The 'island' has a big old tree with a wooden swing underneath it. When they finish digging out all the dirt, they will have to build a wood bridge to get from one side of the field to the island part in the middle. Then, of course, they'll have to fill the pond with water so it looks like a pond and not just a deep round circle in the dirt. Speaking of deep-- they've dug down about twenty feet into the earth. That's going to take a lot of water to fill that big a pond. Not too smart, if you ask me, being that we've been in the middle of a drought for so many months. Maybe they know something we don't know? If they start building an ark in their yard after the pond is finished, then I'll start to worry.

The stray cat was back this morning. As we were walking down the hill, there she was by the edge of the field near our pond... just sitting there in the sun, in about the exact same spot where she was the first time I fed her. Back up the hill I came, to get her some food and water.... she started eating as soon as I put the little dishes in the grass. We went on our walk and when we got back to our hill, the dishes were empty except for 259 fire-ants. I will make it a point to look for that little cat every morning now. I will also make it a point to move the food and water dishes up the hill a little bit each day, towards the house. One of our neighbors told me that she wouldn't mind having an outside cat, so maybe this little stray could fit her wish. I don't want another cat, but I can't just walk by a stray one who needs food and water. Especially in this blasted heat.

My chickens are still laying eggs on these hot days, which is surprising to me. There are times when I go outside and the hens are just standing in the shade with their beaks open... they look like they're trying to breathe in any sort of air that they can, whether the air is broiling hot or shady-cool. I make sure they have clean water out there, and I've been saving them every bit of vegetables and salad and bits of fruit. Scarlett is still plopping herself down at my feet at least once or twice a day, waiting for me to pick her up and bring her Royal Henness from one part of the yard to the other. (She has me trained quite well, don't you think?)

Hot and hotter.

Sweltering. Beyond baking. We're into broiling. We did have a little rain shower the other day.... it rained off and on for a few hours, then quickly went back to broiling/sweltering as soon as the sun came out. Makes me wonder just how much benefit the grass and plants got from the rain before the sun and the heat started to evaporate the wetness.

Gatsby has been spending all of his days inside the house, only going outside after dinner-time. He will come back in the house around 9:00 for another half-dish of cat food, then out he goes and that's where he wants to be till the morning. Mickey and Sweet Pea get to look out of the screen door for a couple of hours in the early morning, but as soon as I can feel the heat coming in through the screen, I close the doors and they have to be content with looking out of the windows. I'm still standing firm on not letting those two outside anymore. They seem to be okay with that, for the most part, and don't really meow by the door these days. Maybe they realize how hot it is out there. And let's not even remind anyone (especially me) of the snake issues.

The stray cat from last week never came back, and I'm just as glad. I hope it went back to its own home, or someone else found it and has taken it as their own. I don't need (or want) another cat, and I would have felt badly about taking that cat to the shelter. Two inside cats and one mostly-outside cat is more than enough. I have also gotten over the puppy-thing since we saw that cute little Peekapoo at the July 4th parade. Puppies are always so darn cute.... their cuteness makes you forget all the puppy training you have to go through. I'm not ready for that, and I may never be.

The chickens are hiding in the shade underneath the bushes for most of these hot hot hot days. They come out around lunch-time, looking for table scraps from the big salads I usually make for lunch. The hens love the tomato seeds and the bits of lettuce and carrots. Actually, those hens will eat just about anything at all, except mushrooms.

The barn swallows are still either flying around the porch columns or sitting in nests or feeding baby birds. Three nests on the porch are now on their second set of baby birds. Two adult barn swallows took over the nest over the kitchen windows without even making adjustments to the nest that was already there. Usually, when these birds use a pre-built nest, they will add extra bits of mud and grass and give it their own personal birdie-touch. Not so with the latest two..... they just flew into that nest a few days after the first set of baby birds flew out. And just the other day, I saw the teeny heads peeking out of the nest, with even teenier bits of feathers on their mostly-bald heads. Too cute.

My pile of books-to-read has been dwindling down nicely during all of these hot days. I finish one book and start another. "Water For Elephants" was great, and I sped through that book last week..... not because I like to read that fast, but the story was just so very good that I couldn't stop reading. I know they made a movie of that book, but the author's words are always better than anything that Hollywood can put onto a roll of film.

A new house is being built further up the hill. We can see it off in the distance beyond the field behind our barn. Looks like a very nice house, and it doesn't bother me a bit because it's so far away, but it surely is bothering the people who own the house at the very end of the road. With that new house being built so close to the road, the old neighbors will be able to hear the new neighbors if they're all in their yards at the same time. The old neighbors, who have lived in this area for more than thirty years, were used to having that stretch of the hill all to themselves. And now.... surprise.... a new house goes up on the property next to the old neighbors' property. To make matters worse, the new neighbors' house is more than twice the size of the 'old' neighbors' house.... so his house now looks like a guest cottage for the bigger, newer house. Should be interesting when the new neighbors move into their new home.... the old neighbors aren't too happy now, and I'm sure they're not going to be calling out Howdy, neighbor! when the moving truck comes along.

Another day on the ranch......

"Treasures From the Attic"

That's the title of the book I've been reading, by Mirjam Pressler.... it's the story of Anne Frank's family (grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins)-- before, during, and after the horrors of World War II.

"The Diary of Anne Frank" was one of the first books I got from the Young Adult section of the library when I was in the seventh grade. I had started out with the Nancy Drew books, as we all did back then in the early 1960s. Then one day when I was looking through the shelves to see what else was there, Anne Frank's Diary was displayed on top of a low bookcase. I don't know what amazed me more-- that an actual diary had been published, or that its author was a young girl.

I kept a diary for years when I was a teenager, and reading the memoirs of other people has always interested me. And here I am with a long-running blog, which of course doesn't surprise me. 'Diary' is a much softer-sounding word than 'blog.'

My husband and I went to Amsterdam years ago, and we went to what is now called "The Anne Frank House." Up the stairs we went, right into the attic rooms where the Frank family was hidden away for two years. The magazine pictures of movie stars were still pasted on the wall of Anne's little room... some were faded, most were peeling away from the wall. There must have been twenty people in the tour group with us up in that attic. Not a sound from anyone as we walked through the rooms. About the only thing you heard was a zipper or a snap from a purse as someone searched for tissues. The sadness in that attic was in the walls, in the rooms, in the very air we were all breathing. Especially for the women in that little group, we were all crying as we left to walk back down the stairs to the main floor.

Before we left, I bought a copy of Anne Frank's Diary.... I have read that book so many times over the years, but I wanted a copy that came right from that very house. I read Anne's Diary on the way home on the plane, and I've read it twice since then. When I finish reading "Treasures From The Attic," I will probably read the Diary again. Some books are worth reading and re-reading over the years..... because certain things should never be forgotten.

My dad used to talk about liberating 'the camps' after The War ended in 1945. He could barely keep his voice steady when he told us about the 'walking skeletons' the Army found when they went into those camps. And there was one story about a little girl in Germany that the soldiers found wandering the streets by herself. She was lost, and had no clothes on..... my dad took his undershirt off and put it on the little girl-- I remember that he said the shirt went past her toes and looked like a night-gown on her. My dad and his unit brought the little girl from house to house, looking for someone to take her in or help her find her parents.

Over the years, my older cousins and my aunts have told me that after daddy came home from The War, he would sit in the front porch at Grandma's house and stare out the windows for the longest time. Aunt Dolly told me that a sadness followed my dad around for years, and the family tried not to talk much about the places he had been overseas. Daddy had the back of his pocketwatch engraved with the names of the countries that he went to, courtesy of the US Army-- Italy, France, Germany, Austria, Sierra Leone... there were others, but I don't remember them all. According to my Aunt Dolly... 'The war finally ended for your father when he met and married your mother, and the sadness left his eyes when you were born a year later.'

The world needs to remember its history. We're still sending soldiers off to wars.

The birds, the bees, gummy worms, gecko eggs.

On most days here on our porch, it nearly looks like that old Alfred Hitchcock movie--- "The Birds." We have nearly 25 barn swallows, if not more, who have built nests around our porch, and that's not counting the orchestra of sparrows and purple martins in the bird houses around the yard. And did I mention all the bluebirds in the little houses out in the pastures? At any given time, there is a symphony of bird-songs on our property. The barn swallows have built nests under the eaves of the porch... about six or eight nests, very well-built and sturdy, and when one mama bird has persuaded her babies to fly out of the nest, another mama bird takes over and lays her eggs in the same nest. The birds can be seen all over our porch all day long, on the railings, the window ledges, the ceiling fans. At night, the newest baby birds sometimes go back up near their nests to sleep.

I believe that the barn swallows recognize us now..... most of them will just sit tight on the porch columns or in the nests, as we go in and out of the doors and walk around the porch. They watch us from their perches, they watch me through the kitchen windows, and they keep an eye on Gatsby when he's outside. I wonder if the birds know that Gatsby is too lazy to try and catch them..... plus it's been too hot anyway for that type of movement for Gatsby.

Years ago when we first moved to Texas, I started collecting porcelain barn swallows that hang flat against the wall. I kept finding them at yard sales and thrift shops, and I bought them to decorate the walls in the kitchen of our old house. Now those same porcelain barn swallows are on the walls of our breakfast room here..... and real live barn swallows are decorating our porch on the outside of the house.

Bees..... countless bees and wasps this year. I can't even begin to count the number of nests that I have sprayed with that green can of 30-feet wasp spray. Trouble with that spray is that you have to make sure the chickens aren't around when you spray, otherwise their feathers would be dripping with that poison-stuff from that green can. There's another type of spray that lets out a foam (like shaving cream)--- you spray the wasp or bee nest with that and the foam covers the nest and they can't even fly out.

Gecko eggs...... I found one of those in the house, right near my computer desk. Looking at it from a distance, it looked like a little white pearl-shaped button. Heaven knows I haven't worn anything with a pearl button on it since we've been here, so I knew darn well that wasn't a button on the floor. I've long since learned not to pick anything up with my fingers unless I know what it is...... so I went after that 'button' thing with a little pair of tweezers. It was a perfectly formed teeny-tiny egg..... inside was dried out white liquid with a teeny black center. Our friends H & K told us it was a gecko egg. How did it get in my house? Well, of course, the gecko got in first..... you might find other eggs around the house. Believe me, I've looked. My guess is that the gecko that got in here laid just that one egg and then found her way back outside. (One can only hope.)

The gummy worms....... our friends J & J have their daughter and granddaughters visiting....... one of the little girls had a birthday and she wanted a special cake. Chocolate cake, chocolate pudding, green icing that looked like grass, and gummy worms mixed up in the cake. Gummy worms. They didn't have that type of candy when I was a kid. And if they did, I doubt very much that I would have eaten them. J stopped by the other day to give us a huge slice of that cake.... the chocolate parts were delicious, the green icing made your tongue an interesting shade of green....... but I just couldn't get myself to taste the gummy worms. With all the insects and wildlife and creepy crawling slithering things that I've seen since we've moved here, I just didn't want to have a candy worm closer to me than the plate it was sitting on.

Candy makers, take note: gecko eggs could be the latest craze. Little white egg-shaped candy with a teeny tiny baby gecko inside it. I'm cringing as I type this..... but kids would love them.

Cat magnet.

One of the first baby gifts I got as an infant was a little white towel with a multi-colored quilted cat on it. The towel was a gift from my Aunt Dolly, and I still have it. The colors on the cat have faded over the years, but you can still see the little crown on top of the cat's head, and it's still very clear that the animal on the towel is a cat.

That towel must have been an omen..... that over the years of my life, I would very rarely be without a cat. Even during the years of apartment living when my mother absolutely positively refused to let me bring a "stray flea-ridden cat that's been god-know-where" into her home, I still managed to sneak food into the basement of the apartment building for various cats and kittens for the years that we lived there.

My mother was not a cat person. Nor a dog person. If it walked on more than two legs and couldn't hold itself upright, then she wasn't much interested. My dad loved all animals... he would forever be bringing stray cats and dogs home from the bus depot, but then would have to find other homes for them when my mother put her high-heeled foot down and said absolutely not. About the only pets my dad and I could get away with when I was a little kid were the baby chicks, bunnies, and ducks he would bring home at Easter time. About three months later, all those baby Easter surprises would mysteriously end up 'out on the farm with lots of other chicks, bunnies, and ducks they can play with.' (Little kids will believe anything.)

This morning, I was outside in the front courtyard making sure there was enough water in the fountain for the birds to bathe in and drink..... that beautiful fountain is more of a birdbath than a garden ornament. I always look out into the field to check for wildlife... I don't want my chickens to be surprised by a fox or a stray dog as they peck around the front yard. As my eyes scanned the pasture, I saw the unmistakable outline of a cat. When I got the binoculars to check, the cat looked very much like Sweet Pea. Of course, I couldn't just leave it out there staring at an empty pond that's been waiting for rain that never gets here.

Into the house I went, bringing Gatsby with me. That cat is very possessive of his property and I knew he would chase the other cat away if he happened it see it. I walked down the hill with a dish of cat food and a dish of water. The cat meowed as soon as it saw me, and came right up to see what was in the bowls. Gobble, gobble, gobble.... steadily but daintily, so I guessed it was a female. After the dishes were empty, she cleaned her paws and sat there looking at me. I took the plastic bowls up off the ground, asking the cat to follow me back to the house. Meow, meow, meow. 'Well.... are you staying out here in the blazing sun, or coming up to the porch with me?'

The cat started to follow me..... up from the tall grass at the side of our fence, up to the pavement of the road. She followed me for a bit, then sat by my feet, and gave me that sad little lost cat look that felines do so well. Meow, meow, meow. I picked her up and carried her all the way to the house. She didn't move until I started walking down the driveway, then she started to wiggle a little bit. I put her down in the grass and she walked into the shade of the pecan trees. When she put her nose down into the grass to have a little sniff, off she went.... running out into the pasture towards the pond. Possibly, her little nose smelled Gatsby's scent. Or the chickens. Or possibly a night-time wildlife visitor.

In any case, the last I saw of the cat was her tail sticking up in the tall grass by the pond. If she gets hungry and thirsty enough, she'll be back up here by the house again. Either that, or I will be walking down the hill again with cat food and water.

Hill Country Wedding.

We went to our first Texas wedding this weekend...... the youngest son of our friends V & S got married in Austin, at a wonderful little wedding chapel/reception house. The ceremony was outside under decades-old trees, with white paper lanterns hanging from the branches. They had a four-piece orchestra playing music before the wedding and then a surprise band of New Orleans-style musicians came out to jazz up the bridal party's walk down the aisle when the ceremony was over.

Before the newlyweds walked down the aisle together, we all sang "All You Need Is Love"-- with apologies to John, Paul, George, and Ringo. Even with the lyrics right in front of us all on little cards, can anyone do justice to a classic Beatles song like that?

The ceremony itself was very personal and intimate, with H & A saying their own vows and promises to one another... each of them nervous, each trying to hold themselves together and not cry. There was a third group of musicians at the reception.... wonderful music, great singers, a very cohesive, comfortable group that seemed like they had been making music together for years.

It was nice to see V & S and their sons... they've stopped here from time to time, and we've kept in touch via eMail. V sent me a picture of her mother-of-the groom dress, and on one of their visits here, I was able to show her the dress I bought for the wedding. ("Red heels or beige?" -- Red! Definitely the red!)

H & A's wedding was filled with unique and very personal touches... little bottles of jam to take home, vintage hankies at each place setting, mason jars filled with wildflowers on all the tables. After dinner was served (barbecued brisket, scrumptious sweet potatoes, delicious macaroni and cheese, corn & vegetable salad)... they put a microphone in the middle of the dance floor and friends and family were able to go up and give their personal wishes to H & A. Lots of laughs there, as well as some tears.... we were passing tissues around our table, especially when A's grandma got up to speak. ("I am A's 90-year-old grandmother, and A has always been my favorite youngest grandchild.....")

I've always admired V & S..... they have a lovely family, a good circle of friends, and there is a closeness there in V's house that just surrounds you as soon as you walk in their front door. We used to go to V's parties when we lived in the old neighborhood, they came to ours, and we saw a lot of their friends at the wedding. Same friends, same warm greetings, big hugs, bittersweet goodbyes.

It was nice to see everyone at the wedding. Rather than a predictable wedding reception party, there were lots of surprises... little unique touches that made the celebration truly their own.

H.O.T.

Broiling. Baking. Steaming. Boiling. Hell.

It is flat-out HOT outside. Following the two coldest winters in Texas history, we are now deep into the second of two consecutive hotter-than-hot summers. By mid-morning, the leaves on the vegetable plants (tomato and eggplant) are so wilted that they looked like they've been boiled. And they look that way after being thoroughly watered at 7:00 in the morning. The plants get watered again at lunch-time, and they look bright and perky, only to wilt again in mid-afternoon.

For all the time and care that's gone into that vegetable garden this year (mostly my husband's time and care) we've had about 16 ears of corn, four dozen tomatoes, and there's just one little eggplant growing on the largest of the ten eggplant stalks. All of that watering and time? For one little bitty eggplant? When it comes time for cooking, that had better be the best-tasting eggplant on the planet.

I've lost my initiative for vegetable gardening. It's a constant fight with the wildlife (raccoons and skunks and possums that come out in the dark) and the chickens (who scratch up the young plants and make hen-sized resting holes in the shade under the mature plants). Not to mention Gatsby, who has adopted the largest eggplant stalk as his own private umbrella. I've been keeping Gatsby in the house during the hottest part of the day, which he doesn't seem to mind. But as soon as the sun drops and he realizes it's dark outside, he's sitting by the door with a born-to-travel look on that whiskered face of his.

Speaking of whiskered faces..... I had a puppy-moment at last week's July 4th parade in Chappell Hill. As we were talking to our friends there, a young girl passed by holding the cutest little puppy in the world. (But they're all the 'cutest in the world,' aren't they?) She said it was a Peekapoo-- a cross between a Pekingese and a Poodle. Years ago, I had a little black long-haired dog that was a cross between a Lhasa Apso and a Pekingese. He was puppy-calendar adorable when I got him, and he was the best dog I'd had up to that point. So of course, when I saw that little bundle of Peekapoo, the first words out of my mouth were "Ooooooooh, look at the baaaaaaby!"

The first thought in my mind was We need to get one of these little puppies. And the second thought was 'Do I want to be taking care of another dog for the next fifteen years?' Until I can answer that question with a resounding Of course I do! -- then it isn't time for another dog. Oh well.

Until then, we're dealing with the heat. The Heat. The only way is to get outside things done first thing in the morning..... try not to do anything in the sun.... walk slowly to the road after the mail truck comes..... and keep reading. I've read four books in the last seven days. (Two of them were dog books. No coincidence there, I'm sure.)

Happiness

I found this in my readings along the way a couple of weeks ago:

HAPPINESS:

Having
Absolute
Perfect
Pleasure
In
Normal
Everyday
Simple
Stuff


And that just about says it all. At least for today.

Purple is as purple does.

We didn't get the usual blanket-covering of wildflowers this Spring-- the lack of rain (a very sincere lack of rain) gave us just a sprinkling of bluebonnets and wild daisies and paint brushes. The fields and pastures were just green, green, green instead of the rainbow-colored explosions of years past.

A few weeks ago, we did get one good rain-shower...... lasted for an hour or so, but it did rain nicely, which gave us some patches of wildflowers here and there. Tiny patches at that, but they were nice to see. One of our friends called them 'rain lilies.' They bloom in pink and white, after a good rain, and we had white ones in the field by our barn.

The last couple of times as we drove along La Bahia towards Round Top, there were a few pastures there that have just erupted into a purple mass of wildflowers. I have no idea what they are.... sort of look like wild iris, or a plump purple daisy of some sort. But purple they are, and purple they're staying, and from last week till this week, they are still in bloom and looking very pretty.

The bumper-crops of bluebonnets bring the city-people up into the Hill Country, armed with their camera and blankets-- the camera to take photos of their kids which end up on their Christmas cards, and the blankets so the kids aren't sitting down in a mass of fire ants while they're looking at the camera and saying Cheese. Unfortunately, all those camera-people mash down the bluebonnets.... and people who live here don't much like people from the city just walking onto their property just to plop down and take some pictures. No one reads the 'No Trespassing' signs when the bluebonnets are in bloom.

As we drove along La Bahia this week, we didn't see other cars slowing down to admire those purple blooms. Had the pastures been filled with bluebonnets, I'm sure just about every car would have stopped or slowed for a little look-see. I guess the wild purple flowers aren't as exciting as the bluebonnets, but we liked them, and just this morning, I saw a small patch of them out in our front field. A purple surprise for these hot summery days. It's a wonder the purple wildflowers are holding their blooms in this heat.

To paraphrase that book of poetry (and I have the book downstairs but can't remember the author's name).... "When I am an old wildflower, I shall bloom purple."

July 4th

As I type this, there is a program on TV from NYC... the Macy's July 4th celebration and fireworks. I watched part of it... I will probably turn it on again when I go back downstairs. I have to agree with my cousin F, though-- fireworks on TV just aren't the same.

No fireworks up here in the Hill Country this year.... everything is just too dry, dry, dry. (Or "driiiiiigh," if you want the Texas spelling and pronunciation of that word.) Fireworks have been banned up here..... most counties have cancelled their night-time light-up-the-sky displays. Houston is the only city that I know of that's having fireworks tonight. I saw part of the Houston celebration on TV also-- the city's streets are jam-packed with party-goers willing to stand out in the 100-degree sun, waiting for their sunburns to kick in as the moon goes up and the fireworks follow the country music stars. Yee-haaawwww. (This party-goer is staying home.)

We went to Round Top yesterday afternoon for their annual July 4th concert. We went there last year, and I have to say this year's music selections weren't as lively and as well-received as last July's. They didn't play "Yellow Rose of Texas," for one thing-- and more than a few people stood up and requested that yesterday when the conductor asked for requests. (Memo to the conductor: Do not ask for requests if you're just going to re-play the last song on the program). Last year's audience was clapping, stomping, singing, smiling, flag-waving-- which did happen yesterday, but not all the way through, and not with last year's enthusiasm.

Half of yesterday's music was very nice-- patriotic and lively, with everyone clapping and waving the free flags that we were all given as we handed in our tickets. However, three of the music selections nearly put everyone to sleep yesterday, helped along with the not-too-cool air-conditioning in the building. They had a full house yesterday at Festival Institute... every seat, including all the balcony levels, was filled with a red/white/blue-covered Texan. "Women of a certain age" were fanning themselves with the programs..... and there was one music selection that just about put us all to sleep. Proof of that-- no one, not a soul, clapped at the end of that sad slow music. You could have heard a pin drop as the musicians turned their music sheets over to the next selection. The conductor quickly picked up on the non-enthused audience reaction and got the orchestra to playing the next song on the program.

Yesterday's concert was paid for by the BlueBell Ice Cream Company, and they were giving free ice cream at the end of the concert, but by that time, we were all just hot, hot, hot..... everyone was moving in slow motion towards the doors..... my husband found an empty row that we could zip through to a side entrance near where our car was parked, so off and out we went..... we had BlueBell in the freezer at home anyway.

This morning was the Chappell Hill July 4th parade, and that's right where we were..... lawn chairs set up in the shade, and I remembered to bring a lace fan from the house (very Victorian, very un-Texan, but it worked just fine). Every year, we go to this parade because we think it's so country, so small-town, so quaint, so cute. And it is all of that. But every year as we're driving home (again leaving early to get to our car before the rest of the crowd) we say the same thing: That parade needs music! The man who does the introductions and the prayer just cannot be heard! The parade needs music! Music! MUSIC! And this year, having just been to DisneyWorld recently, where they truly know how to put a parade together, we just sat there in the car on the way home and said "That parade needed Mickey Mouse!"

But on the bright side..... the best part of today's parade was the same as last year's best part: The World Famous Kids' Marching Kazoo Band. At least thirty little kids, all in matching tee-shirts, all with plastic kazoos in their mouths, belting out thirty different tunes at the same time. If that doesn't make you smile, then your smile is just plain broken. And why are those kids so good? Because they brought music (MUSIC!) to that quaint and quiet little parade.

Julia Child and Texas Pizza.

I've been reading "Julie and Julia," by Julie Powell. I never did get to see the movie they made of this book (starring Meryl Streep and Amy Adams) but I found the book at the local thrift shop. Of course, for just fifty cents, I couldn't leave the book there. Plus, the picture of Meryl Streep (all done up to look like Julia Child) that's on the cover of the book is just priceless.

It's a great story, based on the true-to-life cooking blog of Julie Powell. I couldn't imagine taking a cookbook and trying to make every single recipe-- and if I did happen to lose my mind one day and decide to do that, I wouldn't pick one of Julia Child's cookbooks. It would be just too overwhelming, all those French recipes with the ingredients that you have to search high and low for. (I have a hard enough time here trying to find a good brand of ricotta cheese.)

When Julia Child had her cooking program on the PBS channel years ago, I watched every show... even the re-runs which I'd seen over and over again. Julia Child was a magician in that kitchen of hers.... everything looked so rich and so delicious, but on the way to the completed recipe, Julia would invariably drop a spoon or set a towel on fire or whack a carving knife down so hard on that cutting board of hers that bowls would start dancing on the counter. I just loved to watch her cook, knowing full well that I wouldn't ever try one of her recipes.

So this book is a delight to read... and as Julie goes through the endless list of Julia's recipes in "Mastering the Art of French Cooking," her language goes from school-girl proper to truck-driver trash, especially when the crepes stick to the pan or the brown sugar burns on the lamb cubes.

The Texas Pizza..... we drove into College Station this evening..... just to have a pizza dinner at the Hullabaloo Diner. We usually go there for lunch when we're up in College Station, but we've been wanting to try their pizza (advertised as Best in Texas). The omelets at Hullabaloo are out-of-this-world delicious, the fluffiest omelets I've ever tasted anywhere...... so we thought they had a good chance at making a good pizza-- especially since they have honest-to-goodness pizza ovens back in their kitchen. We thought it would be worth the drive.... so off we went.

My husband had high hopes...... he wanted us each to order our own pizza. When we suggested that to the waiter, he said their pizzas were "huge, 15 inches wide, 8 slices each." He walked away to give us time to come to our senses. I told my husband that one pizza would be more than enough, and anyway-- what if we didn't like the pizza? Then we'd be stuck with two of them. ("Do the chickens eat pizza?" Probably, as long as there weren't any mushrooms on it.)

We ordered just one....... half of it with meatballs and bacon and sausage (my husband's half, needless to say)....... and the other half with peppers and onions and spinach (guess whose half that was). The waiter told us their pizzas were made with provolone. "What? No mozzarella?" You can get that as an extra topping, said he. Fine. That's what I did. "Who makes pizza without mozzarella?" (That's like NYC without the Rockettes.)

When the waiter brought the pizza to the table, it looked delicious. Looked just like a NY pizza, with a thin crust, little air bubbles along the edges, the sauce smelled home-made, and the toppings were very very generous. Every inch of my husband's half was covered with meat, and my half of the pizza had dozens of thin slices of onions and peppers on top of a green layer of fresh spinach. One bite... two bites.... three bites..... delicious, each and every bite. Not quite the taste of NYC pizza dough, but darn close. And the provolone was actually very good... a little unexpected taste there along with the mozzarella.

As we were enjoying the pizza (my husband telling me that we should have ordered two so we'd have more left-overs to take home) the cook came out of the kitchen and walked over to our table-- he wanted to know how we liked the pizza. We told him it was delicious..... told him we'd been there many times for lunch.... and we had made a special trip there just for the pizza (which is only served after 5:00 because they don't have the pizza ovens turned on during the breakfast and lunch hours). We got to-go boxes and brought half of our separate pizza halves home with us.

On the way home, we got to talking about the best pizzas we've had in Texas. By far, the best is Star Pizza in downtown Houston. They make both NY-style and Chicago deep-dish. I like their crust because they give you the option of a whole wheat crust instead of the regular white-flour crust. (Every time I say that, my husband raises his fist in the air and says "White Flour!!") I realize that authentic NY pizza doesn't come with a whole wheat crust, but give me a break here-- I'm trying to stay as healthy as possible. My husband and I both grew up in NY, so we know what a real pizza should taste like, and we've been to Chicago for authentic deep-dish pizza from Lou Malnati's, so I think we're qualified to give an educated opinion on 'real' pizza. (The chain pizza places, who will remain nameless here, don't even come close to honest-to-goodness pizza.)

The pizza at Hullaballo was indeed delicious. The vegetables were fresh (they actually tasted just-picked, as do the veggies they put into their omelets)..... the meat (if you're into eating dead warm-blooded animals) was plentiful and the only complaint from my husband was that the sausages were a bit on the spicy side. We'll definitely go back there another night when we're in the mood for pizza. The Hullabaloo Diner is a fun place to go, no matter what you order. The Diner itself is one of those vintage aluminum railroad-type diners that they moved from NY and plopped down into the middle of this tiny town called Wellborn. Pink and black tiles all over the inside of the diner (true 1950s colors in the tile-world).... 45-records hung up all over the walls.... and besides all of that, Guy Fierri of "Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives" has eaten there and said their food was 'out of bounds.'

They usually play 1950s 'oldies' music at Hullabaloo.... it fits right in with the theme of the Diner. We went there one time for a late lunch and there were only two other people besides us waiting to order lunch. Instead of the usual 1950s rock-n-roll music, they had a radio tuned into a local country-western station. Somehow, all that guitar-thumping and twang-y singing just didn't go with the Yankee-style 1950s decor of that old diner. But even with those country-western songs blaring out from behind the counter, the omelets and biscuits were still the best we've ever had. Yeeee-haaaawwww.

Julia Child made an omelet once on her cooking show..... poured the beaten eggs into that pan of hers, added in all the chopped and sauted vegetables, sprinkled in an ungodly amount of grated cheese...... and then folded the omelet in half by quickly pulling the pan towards her, and then slid the omelet from the skillet to the plate without using a spatula. I think that was also the day when her kitchen towel got caught by the flame of the stove and started to burn. Without missing a beat, she hit the towel with the bottom of the skillet to stamp out the flames and then used a pair of tongs to lift the smoking towel from the counter-top to the kitchen sink. And didn't they take Julia Child's entire kitchen and re-construct it in the Smithsonian? I seem to remember reading that somewhere along the way.