Living in the hick... er, hills

I wrote this when we first moved back to the Texas Hick... Hill Country.

Having moved back to the lake from a brief tour of duty in the city, certain things stand out.

For example, I noticed a big change in the types of birds we spot regularly. In the city, our number one bird was the pigeon, gray feathered eating machines swooping down for popcorn and crackers at every opportunity.

Now it's the turkey vulture. There's a bird you don't want swooping down on for a snack.

I'll be the first to admit that vultures soaring is pretty majestic, but I do feel the need to move more overtly when they appear to be circling us as we are hanging out on the playground.

Move along, boys. Still alive and kicking down here.

There's the sign on the bait fridge at the grocery store that says "Live bait. Do not eat."

I don't know about you, but it concerns me that someone felt it was actually necessary to explain that you are not to eat live worms. Because it's not bad enough that there are live, chilled worms by the checkout and ice machine, there are people who apparently mistake them for sushi.

Maybe it stems from being a tourist area. It certainly impact our neighborhood retailers. At every convenience store there's an impressive display of items designed solely for the cooling, carting and consumption of the number one beverage -- beer.

At our corner store I can find koozies with witty remarks, ice chests that have better wheels than half the cars in the parking lot, floating coolers, and the occasional drink tube hat complete with dual straws. Now there is a fashion statement. I tell you Milan has NOTHING on us.

Speaking of fashion, it really is all about the shoes. It took me a while but I've adapted and somewhat embraced the idea of flip-flops as formal wear. I have my own pair of flip-flops in the garage, waiting to be put into service any day now. More importantly, I've learned not to look down anymore lest I get an eyeful of what only a podiatrist could love.

It's a week into the season and out here we celebrate a whole different set of nature's subtle signals that summer is in full swing. The roar of every neighborhood boat, blowing out a few gallons of lake water. The deer drinking out of kiddie pools. The tie-dye shirts on the side of the road, flapping in the 100 degree breeze.

To think, the only sign we used to have in the city of summer was that all the school zone signs had stopped blinking.

Ice cold worms, beer through straws and circling vultures – I tell you, there is no place like home.

Dungeon or Sun Room?

Recently a friend and I were talking about the relative value of having a dungeon. So many parental challenges could be readily managed with the mere existence of a house dungeon.
It's the ultimate time-out corner.

Chances are that you'd never even use it. Most likely a mere gesture in the dungeon's direction would be enough to get those socks picked up, the broccoli eaten and the homework completed without a peep. Like nuclear weapons, a dungeon would be an effective deterrent, used strictly to keep warring parties vested in an uneasy peace.

But lately I've been rethinking--more like remodeling, I suppose--this dungeon thing. I'm beginning to think the dungeon might make a good place for me to hang out.

Yes, much like a storm shelter of the great plains, a safe house for the mafia, and a rehab center for disgraced politicians, a decent household dungeon could be the place where Mommies could safely escape the constant pressures of child rearing.

It would be a place where the furnishings were simple, just a few decorative chains, maybe a stool or raised stone bench, all of which would require virtually no upkeep.

Of course there would be a sort of austere room service, complete with meals provided on a regular basis, and no requirement to do the dishes afterwards.

The properly built household dungeon would be remarkably quiet, with the stone wall quite efficient at insulating the occupant from the sounds of Barney, sibling rivalry and teenage angst.
Within the walls the temperature would be cool and the air moist without having to remember to wash out the humidifier for the 50th time.

And there would be no laundry. Ever.

I can see this idea catching on among home builders, becoming an option right next to sky lights and walk in closets:

Woman, reviewing paper work while a toddler attempts to staple her thigh: "So how much more is it if we want a dungeon?"

Sales person, beaming. "It's included if you go with the bonus room plan. "

Parents: "Sold!"

There is, of course, one problem with the dungeon. Chances are, your kids would learn how to pick the lock in no time.