Praise and Rejection

When I first started putting my writing out there in the big wide world, I got a mixture of praise and rejection. And it continues. Now, the praise is easy to take, like a spoon full of ice cream (the traditional 'spoon full of sugar' makes my teeth ache. Sorry Ms. Poppins), but the rejection can be soul destroying. Especially when you think your story is the most amazing thing since the Bible. 

Sometimes, the critic is right, and what you've written is a pile of dung. Sometimes, the rejection helps to sculpt your work into something far greater. Sometimes, it's just one opinion and another reader may love it. And sometimes, it's more about the process and enjoyment you had while writing that pile of dung than how good it actually is. 

That said, I have been writing some flash fiction for The Standard Lit Magazine, an amazing new venture that prints its first copy in January. The following piece is one that wasn't right for them, but gosh darn it, did I have fun writing it! So here it is in all its glory, be it stinky dung or worthy of readers - 

A Winter Moment

The young sun chills the scene in a blue haze. The world is hibernating, but his breaths are even and assured as he sits in his truck. The radio crackles with static in a place too distant for the voices of men. Snow drifts and dusts the windshield, never seeming to settle. The heavy boughs of the birch would beg to differ.

With a lifetime of routine, he sees clearly through the mist.  

Coils of a rich dark roast attempt to drag his eyes to the cup holder. But he cannot be distracted; he has the best seat in the house.

The show begins with the creak of snow under hooves, the clack of horn against horn, and the shifting of air as shaggy boulders roll from the mist.

The grumble of his truck sputters and dies. He waits until the very last second, fingers gripped around the wheel.

When he hears that first gentle low, a grin releases the boy that once pressed his nose against the window of his father’s truck. With the nimbleness of his younger self, he gets to work.

Warm breath adds to the mist as several bold heads lock over the sides of the trailer. He cradles a soft nose and allows it to restore feeling in his fingers. Then, with the warmth still lingering, he pinches tight twine and snips the haylage free. Steam rushes from the core, and the air is filled with the sweet sour smell of fermentation.

He drops mounds in the snow, the strands barely touching the ground before they are caught and chewed and cured into cud.

He lays the last morsel and returns to his cab satisfied. He sits a while longer, making the most of a historic winter moment and marveling at the resilience of his highland herd. 

Merry Christmas!!!!!!

It's here! Christmas is upon us, kids all over the world are now counting hours instead of sleeps, and my niece has met Father Christmas for the very first time! The result:

Then:

I have been super organised this year. As opposed to last year, we can actually afford to buy presents now AND the extortionate shipping fees to the UK no longer result in us living on Ramen noodles and the occasional bean for the rest of the week. 

UK gifts had to be sent two weeks ago to ensure they arrived on time (hence my organisation). I am so glad I got them out early, as the queues at the post office today were ridiculous! I am not normally one to be put off by a long queue - I'm patient in that respect, and of course us Brits love to queue! But this one was silly, and there was a woman in the middle with about fifty million parcels to send. So I walked in, chuckled to myself and walked straight back out again. 


FYI: Apparently 'queue' is not a word used often over here. I've been asked a few times what a 'queue' is. I love these little differences! 


A true taste of Christmas for me is mulled wine. As soon as I sip it, I am transported to Lincoln Christmas market (the city of my uni days): 

I haven't yet found it in shops over here, so I found a great and simple recipe online: http://allrecipes.com/recipe/hot-mulled-wine/. I also added some orange segments which I left in the mix when I transferred it to the slow cooker to keep warm. As I'm all about mashing cultures together, I served it in mason jars in the style of moonshine:

I dub thee, 'Mull-shine'!

I hope you all have a very merry Christmas and safe New Year! And may your New Year's resolution be to have the attitude of Miss Sunshine, the receptionist at my husband's dental surgery: 

"Hello, my name is Jasmine, how can I make you smile today?"

(Gotta love a cheesy line!) 

It's Christmas party season!!!!

It's Christmas party season, and I had two in one day! 

Last Friday we closed down the office at midday and went to Cool River, a swanky pool hall in Irving. Now, I know what you're thinking - how can a pool hall be swanky? Well, just add waiters with horderves, the best steak I have ever tasted, toilets that spritz you as you enter, and bingo! One swanky pool hall! It doesn't hurt if you have a few mounted deer heads on the walls too, even if said deer heads are wearing Santa hats. 

So, we played swanky pool and we ate (swankily) and sipped swanky margaritas. Merry Christmas!

The weirdest thing about Cool River is the fact that people are allowed to smoke INSIDE. When my colleague lit up in front of me, I nearly had a heart attack (I'm a fan of obeying rules, to the point that I considered grabbing the cigarette and stuffing it in my swanky margarita). I know there has only been a smoking ban in England since 2007, and I can still remember what it was like to come home from an evening out smelling like a cigarette butt, but I found it very strange. I have since learnt that not all localities in Texas have a smoking ban in bars and restaurants. 

On to party number two...

It started with me buying cheese. Lots and lots of cheese. And when I say cheese, I don't just mean your average Colby Jack and Monterrey that are so popular over here - oh no! I mean Red Leicester with red peppers, mouth-puckering Welsh cheddar, French brie, Boursin, and white Stilton with apricots. 

For me, Christmas is all about cheese in England (and mince pies and Christmas pud and mulled wine and stuffing and chestnuts, but I could go on and on). 

The second party of the day was at Church with our fellow nearly and newly wedded friends. We all had to bring a plate of food, and I signed up oh so willingly for cheese and crackers. They went down a storm! Needless to say, I didn't eat anything at the second party. With a belly full of steak and asparagus, and a slab of chocolate cake to go in my car, I was done. 

We played White Elephant again (see 'Do we do this in England???' posted on 16th December 2013 for details of this game) and Jeopardy. Everyone really went to town on the gifts for White Elephant this year! They were tasteful as opposed to unusual/just plain wrong. We came away with a stein tankard, although I had been eyeing up a particularly nice cheese board set for a steal. Last year it was Poopouri (see 'Do we do this in England???') and a VHS entitled 'Tough Questions about Sex' circa 1970. 

Another festive event that occurred last week was our trip to see the Twelve Days of Christmas at Dallas Arboretum. Do you remember the pumpkin patch they displayed there? Well, this time it was a set of twelve band stands decorated to match the song. 

The ones containing birds were beautiful: 

However, I stopped taking pictures when it got to the people (lords leaping, maids milking .etc.) and not because they were any less spectacular, but because I am not a fan of creepy manikins. Especially ones on conveyor belts. 

But, bravo Dallas Arboretum! You did a wonderful job! 



FYI: Did you know that cats shed hair when they're nervous? We took Piper to the vet for her rabies jab last night and she was puffing hair all over the place! I thought we'd be leaving with a Sphynx cat! 

Here is a shot of her trying to be sent to England when I was trying to pack gifts in a box:

For some reason, she feels like she has to assert her dominance by claiming every box that enters the apartment. Look at that face. It clearly says, "Step away from the box. I claim it in the name of Aslan."  

Treat Yo Self!

With 2015 fast approaching, I can't help but dream about what lies around the corner.

Next year, God willing, will be a time to see our over-the-pond-and-faraway family. Hubby and I are hoping to make an England trip, and I know that there are a few people planning to make it over to see us in Texas too. As much as I love the 2D Skype version of my family and friends, it is going to be so good to see them in 4D (HD if I get some new glasses by then!). 

Austin and I also decided last night to take a few more weekend trips next year. America is our oyster! (So long as we go in January when the prices are dirt cheap) We can get to Washington DC in just 2 and a half hours, Florida in a little over that, so why not? We shall be weekend travelers! It's funny to think that just over a year ago, the thought of flying off on a cold January cheap-seat flight would have made us laugh in disbelief. Yes, we make more money now, but we are also learning to hold our purse strings a little looser when it comes to enjoying ourselves and giving to others (don't worry parents, we are still saving for that mortgage!). I'm so keen to see more of this country God's landed me in! And, as two wise people once said, sometimes it's good to 'treat yo self!' -

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OP3xf6BFEIo



FYI: Our Christmas tree at work is up and has been PROFESSIONALLY DECORATED. I had no idea that was even a job! And no, the decorator was not an elf. I know, I was disappointed too. She was of average height, had no bells on her shoes, and did not sing 'We Wish You a Merry Christmas' in a high squeaky voice. She was, however, an 'arty' type, and decorated the tree (which came out of the box looking mangled and past its best) with peacock feathers, giant head-sized ornaments, and enough ribbon to make a toga. 

Now, it's not really my cup of tea, and in this photograph the ribbon looks like toilet paper, but I can appreciate the thought that went into it (it took her over four hours! I've honestly never seen someone move so slowly).



FYI Part Two: If you like Carol of the Bells (who doesn't?!) then you must take a look at this version by Pentatonix. It's incredible! They also have other Christmas songs available plus a multitude of chart covers. Just a little Christmas gift from me to you. You're welcome! 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WSUFzC6_fp8

(How deep is Beanie man's voice?!)

'Tis the season!

The leaves are officially underfoot. It's crunching season (who doesn't love jumping in a pile of leaves? Apart from the leaf blower man who made said pile of leaves). 

The trees are looking naked, my third Basil plant died, and the temperature has dropped to freezing (although we'll probably be wearing t-shirts next week, knowing Texas flip-flop weather).

Christmas music blares from car radios, giant, Texas-sized baul bauls line the streets, and the shoppers are going nuts.

As soon as Thanksgiving was over, my little slice of Texas became red, green and sparkly. 

My second ever Thanksgiving was awesome. Mainly because we had two. Two lots of turkey, green bean casserole, corn casserole, dressing (aka, stuffing), pecan pie, pumpkin pie and nibbles upon nibbles. And there are still leftovers in the fridge. We should finish them just in time for Christmas (!).

Our recent and continuing festive food consumption is the reason behind our current gym attendance. On most week nights, you can find me and Austin on the treadmills being screamed at by the App Man who is going to take us from couch to 5K in just eight weeks.  

Then again, running on a treadmill is a lot different to running outside. There is no wind (unless you count the air-con blowing in your face), there are no rocks to fall over (unless you count my feet, which are the size of boulders as I have mentioned before), and no people/pushchairs/dogs/skunks/scorpions to dodge. Plus, the surface of the treadmill is merciful in that it gives you an extra spring to your stride with its flexible running surface. You have to work extra hard on concrete. Dang you, concrete!

I'm thinking that when we can comfortably run 5K on a treadmill (if that's even possible), we will probably be able to run around half to three quarters of that distance outside. I know this because when I attempted to run a mile outside last week, I had a billion stitches in my side and was making high pitched wheezing sounds like a leaky balloon. The next day, I ran a mile on the treadmill, and I could still hold a conversation in which I likened my fitness and speed to that of Usain Bolt. 

I have never been a runner. I was never interested at school, and to be honest, I find it quite torturous. But I always feel good after the pain, and I'd love to be able to achieve the title of '5K Runner'. I'll keep you posted.

In other news, our tree is up and the cat has yet to knock it over. Success! Last year, she was in those branches and flicking ornaments to her hearts content. I emptied a whole spray bottle of water in my attempts to extract her!

So far this year, I have only seen her sit at the base and stare wistfully up into the branches. I think she knows that she has grown too big to squeeze among them now that she's left kitten-hood behind. 

In UTTERLY FANTASTIC news, I just arrived home from work to the best parcel ever! My mum has sent a home-made advent calendar, complete with goodies, and the perfect music to accompany me while I set it up. 

(I'm listening to this now. An opera singer just reached a note so high that my speaker went fuzzy. I'm also feeling the need for a cup of tea in a cup and saucer. Gotta love Downton class!)

Have a bloody marvellous week, chaps and chapesses!

The Button Man

Recently, I have been making button runs on my lunch breaks. 

Since my Etsy shop (which sells crocheted goods) decided to have a miniature boom (a-woo-hoo!), and I've been making fingerless gloves 24-7, keeping a full stock of buttons has been crucial. 

Enter the button man. The New York button man. 

I never thought I'd be very good at telling the difference between accents in America, unless they are extremely obvious and stereotypical. But as soon as the button man opened his mouth to greet me (we're nearly on first name terms. One more button purchase should do it), I saw the lights of Broadway. Off-Broadway, to be precise. 

He says he left New York when he was eighteen, or, in his words, as soon as he could. According to him, unless you have a good income, it's a pretty tough place to live. The Texan way of life suits him better, and he seems quite content sitting in his button shop that is literally overflowing with every type of button you could imagine. 

I don't believe him. His demeanor and flamboyant greetings tell me there's a little more to his New York story than he is willing to share. Here is my theory:

The button man was an Off-Broadway director, the kind that says, "Wonderful, darling!" to his leading lady's face, and then rolls his eyes behind her back while dabbing his forehead with a paisley neckerchief (he would definitely be the kind to wear a paisley neckerchief. It would most likely be a silk one, too). 

Then something dreadful happened - he directed a show that the critics labeled 'an utter flop', and he was shunned from the Off-Broadway scene to sell buttons in Texas. 

Either that, or he just loves buttons, which would be weird, but understandable - buttons are awesome. 

Today, I walked into his button kingdom in my work wear and he exclaimed, "My, we're looking professional today! Is your limo waiting outside? Let's fill this bag quick!" He then gave me a plastic zip-lock bag and told me that see-through was the new black. 

God bless you, button man. 



FYI: I just want to share the beautiful Autumn view from my office window:

Maybe it's just because they're set against a clear blue sky, but I think the Autumn leaves are more vibrant here than in England. Perhaps it has something to do with the amount of sunlight. 

I've been told that Texas Autumn colours are nothing compared to Colorado's and those in the East. Road-trip next Autumn? Yes please! 

(Yes, that is a giant vase in the picture. It's antique gold in colour and taller than me. I have no idea why there is a giant vase in the office. It would take some pretty beefy flowers to fill that thing, but I have to say it is quite elegant. And if we ever have an office game of hide and seek, I'm going in.) 

A comical moment...

Have you ever had one of those moments when your life becomes a comic sketch? 

Well, yesterday I got stuck in a coat. 

To back track a little, this week I have the pleasure of playing host to a friend from England. She went out of her way to come and see us, and we are so happy to have her! 

We had a girly day yesterday, shopping at Grapevine Mills. She was looking for a new handbag, and I was looking for, well, you've probably already guessed it.

Enter the coat from hell.

It was a simple black coat that zipped all the way up to the chin. As soon as I put it on and took a look in the changing room mirrors, I decided it wasn't the one for me, and I attempted to undo the zip. 

Then my friend attempted to undo the zip. 

Then I tried again, this time a little more desperately. 

Then my friend tried once more, before suggesting that we seek the help of a shop assistant in case we busted the zip.

But first, we attempted to remove the coat over my head. Because that seemed like a sensible idea.

Evidently, I have a fat head.

More panic ensued when I tried to get the coat back on again in order to go and seek help from a shop assistant. I couldn't very well walk out into the shop with the coat flapping over my head and being led by the hand by my friend who was hyperventilating with laughter, now could I? 

I managed to get one arm in, but the other was a struggle. It looked like I had one normal arm and one worthy of a T-Rex. I had no more energy, but my friend summoned her inner boot camp sergeant and ordered me to PUSH IT THROUGH!!! I can't! YES YOU CAN! 

It turned out I could.

By this time my cheeks were flushed, there were tears in my eyes and my friend was speechless from laughter. 

Huffing, and feeling a little claustrophobic in my straight jacket, we hurried out of the changing rooms and found an assistant. 

I pointed at the coat and said, "Stuck!"

I was sure she would call the fire brigade, or at least use some impressive coat busting scissors to set me free, but she merely pinched the top of the coat and slid the zip down without so much as a tug. This was too much for my friend, who burst into more fits of hysterics and gasped, "What a perfect end to a comic sketch!" 

I can only assume that we had loosened the zip with all our tugging, or that this was not the first time the shop assistant had released a customer from the coat from hell.

Looking back, the whole debacle definitely wouldn't have been out of place as a scene on a show like Miranda. Then again, maybe it was a 'you had to be there' moment, in which case I apologise for this tedious blog post. 

However, I would ask all of you to heed this word of warning: NEVER attempt to remove a zipped coat over your head. It will only make matters worse by smearing your mascara and giving you a head-size complex. 

The Ordination

On Sunday evening, Austin and I, as well as others from our church, had the pleasure of attending a friend's ordination. 

It was held at his home church, where his father is the pastor. His family are Mexican, as are the majority of his father's congregation, so it was a wonderful, humbling experience to hear the word of God read aloud in both Spanish and English.   

I love the mishmash of cultures in Texas. I love the overheard Spanish conversations in line at Walmart. I love the feeling of awe when my banker slips seamlessly from English to Spanish and back again. I love hearing the cheeky beat of mariachi music when the workers across the street clock off and start playing cards. The Mexican influence here adds richness and texture.

Our friend gave his testimony at his ordination. His family had a history of alcoholism, but then one man shared the Gospel with his grandfather, and his grandfather shared it with his father, and his father shared it with him. Healing, clarity and hope came to that family. It's amazing to think that one person's boldness in sharing his faith had a ripple affect that spread across three generations, and will continue to spread forever.  

It was an extremely moving service, full of prayer and singing and big, arms-wrapping-three-times-around-you hugs. 

Later, there was a reception at the family home, where we munched nachos and queso and imagined our friend at five-years-old sitting in his every-boy's-dream attic room nurturing those first seeds of faith in his heart. 

Anything is possible with a bit of faith-filled boldness. 



FYI: The skunks are multiplying! Two of them were out and about the other night when hubby and I arrived home. They really are the cutest little animals. It's a shame they're so flatulent. 

In other news...

The most amazing thing has happened - my husband is a tea convert!!!!

Ok, this might seem small, but I have been slowly chipping away at his stubborn coffee butt for the past two years, and now I have conquered his taste buds! Mwah ha ha!

I could have cried with sweet joy when he announced last night that he was looking forward to his evening cup of chai tea with milk and honey. Hurrah! 



In other news, I am back on the Etsy shop band wagon. I opened a shop a few months ago called Petite Poetry, but let it drift by the wayside until now. 

I am slowly building up my products, which consist of tiny canvases displaying some of my tiny illustrated poems, and crocheted mug cozy's.  A random combination, I know, but I love poetry and blanketed beverages. 

I am now branching out to other crocheted goods, as well as some other canvas creations. What other shop do you know that sells Jesus's face made out of coffee granules?! (If you know of one, please don't tell me. I'd like to maintain the thought that I am original :))

Here's the link if you'd like to take a look: https://www.etsy.com/shop/PetitePoetry?ref=hdr_shop_menu



In other other news, I have officially been in Texas for one whole year! 

It's one of those strange deals where it feels like time has flown, but when I think back to the immigration process and pre-car, it feels like ages ago. 

The highlights of my year have been documented in this blog, even the most obscure (do you remember the Walmart apple the size of a baby's head?), but I think the most wonderful thing about Texas is the people.

Friendly, respectful and loving with big ol' Texas hearts. Now I know why my husband is so wonderful (mush mush, mushy mush!).

I love the 'Yes, sirs' and 'Yes, ma'ams', the friendly strangers that recommend the pumpkin ravioli in Trader Joe's, and the checkout servers who give you free chocolate. Although Dallas is enormous and a little overwhelming at times, the people make you feel like you're in a small town. 



In other other other news, the location of this blog will be changing soon. I am in the process of setting up a website (Ooo, fancy!)  with the help of website/creative genius Ben Larzabal (http://www.benlarzabal.com/) and will be blogging from there to keep everything in one place. 

I will greatly miss www.redroseyellowrosecarboardbox.blogspot.com, but let's face it, it's a bit of a mouthful! I'll let you know when the official move will happen, and there will be a link to this blog on the website so that previous posts aren't lost or forgotten. 



Thank you so much for the time you take out of your busy schedules to read my ramblings! If I could make you each a complimentary chair tea with milk and honey, I would!

Happy Anniversary!

One year of marriage complete, and what a year it's been!

New country, new jobs, new cat, new home, new bed (that can take some getting used to, especially when there's another body in it and you can't sleep like a star fish anymore), new family, new friends, new church, new culture, new car, new me, new him, new us. But the same big God, thank goodness for that! 

Last night, as we were eating our anniversary dinner of fish, roast potatoes (can you believe that in a whole year of marriage I have not yet cooked us a Sunday roast dinner?! And I call myself a Brit! Oh, the shame) and peas, and sipping sparkling wine, we had a little flick through the past year and decided that we had come a long way since those first days of marriage. And we still have a very long way to go!

It's a huge thing to go from living a single life to a married one. You have to completely alter your way of thinking. Every decision you make is now an 'us' decision, down to the tiniest one of 'which candle scent shall we buy this week?' It makes you realise how selfish you are - 'I am entitled to buy the lavender scent even though it makes you gag! Lavender is my signature smell - deal with it!' This was, and often still is, my way of thinking. But I want to do and be better, and that's a very exciting prospect! My growth in our short marriage so far, although painful at times, has been both humbling and fortifying. 

One thing that has changed greatly since those first days of marriage has been the way we argue. We are both fiery people with strong opinions. Our arguments used to be a battle of wills smothered in steely silences and tight lipped exchanges, and often they were over the silliest things, like cupboard doors being left open. Now we try to pick our battles and think eternally. In the grand scheme of things, does it matter that there is a dirty sock on the floor three feet from the laundry basket? Will I care about this in Heaven? No. No I won't. 

If something is really bothering me, instead of going on the attack like a feisty, yappy Chiwahwah, I'm trying to approach the situation calmly and lovingly. I fail in this frequently, but again, I'm determined to keep at it (rather like that feisty, yappy Chiwahwah). 

We've had to rely on God for everything. For the first few fun immigration months, we lived on one wage. We often got to the end of the month with pennies left. But God provided every time, through generous friends and family, or even just the gentle reminder that we weren't going to die if we had to eat Ramen noodles for three days until pay day. 

He has also reminded us to go to Him with our problems, rather than dumping them all on each other. As much as I love Austin, he is not perfect, just as I am not. But God is, and there is nothing that He can't handle. Learning to give our problems to Him first in prayer has made my relationship with Austin sweeter, and stops me trying to mould him into who I selfishly want him to be. It doesn't mean that we stop trying to be better for each other, but it means that the unattainable pressure to be perfect is off.   

I love the fact that even in one short year, our love and respect for God and one another has deepened, and it makes me extremely excited for the next ten, twenty, fifty years together. 


FYI: A good marriage counselling activity, although it was never intended to be, is to carve a pumpkin with your spouse. Austin and I did this last Friday night at a carving party, and it became an interesting team building exercise. We debated, we bickered and we laughed. The result - a pumpkin with a botoxed top lip that was meant to be a mustache:

Pffft

So, the first time I saw a skunk, I ran after it with my camera phone while my husband dropped and rolled in the opposite direction.

The second time I saw a skunk, I attempted to leave my car three times before plucking up the courage to dash past it and into the safety of the apartment. It seems that skunk fear has seized me.

It was dusk, and I was just returning from a bible study. I pulled into my parking space, turned off the engine and reached for my hand bag. Then I saw it. Cute, black, white and deadly - a skunk was trotting backwards and forwards in front of my apartment like a sentry. 

I took a deep breath (to calm my nerves and in preparation for 'the big stink' that might ensue) and stepped out of the car. I thought if I slammed the door, it might scare the skunk away. Then again, the sudden noise might cause it to toot. I decided to close it gently. 

My main aim was to pose no threat to the skunk. I started to walk carefully towards it, hoping to slip by undetected, when it looked at me. I flew back to the car.

The skunk continued to trot backwards and forwards. They really are cute animals. This one was particularly dainty. 

I got out of the car again and started tiptoeing towards it.

Then a stray dog appeared. 

Oh heck!

Dog saw skunk. Skunk saw dog. Dog went rigid. Skunk went rigid. Dog's tail started to wag. Skunk's tail went vertical. Dog licked its lips (do dogs have lips?!). Skunk's bum went 'pffft'.

Flee!

I found myself in the car again.

Was that just a warning toot?

I sniffed a few times but couldn't smell anything. Having smelt skunk pong many times before, and knowing that it can have a radius of up to a mile, there would definitely have been a smell if the skunk had tooted. I was safe.

But the skunk was still there, and its tail was still rigid. I had no idea where the dog had gone.  
I tried to ring my husband. I tried to ring my husband three times. 

My hope was that he'd open the front door for me, thus scaring the skunk away and giving me a clear getaway without having to stop and fumble around for my key. He later told me that he would no way have done this for me. Apparently rescuing your wife from a skunk is not part of the marriage deal. 

The skunk was now in the bushes, camouflaged. I had visions of him leaping out at me, bum first as I attempted my third trek to safety. But, I made it to the door and fell through it in triumph.

So, there you have it - my second skunk encounter. 

*

Next week, Austin and I will have reached our one year anniversary. 

We celebrated a week early this past weekend with a day and night in downtown Dallas. We stayed at the Adolphus, a beautiful baroque hotel built in 1912. It had that 'Downton Abbey' feel, which I loved. They even hold Downton Abbey evenings, where a five star French chef serves meals inspired by the fictional Mrs. Patmore and the British foods served in big houses at that time. One can only dream!

We had lunch at Klyde Warren (the park over the highway, which is a genius use of space), went to the Perot Museum of Science and Nature, and ate our evening meal on the rooftop at Iron Cactus. Our celebration was completed the next morning with a room service breakfast of bacon, pancakes, tea and coffee. Thank you Groupon!      

(A trip to the Perot wouldn't be complete without a 3D film experience. We chose 'The Galapogus Islands'. Little did I know that there would be 3D flying spiders)

 

(Margaritas at Iron Cactus!)

(Oh, what's this? Chandeliers and Jazz bands at the Adolphus? Just call me Mary Crawley, darling)

After our anniversary, I will also be nearing the end of my first year in Texas - goodness! Get ready for some reminiscing in next week's post!

Probably the most random post I've written...

As I'm typing this post, I have the heater on underneath my desk. Yep, it's cold in Texas! A chilly 12 degrees centigrade (54 Fahrenheit) according to my phone. 

The leaves are starting to look sorry for themselves, and the leaf blower men are looking hopeful. It's their time to shine! There's only one leaf on the ground, but by gum, will they blow it into oblivion! (I can't believe I just wrote 'by gum'. I apologise, but I couldn't think of another expression. My head's all fuzzy from cold, a side-effect from the sudden drop in temperature)

This weather is bliss over here. When you're used to suffocating heat, sticky car seats and steering wheels that will give you third degree burns, a cold front is a welcome change. 

I'm quite excited about the cold. I love snuggling into my jumpers, and I've been staring at my assortment of scarves rather longingly for a while now. Maybe it's time to break them out.

I need to buy some actual shoes. I've been wearing flip flops for I don't know how long. I can't remember the last time I wore socks. For those of you who know me personally, you are well aware of my foot problem, in that they are HUGE. I mean, man-size. As much as I try to deny it, my husbands feet are definitely a fraction smaller than mine. Oh, the shame! 

I'm a size 9 in England, an 8 on a good day. The conversion to US sizes, to my horror, goes up by two. So I'm an 11 here. 11! Buying flip flops is fine, because my feet can spread out. I can even get away with a 10. But proper, covered shoes?! I'm not looking forward to that shopping trip.  

My feet are pretty wide, too. My sister and I call them 'meat slabs'. She has a similar problem, although hers are slightly smaller. 

I used to have nightmares about my feet as a child. As you can imagine, they grew at an alarming rate when I was at school. I couldn't wear the pretty, dainty shoes that other girls wore. I used to dream about them becoming elongated, bulbous clown feet. This nightmare becomes reality whenever I go bowling. 

I need my big feet, though, because of my height. Size 9 feet (I'm sticking with the British sizing because it keeps me out of double figures) match a 5'10" body. With the strong winds we've been having recently, I need them to keep me upright! 

Anyway, enough of feet. 

Hubby and I have been contemplating getting a dog. We visited friends this weekend who have just purchased a Golden Retriever puppy. She's lovely and very snuggly. But, we've decided that it's not the right time for us. For one, we live in a one bedroom apartment with a cat - it would be pandemonium! And two, we both work full time. Maybe next year, when we are able to spread out a little more. 

I'd want to rescue a Greyhound. Probably an ex-racer. They are the sweetest dogs. They're calm, gentle giants, and they rarely bark. My family used to have a Lurcher (Greyhound cross) and since then I've been a convert. 

Many people think they need a lot of exercise, but actually they're quite lazy. They have a blast of energy, then they're quite content to chill out for the rest of the day. Another great thing about Greyhounds is that they don't shed a lot of hair, and don't really smell. They're also used to other dogs, because of the racing environment. Plus, when you're out walking one, a child will come up to you and say, "Can I pat your horse?" That never stops being funny. 

So go out and adopt a Greyhound! There are so many that need homes. 

Wow, this has been a random blog post. To sum up, it's chilly in Texas, there's one leaf on the ground, the leaf blower men are fighting over it, I have meat-slab feet, and Greyhounds are awesome. 

See you next Tuesday! 

Breaking the rules!

Whaaat?! Blogging on a Friday???? 

Yes. This is happening.

I'm actually here to shamelessly promote my first self-publishing endeavor, The Patchwork Lady, which is officially being published on Kindle tomorrow. Hooray! 

It's a short collection of poetry that I have written over the past two years and collated into this lovely book. And there's a very pretty butterfly on the front cover, so if you hate poetry but love butterflies, it's still worth the $0.99 or 77p. Who doesn't love butterflies?! 

The links are on this blog if you're interested in the kindle edition (alternatively, just go to Amazon and search for The Patchwork Lady by Rosemary High). If you'd prefer a paper copy, they will be available soon (for slightly more money - I'm sorry, I tried to keep it as cheap as possible, but paper is expensive!). 

Thank you for your support! I really appreciate the time you take to read my work, blog and otherwise.

(Reviews on Amazon would be greatly appreciated too)

Cheerio until Tuesday! 

The Great State Fair of Texas!

After a year of waiting and hype, the fair finally came to town!

When I was a teen, I loved watching American chick flicks where a cute boy would take his girl to the fair and win her a huge teddy, snuggle next to her on the Ferris Wheel and buy her candy floss (or 'cotton candy'). Well, that was the snapshot of my life on Sunday, except that the Ferris Wheel cost 16 coupons each (!!!) and I don't like candy floss. But my husband did win me a cuddly blue pig. His name is Mr. Reginald Oinkle. 

One of the main attractions of the State Fair is the food.In particular, the deep fried food. The deep fried menu this year included deep fried snickers, deep fried sweet tea, deep fried milk and cookies on a stick, Texas fried chicken in a waffle cone (a 'chicken ice cream', if you will), deep fried biscuits (the southern kind) with chocolate gravy, and deep fried breakfast. 

I decided to try the deep fried oreos. They were actually quite nice! I was expecting fish and chip crunchy beer batter, but it was more like a soft dough batter with melted oreo cookies inside:

(I know I look like I'm in pain, but they really weren't that bad. And if you're wondering, yes, that is Mr. Reginald Oinkle.)

My other eating experiences included a cowboy burrito (the BEST burrito I have ever tasted - brisket, potatoes, cheese, onion - almost like a burrito version of a Cornish pasty) and some Tornado chips (long, curly crisps, freshly made):

(Yes, that is indeed a cowboy head cup in my hands. His name is Big Tex, and he is the State Fair mascot.)

Another food tradition at the fair is to gnaw on a giant turkey leg (honestly, autumn is not a good time to be a turkey in Texas - if you're not consumed at the State Fair, Thanksgiving is just around the corner). They are huge and rustic and manly looking. My brother-in-law accepted the challenge this year:

(Nothing but respect for this man.)

While you're at the State Fair, there are a few things you have to see -


1) This year's butter sculpture: 

2) Some giant cowboy boots:

3) The pumpkin carver:

4) Some country dancing:

You also have to take advantage of some $5,500 massage chairs: 

(Don't worry, that's not a creepy stranger watching us . That's my father-in-law.)

And finally, no trip to the Texas State Fair would be complete without a photo in front of Big Tex:

Hey there, pumpkin!

One thing I love about Texas, and I think it stretches across America in general, is that many houses decorate for each season. Wreaths aren't just for Christmas over here. I have a spring/summer one up on my wall at the moment.

Now that we're into autumn, pumpkins are popping up everywhere, and not just Jacko lanterns, but regular old pumpkins stacked up outside houses. I say 'regular old', but that's not really true. In my naivety, I thought a pumpkin was just a pumpkin: round and orange. Well, a trip to Dallas Arboretum blew that out of the water for me. Take a look at these pictures from their famous pumpkin display:

Pumpkins, pumpkins everywhere! (plus a few gourds and one, lonely butternut squash.) 

Children were everywhere, ducking in and out of the pumpkin houses, sitting in Cinderella's pumpkin carriage, and reading enlarged story extracts about scarecrows and growing pumpkins. It was an autumn wonderland!

Of course, an enormous pumpkin patch is also a prime photo opportunity for parents. Needless to say, there were quite a few unimpressed kids being perched on the pumped-up, body-builder pumpkins while parents instructed them to smile, 'hold this cute baby pumpkin' and look happy.  

This coming weekend, I am going to the Texas State Fair. I have been warned about the fried food. I have been warned about the crowds. I have been warned about the quilt stalls (although, this actually fills my Granny-Rose heart with excitement). 

See you next Tuesday with a run-down of my State Fair adventure!