Well, it happened. I knew it would eventually, but I was holding out for as long as I could-- and today it happened. I ate catfish. Now that might not seem like a big thing to you, but you see, I was born and raised in Minnesota. We have (over) 10,000 sky blue lakes here in Minnesota so we eat fish—on a regular basis. Real regular. Seriously, people go out in little shacks on the lakes in the middle of winter to ice fish in 30 below weather. We take our fishing-- and our fish-- seriously here in Minnesota. Heck, when I was coming back from taking Grandma home, I saw a “Girls Nite Out” at the river. Every one of those ladies had a pole and was baiting her line! In Minnesota, the catfish and bullheads are “trash” fish. We call them “bottom feeders” and we don’t eat them. We eat sunfish and bass and walleye, of course. (We don’t usually eat perch—we are a bit snobbish about our fish up here.) But when I moved down South, well the pressure was enormous! I mean EVERY restaurant in the south serves catfish. And recipes abound for “fried catfish”. I hung on stubbornly to my Minnesotan disdain for those lowly bottom feeders—until today. And I’d have never eaten it except my uncles made it for me…. 

Now I don’t see my uncles often. One lives in Mobile, Alabama and the other lives in Southport, North Carolina. They come up to Minnesota every other year or so to visit their mother and fish. But they fish all the time in their home states… which means that they eat catfish…

Now a Minnesota fish fry is a thing to behold. It begins when the fishermen pull into the driveway. Everyone springs into action as we pull out the tables and top them with wooden boards. We get pails, knives and spoons (to scrape the fish scales off) together with pans full of water because everyone has to pitch in to clean those fish. When they rolled in, we all swung into action... but my uncles brought catfish. Not even bullheads… 

CATFISH.

 

THEY did the cleaning. I provided Toby Keith on the iPhone. (Good As I Once Was- for the catfish—implying, of course, that they’ve lost their mad fishing skills.) All they did was chuckle. And cleaned those fish. They filleted them after they skinned them. Did you know that there is a special tool called a catfish skinner? I found that out today, too. Big learning curve for me today, you betcha. 

Then I witnessed one of the most beautiful things, I have ever had the privilege to see. My uncle opened up the back of his Performance Racing Toyota Tundra (he’s the one from North Carolina, doncha know) and pulled out a Coleman stove, 2 pans, Crisco oil, batter, salt, pepper, paper plates, silverware, the cooking fork and a spatula and was set up for frying in about 5 minutes. 

Why, he even set up a gas grill and grilled a few of those catfish! 

I was astounded at his efficiency and his self-sufficiency. I just had to ask why he even bothered to go home. My other uncle (from Mobile) grunted in agreement but I guess Uncle John loves his wife and family…. Heck, you wouldn’t see me for a good long time… So while I ran around photo documenting all of this as my uncles cooked and cooked. 

Now, how may I ask, was I going to refuse to taste their work with any kind of manners or respect? I have my morals but I am not a cruel person so I did what any good niece would do, I ate catfish.

 

You know, it was pretty good.

 

Home

I’m on vacation “up north”… in Minnesota... the place of my birth… “God’s Country” according to my brother-in-law…. Land of (over) 10,000 lakes and sky blue waters… Home.

 

I thought I would have more time to blog but it’s certainly not turning out that way. I barely have time to update my Facebook status and I’m getting a lot of grief from my family for all the work I’m doing on my website. They’re calling me names like “nerd”, “techie” and I’ve even heard “cyber-junkie” being tossed around in reference to my camera, phone and computer use. (sigh) I’m just misunderstood…

 

Meanderings on Missouri

I spent the night in Misery, oops, I meant Missouri. (Sorry, Steph) Missouri, where everyone talks with a southern accent. Missouri. Home of the Mason-Dixon line and a CONFEDERATE state—say WHAT!?!?!! Missouri, where you’re still in the south--- after driving through Kansas—which is not in the south. I mean seriously, how far North can you be located and still be considered “southern”? It’s a lovely state, I’ll give you that. It’s beautiful, gently rolling green hills and bucolic scenes along the highway are a pleasure to look at. But, it’s nickname is  “The Show Me” state and the home of President Harry S. Truman….Some folks blame him for the length of the Vietnam War... I mean the Vietnam Conflict. Lovely wife, though. A man can’t be all bad when he marries a girl named Bess. Thoughtful people—they’ll correct your pronunciation in a heartbeat and not bat an eye. Lord, don’t tell them you’re from Texas! They’re all over that. I’m not much for pissing contests when I’m in Missouri. I’ll wait until I get home to Minnesota and have to defend my adopted home but I can’t do it in Misery—ummm I mean, Missouri. It’s just not worth it. Okay, so I’m channeling Andy Rooney right now, but when was the last time YOU had to drive through Misery? I mean Missouri.

The Story of Houdini

Most of you know that I have pets. LOTS of pets. Mostly classroom pets, but I also have a few at home. I read somewhere that children who live with pets develop a greater sense of empathy toward all life forms, so we have classroom pets. Many of you also know that I am going to teach in Scotland for the first semester of the next school year, so I needed to find homes for my pets since I did not want to burden the incoming teacher with my menagerie. (She is keeping my housecat, Kato.) Well, Dawn took Charlie, the cockatiel. Kelly took Bunnicula, the dwarf rabbit. Mom took the aquarium and my sister will take Wilbur, the gerbil, and the Madagascar cockroaches-- although she will only allow them to stay in her garage. Which is fine... I happen to treasure my cockroaches and find them beautiful, but many other people find them repulsive.... different strokes and all that. Mikey took the Hermit Crab, Patrick.

The one animal I could not get a home for was Houdini, my mouse. Houdini was so named because of his extraordinary escape artist abilities. No one wants to take care of a mouse that could disappear into their home! The end of the year was winding down and I was still in a quandary about what to do with Houdini so I spent a lot of time talking with him (yes, I talk to my pets) and I noticed that his coat wasn't as glossy as it normally is. I also noticed that he was rubbing a bare spot on his shoulders from trying to lift off the locked cage lid. Finally, on our teacher work day I decided that I would release him into the open field next to our school. Now, I know that animals who are released have a shortened life span but it appeared that captivity wasn't benefiting him either.  At any rate, I wrestled Houdini into his exercise ball (he doesn't like me to touch him) and I walked out across the playground, down the hill to the fence which protects the long, grassy, open field. A perfect habitat for a mouse. I bid Houdini adieu and released him in to the field. I quickly turned and began to walk away back toward the school. I had just stepped onto the playground when I heard two birds begin to shriek. I turned and saw them dive-bombing Houdini who was struggling through the grass, hopping toward me.  I quickly ran back to him and put my hand out. He hopped onto my hand and looked at me with his little nose twitching. Now I was dumbfounded. This mouse would NEVER let me touch him. It was always a struggle to round him up and wrangle him into his ball just so I could clean his cage! And here he was, willingly jumping into my hand and sitting there quietly. I can't even begin to tell you how guilty I felt! I took him back into the classroom, put him back into his cage and decided that I could find someone to take him before I had to leave in August. 

As I moved around the classroom, Houdini followed my every step. His eyes never left me as he ran back and forth in his cage keeping me in view. I loaded up the car with all the pets and plants that I needed to deliver to all the respective keepers. Houdini was going home with me until I could decide what to do. We finished and drove home. I put Houdini on the covered patio along with Wilbur and the cockroaches until I could take them out to Bastrop. My grandkids were thrilled. They love the pets and were busy talking to them and watching them while I went into the house to begin dinner. Soon Mikey came in and asked me why Houdini was sleeping. My heart sank as I rushed outside. Yes, Houdini had died. I must have scared him to death by releasing him. 

I am the worst pet owner in the world.

YaY!!! I have TIME

I know, I know. Time is not real-- Intellectually and scientifically, I understand that it is a human construct to linear-ize (I know it's not a word) our life but I can sure get caught up in it. Of course, I am most susceptible to get caught up in "time issues" when strong emotions are involved. The end of a school year has scads of strong emotion floating around it. This year,  for whatever reason, was a year that I became especially attached to my students. They had so many needs and issues that I could barely keep my head afloat day after day... and yet when I look at the academic and social growth they have made, I am speechless. I know I'm going to sound like I am putting too much cream on my tacos here, but I can really teach-- and not just academics.  I am always floored by this realization because so many times I feel like a "pretend teacher"-- certainly not good enough for those precious children who look up to me each and every day. Truly, it is a miracle they learn as much as they do, but they did and this year, there were REMARKABLE gains. 

But I don't want to talk about my class anymore because it still has a fresh scab on it --and I'm still too close to them --and I need to distance myself and-- it's June. It's time for my life to begin again. It's my turn to renew my Netflicks subscription to see all the movies I have missed from August until now. I have a L-O-N-G list of books I've been meaning to read and for all my talk to my students, I have not seen the interior of the Pflugerville Public Library in so long that I doubt they will remember me.  I have to clean my house because unsuspecting people are coming to live here in a few months and even though my house is 30-something, I still want it to shine and become a haven for them as it is for me... And it's time to drink coffee (or tea) out on the patio and listen to the cottonwood whisper secrets to me. Secrets that I didn't have time to listen to during the school year. It's time to figure out just exactly where the cardinal nest is and my poor gardens need to be pampered. 

A beautiful thunderstorm came up last night. That's big news. In Texas it quite often LOOKS like it will rain but it never actually does. Last night it RAINED. It was breathtakingly beautiful. True, two tornadoes were sighted but nothing actually landed-- as far as I know. And even though there were claims that one of the sightings was not too far from my home, the storm didn't appear to be dangerous as I stood out on the patio and watched the rain sheet off the roof and pound onto the dry, parched ground. My heart leaped in joy as the fresh scent of rain and the cleansing winds tore away all that lingered since the last rains. It was a fresh new start not just for the earth which desperately needed the rains but also for me. A rebirth of sorts. A welcome back. The storm soaked my skirt, washed my face and sent me off to sleep a deep, dreamless sleep. When I awoke this morning, the earth gently gave way as I walked upon it. It was no longer the hard, unyielding, concrete-like material of yesterday, but a soft, warm, life-affirming haven for new life. ... like my soul again.