Take a Breath
Texas, what we just did was live through TRAUMA.
Trauma of betrayal by our elected leaders. This was a preventable disaster, but prevention costs money, and Texas likes to live that uninsured driver lifestyle in the name of freedom. I hope change comes of this in the form of acting responsibly for everyone’s future.
Trauma of being scared for your own safety and survival. Our homes are not built for cold like that. They simply do not have the insulation to hold heat for extended periods of time. 30 minute of power twice a day will not heat a home when it is -5º outside.
Trauma of being scared for the safety and survival of your loved ones. My parents and grandparents did not have power through most of this. And with the roads frozen over, and no plowing, no snow tires, no way to get to anyone, I was stuck calling to check on them, only to find conditions worsening or staying the same.
Trauma of prolonged uncertainty and fear. Nobody knew how long this would last. Nobody knew if the rolling blackouts would ever roll.
Trauma of Guilt of having had power through this entire ordeal, hoping and wishing each and every minute that I could give it up and roll the blackout right onto us and off of someone near freezing in their home. Of turning off every light bulb and having our own house at 55º because maybe that’ll help save enough to get my mom’s house some power to get above 37º. Of knowing you have food and heat and water but no way to get it to anyone who needs it.
But we’re almost through to the other side of this.
Take a breath with me and let that sink in. If you’re reading this, you made it! You’re okay. Feel that in your bones.
The most difficult moment for me was learning that my 90 year old grandparents were without power. They live in a very old house, a two hour drive (on very clear roads) from me. I spoke to them the night that they lost power, and the house temperature was dropping fast. My grandmother told me that they were heading to bed, wearing layers, and bundled up under all the blankets they could find. I found out later they slept in their recliners in the living room. The next morning, they still did not have power. I found out later that day that a neighbor who owns a roofing company brought them a generator. When I spoke to my grandmother, she said that other neighbors gave them space heaters to plug in, and a power strip so they could finally charge their phones. The same neighbors also brought them food. I have no idea how the neighbors cooked the food, but my grandparents had beef tips and rice, pork chops, and roast beef during this, all due to kindness of their neighbors. Y’all, when I first found out the neighbor had set them up with his generator, I cried. When I found out about the food, I cried again. When I read about a couple in Amarillo who tried to survive the cold, sleeping in their recliners side-by-side only to be found after one had died and the other was near death, I cried again. But for the kindness of neighbors, that could have been my grandparents. That Amarillo couple is somebody’s family. The mother who tried to warm her child the best way she knew how, only for both of them to die from carbon monoxide poisoning is another heartbreaking tale. Texas is full of such tales right now. Thankfully, due to our humanity and goodness, we have far fewer such tales than we could have had.
As the snow and ice finally melts, what we need now is for our leadership to dig through the muddy slush around them and find their humanity and goodness and take steps to prevent such a disaster from threatening our loved ones and ourselves in the future.
And as soon as I’m COVID vaccinated, my grandparents’ neighbors better get ready for some uncomfortably long hugs.
Seen, Treasured, & Loved
2020 has taught me so many lessons, but I think one of the biggest is that we shouldn’t take anything for granted. Opportunities are all too often fleeting. In September, I lost a dear friend. Later the next night, our friend group threw together an impromptu, socially distanced, backyard gathering. I stopped by my parents’ house to get some photos my mom had found of him. I brought them to that gathering that night, and we passed them around (along with hand sanitizer). I thought we’d all sit around in our circle and share memories of him and cry, but what happened instead was just us all catching up with each other. Most of us hadn’t seen each other since Christmas. And in that moment, what we needed was to see, hear, and feel that we were all still here, and in some way or another, okay. Presented with the opportunity to contribute to a eulogy for him, I couldn’t. I was not ready to solidify the loss with all the past tense descriptions and knowing the stories now had an end. I’ll forever regret not being ready in that moment, nor the next day at the funeral, and not until now, in November. But I’ll also always temper that regret with compassion for myself in those moments. All we can do is our best in any given moment, and sometimes it won’t be enough. Now though, I’d love if you let me share just some of what I’ll remember of him.
He and I met in 1st grade. I don’t remember that. He’s one of those friends that you just don’t remember not knowing. The kind of friendship where you can maybe remember one or two fights, but never remember questioning the friendship because it was unquestionable. We were in school together from 1st grade to senior year and we were in Boy Scouts together from Bobcats all the way through high school. When I think back to my earliest memories with him, I remember his energy. Anyone who knew him knows what I mean. He had this infectious enthusiasm for everything, and everyone. When we’d see each other at our (painfully infrequent) gatherings and he asked you “how are you?” you felt him not look at you, not past you, but into you to see how you truly are. His face lit up when he heard your good news as if you’d just gifted him with your own joy. His concern if you had bad or sad news was as if he’d accepted the burden of solving your troubles. It’s not one bit surprising to know that he touched so many lives daily in his work and is missed by many more people than I’ll ever know. He loved nature nearly as much as his family and friends, and some of my best memories are of exploring this world of ours as kids, when he’d teach me about the tiniest bugs we could find, or the plants we saw. I think he loved every living thing in such a special way. Except fire ants. He spent an entire mountain biking trip kicking over every rock within a 100’ radius of our nightly campsites looking for fire ants. He was allergic and was not going to let them sneak up on him in the night. And despite disturbing a few dozen nests by overturning their rocky tops, he somehow managed to avoid getting bit even once during that whole trip. But the fire ants did get a last laugh when we arrived home from he trip and he gleefully hopped out of the van into his own front yard barefoot, and right into a fire ant nest. But even that didn’t deter him from being barefoot outside again, because he was the kind of person who loves that grass-under-your-feet, grounded-with-the-earth feeling. It’s nice knowing he had the natural, green burial he wanted. I just wish it could have been a few decades later. I miss his energy, and know that for the world to not lose his light, those of us who remember him need to carry it with us. I know it’s a personal goal of mine now to try and make others feel how he made me feel, seen and treasured and loved.
Terlingua, Texas
“With all this shit going on…”
It’s been a time, y’all. Taking this COVID-19 thing seriously is tiring. My job puts me in contact with the public daily, and so I really haven’t been doing much outside of work in order to limit my own exposure, and the exposure I bring to others. I miss restaurants. I miss shopping. I miss brunching with friends. I miss visiting family. Like many of you, I had turned to social media in an attempt to feel connected to people. And like many of you, I quickly tired of the barrage of pain and negativity that fills my feeds there. That’s what has led to this! I want a place to keep everyone updated without the noise. No comment section. No Likes to covet. Just me letting you know what I’ve been up to for the last month. What brought me joy. What I learned. What I liked. What I learned to like. What I think you might like. And what’s on these pages is not the conversation. The conversation is between us. So email me! Text me! Buy me a telegraph and teach me morse code! You can even call me. On my phone. Yes, a millennial is allowing phone calls.
It’s that simple.
What do we have that’s truly simple anymore?
I hope you enjoy!
July 2-6
For Dan’s birthday, we booked a getaway. One night, we were both laying on the couch, weighted by the now-familiar feeling of not having one damn thing to do but watch Netflix and order Uber Eats. Dan suggested an AirBNB getaway to somewhere remote, low COVID-19 risk, and beautifully relaxing. He browsed nearby cities, and I searched the entire state of Texas. That’s where things began to go awry. I’m not a geographoligist. I was in my late 20s when I learned Puerto Rico is not actually off the coast of New York. (West Side Story really led me astray with that one.) So I forgot how gigantic Texas truly is, and how diverse the landscape. I stumbled upon a listing for a cute AirBNB in Terlingua. In the desert. In July. Dan loved it, and I love Dan, so I agreed that we should go. To the desert. In Texas. In July. Let me tell you the reluctance was real. I was constantly “joking” that I was going to go die in the desert and just melt away. My “jokes” were thinly veiled cries for help. I am not a heat-tolerant species.
Much like my geographying, what I thought I would experience in Terlingua was quite different than what I actually experienced! That little ghost town is such an amazing place. Even in July. Even in the Texas desert heat. It helped that the AirBNB air conditioner was very functional and kept our little bedroom a cozy 68º all weekend. The place we stayed was a restored old mining house made of the same stacked rocks that cover the landscape there, and adobe.
Betty’s stunning AirBNB house in Terlingua, Texas
I cannot rave enough about this house. In between the stones are tiny knick-knacks of infinite varieties. Beer bottle caps, wine corks, pottery shards, tiny toys, something that looked like a guitar fret clampy thing… It is really something you can spend a while exploring on its own. When you drive up, you immediately notice the plants and landscaping. Yes, landscaping in a rocky desert. Betty collects the rainwater off the house to water several beautiful plants around the house. And the plants in the front garden bed happily drink water from the kitchen sink! There’s a covered porch with a bed for laying out and enjoying the weather. (It’s not 100º+ all the time) The kitchen had everything Dan and I needed to cook all our own meals while there, except our one dinner out at the Starlight Theater restaurant. The bedroom has the aforementioned glorious air conditioner and an incredibly comfortable bed, as well as a reading/relaxing loft above. I’m 6’ 3” and was comfortable getting up there and reading through a book. Out back is a detached bathroom, which sounds weird at first, but ended up feeling like a luxury experience somehow. There’s also an outdoor shower, where you can just look out on the views while showering. It’s a whole thing. A wholly amazing thing. And with the desert air, you dry off so quickly after a shower.
It’s a special feeling being in such a small town for a few days. Technically, Terlingua isn’t a city, nor a town. It’s a Census Designated Place. And at the last census, the population was 56. The nearest large grocery store is in Alpine, a solid 1.5 hours away. My city self truly does not know how people exist there long term. It would be easy to write-off all the locals as misfits and weirdos, but that’s not really true. I do think you need to be a certain kind of person to uproot your life and land there, but the people we saw and met there were all nice and had an engaging way that draws you in. Maybe that’s the secret. Maybe they’re all introverts who found a space to allow them to engage in smaller doses and recharge in solitary peace. That’s a life I can understand.
There are several art galleries in Terlingua, and they all have treasures. On Friday, Dan and I were in the front yard of the house, and a peregrine falcon (one of my all time favorite birds since I was a kid, because I’m an animal nerd) dove right over our heads. The shrill missile-like whistle of the bird slicing though the air at 200 mph caught Dan off-guard, and then I got to share my animal nerd knowledge! On Saturday, while in the Painted Feather Gallery, the owner, Dani, was truly a treat. Dani paints and draws many things, but mostly animals. She was working on a drawing of a dragon, and had two versions that each blew my non-artistic mind. She wanted our thoughts on which version was better. (I let Dan answer because I can only draw stick figures that neither resemble stick nor figure, while he has actual artistic talent.) We browsed through the gallery, and then I saw it. A drawing of a peregrine falcon against a gold foil sun. That might be the first time I had a “we HAVE to have this!” moment with art. Later, in the Earth & Fire Gallery, I had another such moment for a photograph of a dog in a suit.
Terlingua is in between Big Bend National Park, and Big Bend State Ranch. The National Park was closed, locals said it was because one visitor tested positive for COVID-19. We all kind of had a chuckle at shutting down an entire National Park larger than Connecticut for one case, but it is what it is. We still found beautiful hikes in the State Ranch Friday and Saturday mornings. Friday we did the Hoodoos Trail. I say “trail” because there’s allegedly one. We just never found it. We just ended up climbing some giant rocks. (Not the actual hoodoos of course. People who destroy marvels of nature are evil.) Saturday morning we did the Closed Canyon Trail. Other than someone with a bluetooth speaker blasting music on the trail through the canyon, it was glorious. Don’t be that person. Nobody likes that person. (And if you’re that person and fall down later in the canyon and drop your camera in the mud, I will laugh at you for days to come.) I got some amazing photos on those hikes, and saw so much natural beauty.
I went to a country music concert, y’all.
Okay, maybe not really, but these two were performing at the Starlight theater Restaurant & Saloon that we went to for Dan’s birthday dinner. I fully groaned when I realized we showed up for dinner right as they were starting. But then I actually listened to them, and they both have such beautiful voices, especially Kathy! They even sang some songs I know! The music was good, the food was good, and the margaritas were very very good! Starlight Theater Restaurant & Saloon in Terlingua even has several vegetarian dinner options! It was a great dinner and show, responsibly socially distanced, of course!
I cannot describe adequately how relaxing our time in Terlingua was. Terlingua is famous for their Chili Cookoff every November (except maybe this year. Thanks, Coronavirus!), so if you aren’t a vegetarian, think of checking that out, but also consider going in the off-season like we did, and truly live at the easiest pace and just take in desert life and living. I know you’ll enjoy it.
The poem in the bathroom of Betty’s AirBNB. Reading this while having this time with Dan, I felt this poem in my soul.