This note was posted outside a resident's door at my mom's retirement community. 

It is certainly possible that I may do this one day, like forgetting the only thing I really needed at the grocey store and can't live without [coffee] and coming home with a bag of stuff I don't need [jar of horseradish, ginger ale], so not judging too harshly. It does remind me of the time my husband H. and I were rushing to return a rental car and make a flight. We drove up to the car return and were pulling our bags out when the guy who was checking the car in asked, "Where's your gas cap sir"? I immediately flashed to the gas station we'd pulled out of a few minutes before, the gas cap sitting on the edge of the car roof tottering quickly to the road as we took the turn out. It was probably a fairly good estimation of what had happened. I heard H reply, a bit indignantly, "I don't know." I knew he was rolling the tape back seeing his hand placing the cap on the car hood and feeling a bit sheepish that he'd left it there. Not a liar, but pragmatic and bit sensitive about his occasional absent mindedness* I heard him say to the attendant, who'd asked again "Sir, do you know where your gas cap is? ... "Look man, I no idea where the gas cap is [not a lie], and we have a plane to catch." Meaning indignantly, "Is a gas cap REALLY that important that you have me standing here talking about it and do you seriously expect me to pull it out of my suitcase like a souvenir!?" The attendant said nothing. (I wondered how much a gas cap cost and what extra charge would be on our bill). Understanding, finally, that the only answer to his question was either "gone" or "lost", and the guy in front of him was never going to utter those words, the attendant waved us on. Thank God for those little plastic things they now use to attach the gas cap to the car. 

*A stickler for checking to make sure the front door is locked when leaving the house, I'd once come home from work to find the front door not only unlocked, but wide open.  

 

 

 

My mom recently moved from Florida to Texas, into a retirement community. There is a bus that provides transportation for shopping and errands. The first week she was here, she took the bus to the post office. She called me afterward to say that the bus had driven out into the country, "in the middle of nowhere", and pulled up in front of an old, old building. She was surprised, and somewhat pitying, that Post Office's in Texas were so ancient. Hmmm. The retirement place with sparkling pool, daily happy hour and trips to the theatre, took residents to the Kountry Store for stamps? Known for her addition of drama to stories (most likely genetic I sheepishly add), I imagined my mom pulling up to a slightly out of date facility - probably an older building from the 70s, that had seen better days, perhaps a few yards down a road off a main highway.

Several months later I opened the paper to see an article about an old post office in North Austin that had been established in the late 1800s and was still operating...not too far from where my mother lives. Again, hmmm. I mentioned it to her and we took a drive out to see it. A drive into the country, down a dirt road, past several old abandoned wooden barns, behind a quarry and further down an unmarked road. So hidden it was, that if there hadn't been a sign back on the highway displaying "Post Office", I would have turned around in a squeal of white dust. I imagined my mother, the only passenger on the trip that morning, and the first "ride" she had taken at her new home, thinking that most of Austin looked like a 1950's western movie set. I thought of her asking me, after I'd moved to Dallas years ago, "are there any trees"? Texas imagery is nearly archetype. 

It was Saturday, so the post office was closed, but I stepped out of the car onto the hot, dirt road and snapped a picture of the building housing the post office operating since the late 1800s where my mom bought her first "Texas" postage stamp and I took a bite of humble pie.

 

Indian pudding not a Thansgiving fav. Described as  "What somebody thought dessert was in 1492"

Thanksgiving Menu 2009 at Dripping Springs, TX

Grilled Portobello mushrooms with panko breadcrumb “stuffing

Olive oil & chive mashed potatoes

Dill and lemon spiked green beans 

Brown sugar glazed baby carrots

Spicy sautéed swiss chard with butternut squash croutons

Indian pudding with vanilla ice cream

(Carrots, dill, and chives from Onion Creek Farm in Dripping Springs)

 

 

"Don't Make Me Go to Town" a great documentary project by Rhonda Lashley Lopez at 414 Gallery in Fredericksburg, TX. Photos are accompanied by amazing interviews/stories (like those of twins Dot and Dimple) of a life as a woman growing up on a working Texas ranch. Rhonda is working on turning the piece into a book- can't wait. 

Dinner-

Grade 3. Strange, as I was usually admonished for NOT talking.

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