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!