My Newest Life

I haven’t ‘blogged’ in two months.  Did ya miss me???

I’ve been–well, I guess you could say I’ve been busy.   New city; new home–new everything and I’ve been in the process of nesting AND making the adjustments that one must make when moving from a 24-hour city of millions of residents who teem like bacteria in a petri dish to a community of 20-thousand that all but closes at 8:00 PM.

This town has interesting residents.  As varied as its big city counterparts.

There are the lifers; the natives and you can spot them from a mile away.  They’re ranchers who drive ten year old pick ups and wear short sleeve/pearl snap Western shirts and aging Wranglers tucked inside a scuffed pair of worn Dingo boots.    The rest of the populace is foreign to this soil.   Lots of retired military and based on their cars and clothing, I’d say most had lots of brass on their uniforms.   Others are retirees who wanted a slower pace.  They’re the ones who followed the siren song of ‘white flight’ from the big cities.   As Texas cities go, this one is as white as the limestone which  is quarried just outside town.   This lack of melanin has taken me some time to get used to .

Aside from this being a fondant city; there are also few lines in this town, with the exception of the grocery store around 5pm weekdays.   I don’t have to  leave two hours before my appointed meeting or lunch date, in order to compensate for distance and traffic  And as I mentioned, the pace is slower.  I had no idea that’s what I wanted…nay, what I needed.  It comes as something of a surprise to me since for well over three decades, I’ve considered myself as a city girl.  I am now 37 years removed from the tiny berg I called my hometown.  All I know is the city.

Speaking of, this town is close to San Antonio and one of that city’s most redeeming qualities is its splendid Tex-Mex fare; something Houston sorely lacked.  God knows Houston has its share of Latinos but in that ethnic melange there are Guatemalans, Colombians, El Salvadoreans, Cubans and even those from “war-torn “Grenada.  These nice people will attempt Capitalism and open restaurants.   They’ll try to ride the Tex Mex wave, but they’ll include their own spices and modes of cooking to enchiladas and tacos and well, the end result just isn’t  Tex-Mex.  Not by a long shot.  Fortunatekly for me, the fact that this town is virtually northwest San Antonio, it has its share of good Tex-Mex restaurants and I can take my pick.

I was in one last week for my #6 dinner with flour tortillas  and overheard a conversation between two natives.   Older men having a political conversation–at least that’s what I thought at first.   They kept mentioning Cornyn, which I thought was a reference to Texas Senator John Cornyn who was also a judge in San Antonio back in the 80’s and early 90’s.

Hhhhh’mmmmm, I thought.   Small town intelligentsia; the Literati.


But as I continued to listen,  Cornyn went from being a surname to a verb.  It seems ‘cornin” is what one does to deer to lure deer  into open fields to get a better shot.   Apparently, it’s a deer season hunting reference and yes, it actially involves corn but that hardly seems sporting.  Where’s the thrill of the hunt?  The stalking process?

I’m also trying to get used to the unique small town way in which directions are given. Here’s an example of what I’m talking about.

ME:    Excuse me, but can you tell me where the Voter Registration office is?   I’ve  been told it’s in the County Annex building.

Betty Jean Darlene Rose with over processed hair and a T-shirt with a tractor on it:  Yep, it’s over there ‘cross from the old High School.

Me:  And where’s that exactly?

Betty Jean Darlene Rosewith over- processed hair and  a fungus-riddled toenail sticking out of her self Bedazzled flip-flops:  Oh, it’s just a dog leg from that field where Homer Jones’ cow done had that  two headed calf.


I pulled out my Small Town Translato and learned that actually meant 826 College Street, where ever that is.  I didn’t ask for fear I’d have to hear all about the backyard  where Asa Harper shot four crows with one round from that old Winchester his granpappy done give him in ’48.

Guess I’m not voting in  this election.

PS:  Tomorrow night is the season premier of  American Horror Story: Asylum.   I will, as promised, write my version of a review after each episode.  See you back here for the weekly insanity.


  1. Hi Laurie,
    Glad to get your latest opine. I love your take on things. I too have escaped the big city for a slower-paced life. I nodded in recognition all through your piece. So many characters and too little time to write about them all…Look forward to your next entry.

  2. Sounds like this will be interesting, keep it coming Laurie. We’re actually leaving our pop.1383 town to a place out in the county, with no “city limits”. First thing to do after we move in? Build us a shooting range. Oh yeah, this is going to be fun.

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