Boiling over
February 18, 2013

Oh boy, this has been brewing for a while, so now that fingers are once again to keyboard, there’s no telling where it might end up.  To begin at the end, this morning was that straw that did the number on the camel.  Circumstances in my life have been other than what I desire them to be, pretty substantially other really, and today was a culmination.  Nothing world-ending, nothing that can’t be dealt with one way or t’other, it’s just that occasionally, a person gets tired, thus I shall vent, rant and ramble as it suits me.

Being a relatively bossy personality, I am of a mind to tackle a situation and get it taken care of.  The challenge is not in needing to take action.  For me, the challenge is in dealing with not being able to deal with things.  Far more difficult to sit and wait for others to do whatever others need to do than it would be do it all myself.

So . . . little sense can be made of that and no matter.  Amidst a minor loss of stoicism (okay, so I cried a little - big deal), darling daughter dispensed a dab of motherly advice.  “Go for a walk, Mama”, she said, and so I did, despite Midland’s incessant wind and the resulting gritty eyes.

Wind, like most things, is far worse for the resisting of it.  It howls and whistles and sounds cold whether it is or not.  I find the being out in it and letting it rip is much easier than listening to it sneak in around the windows.  I am happy that I heeded darling daughter’s admonition, especially after two hours in the wildlife preserve.

For most of the time, I was the only person silly enough to be out in the less-than-pleasant conditions and I reveled in the experience.  This time I abandoned the trail and found a nice patch of dirt on which to plant myself, relaxed back against a tree and watched the water.  Missing this connection with the earth is most of what is wrong with me.  I have a deep need to be in contact with the Earth and when deprived of it, I always languish.  I do have a strong preference for the dirt to be attached to Terra Firma, not mixing with the ethers.

Rejuvenated, I determined to wend my way through the wetlands along routes that are now available because of the dropped water levels.  Climbing over downed trees, ducking under low-hanging branches, pushing through brush-choked sections, I proceeded where no man has gone before.  Well, that was a bald-faced distortion of reality, but I did explore places I had not gone previously, working my way around ponds, through reeds, up on banks and through grassy open areas.

In the process, I saw a chattering belted kingfisher to add to our bird list here and a wonderful little ruby-crowned kinglet.  He was hunkered down below me hiding from the wind and not about to move from his haven because of my presence.  I tried to photograph him but the camera wouldn’t focus right because of the brush.

Along the same slough, I also spotted big fat tadpoles; I expect we will be hearing the roar of bullfrogs before long.  Others have reported seeing turtles in the area; I finally spied two sliders out for a sunning.

When I finished scuttling around in the vegetation, I climbed back onto the trail and encountered my only companions in the preserve: a young man with his two small sons. 





























As I turned, I was astonished to spot a red-shafted northern flicker staring out at me from a nest box, one of several installed in the area.  He had a comical air about him; truthfully, he was so still I thought at first he wasn’t real.  It was fun to be able to point him out to the family and share the sight.

Other birds we’ve added to the local list recently are black Phoebe, blue Jay, pyrrhuloxia and bufflehead.



Although there are numerous porcupine dens in the wetlands, I have yet to see one of those creatures.  There is evidence of their work, though, in bark-peeled tree branches.




It’s official, valentines, yard work, geni meeting or not  . . .

I am now an official volunteer at the Midland Public Library.  I had anticipated that my offer to help would not be accepted until the genealogy section’s move to a new location, but they have found a place to plug me in to help get ready for the move.  My big contribution so far consists of working on the massive collection of city directories.  For reasons unknown to me, the library’s basement houses directories from just about anywhere you could name in the United States and even other countries.  We are gluing, taping and even ironing (yes, really) the volumes before putting on their catalogue stickers inside, backside and spineside.

I have not been back to Joy’s to help with yard work because first, I have not felt great, second, the weather has been cold except when I didn’t feel well, third, it seemed to require more self-startingness than I could muster and fourth, I have been distracted with other matters.  I hope the remainder of the mustard weed has not gained gargantuan proportions in my absence; I’m sure the dry leaves have not grown.  The original reason I could not finish the job was because I got entirely too carried away the first trip and couldn’t stop moaning in pain every time I moved for three days afterward.

I did not attend the local genealogical society’s monthly meeting because it transpired on Valentine’s Day evening.  Chris and I see little enough of each other as it is, so I hesitated to eliminate one of those few times.  As it turned out, his work ended early enough that day that he wanted us to go out for dinner, an offer I could not refuse.  We tried a Mexican food place I saw that attracted me - I think it was the lighted fake palm trees on the front patio - and were very pleased with the food and the atmosphere.

Hordes, gasoline, furriners . . .

I recently ventured into Ross for a short shopping foray on a Saturday.  Holy mob scene!  It looked like someone had announced free gold bars for every customer through the door.  A mob scene of impressive proportions - 17 people in the checkout line when I walked in.  Giving up all hope of “shopping” in the best sense of the word, I beelined straight to the men’s shoe department, lucked into a nice pair of athletic shoes for C, whose footwear was embarrassing me, and departed after going through the fairly fast-moving checkout line.

These hordes are pretty much the norm in Mid-boom town-land.  I displayed a serious lack of judgement when I entered the HEB grocery store the day before Valentine’s Day at the produce aisle, which locality also houses the florist section.  As in all things at the HEB, the floral department is large and well-stocked, evidently well-known, too.  I was able to get in the door, but just barely; moving further in that direction was literally impossible through the bodies and shopping carts.  I was forced to back up and find an alternate route into the store.

At all hours, traffic congestion is . . . well, congested, pretty crazy really especially with the very high percentage of semis out there vying for space (one tends not to argue with a rushing truck that is several times larger than oneself).  At RUSH hour, however, the rush slows to a crawl at best.  Coming off the Interstate becomes an exercise in patience.  Every day along about that time, vehicles begin pulling off to the shoulder of the highway and taking their place in the line waiting to exit, backing up along I-20 for a goodly distance at every exit.

One oddity I have noticed is that there are very few out-of-state license plates in these parts.  With the boom conditions, I would have expected there to be loads of furriners like us, but that is not the case.  It being mostly Texans who have come here for work would explain why there is so little knowledge in other parts of the country about the amazing employment opportunities.

Now that I’m on the subject of driving, I want to know what happened to gasoline prices?!  One minute, I was paying $3.14 per gallon (whoever would have thought that would be considered reasonable?); at the blink of an eye, it had jumped to $3.45.  That was when I balked, thinking it would go back down.  Strategical error: we just filled up at $3.65!  What happened?  Was it the Russian meteorite that caused this ridiculous jump?  Is it a result of lemmings somewhere not jumping off a cliff en masse?  I must say I am gratified that I am not driving daily between Chino and Prescott, at least; at prices like that, the gas bill would be astronomical.

Chris pumped the gas today (he had another short day - only 8.75 hours) and actually washed the windshield.  I’ve given up bothering with that; everything - and I do mean everything - is SO dirty, dusty, bird-dropping-streaked.  I have lowered my standards, although Ruby does get a touch-up now and then, and I try to keep the big pieces picked up in the trailer.  The dust, however, is so pervasive as to be unbeatable.




Love is in the air, the campground . . .

Ma & Pa Sparrow are taking up residence in the open bumper compartment of the trailer next to us and I've noticed a good bit of eyelash fluttering in the neighborhood white-wing doves.  Dad, a Texan by birth, called them Mexican doves.  Our friend Buddy, also Texas born, calls them something rat-ish if I recall correctly, which I occasionally manage.  Evidently, they are about as popular here as grackles.























I have mentioned other RV parks in the vicinity, but not said much about ours.  The sign out front calls us a campground.  Ours is possibly the longest established RV hooking-up place in Midland.  It has two distinct personalities.

Our section is for monthly rentals only; as a consequence, we are all working folks.  We have previously stayed in parks that were more residential than transient, but never as fellow workers.  In this case, the feel is much different than on the other side where snowbirds and travelers are stashed.  Those spaces are a little larger, but that is a newer section and lacks trees.
























It does not lack a view; however, that particular view is not one I can recommend.  On the other side of the fence lie mountainous acres of debris.  Presumably, there are no restrictions hereabouts to filling one's own property with trash; perhaps we are in the area of town zoned "garbage".  Anyway, neither side is where I care to spend more time than necessary.

The staff and work campers are all congenial and work hard at keeping the place clean and habitable.  Unfortunately, we are surrounded by never-ending noise and dust.

Interstate 20 is a constant background rumble on one side.  The busy railroad cuts across north of us.  Two oil wells are just over the fence next to the landfill.  Our road is a pock-marked caliche dust bowl leading to industrial yards that are a continual source of back-up beeping,

This is our "street".  Note the oil wells just beyond.

pipe-loading clanging, trucks and equipment rumbling.  As I write this, I feel the reverberation of all the heavy activity surrounding us.  I cannot imagine actually living in such incessant noise, although certainly many do.

Because everyone in our neighborhood is working, most very long hours, we don't get acquainted with anyone but the park's staff.

Those working on the oil rigs are pretty much never here.  They and others will occasionally stop by their trailer without shutting off their engine, run in to grab something and take off again.  Right in the park, there is much engine warming up and idling and enough comings and goings to add to the chaos, especially in the close quarters.  The local custom seems to be "why shut off your engine when you are going to be out of it for only 15 minutes?".

Chris mentioned that one place he worked was far from any vehicles, oil fields or development.  The quiet was blissful.  Because of the distances he drives to work sites, he also gets to see mountains occasionally, a sight denied to me.  I am surprised by how comforted I feel to see mountains around me at home.

On a better note: we are not in the flight pattern of the airport.

A broken key saves me $130 . . .

The general  condition hereabouts with burgeoning population versus adequate services extends also to the automotive mechanic world.  As I have mentioned, Ruby began to solicit attention with her “check engine” light staring me in the face whenever I drove.  I solicited mechanic recommendations and began calling.  The quotes were in the $130 range just to tell me what the ol’ gal needed.  Even more daunting was the time factor.  One place provided a shuttle service but would keep my car for several days before they diagnosed the problem.  Well, said I, couldn’t I just make an appointment and bring it in at the time.  No soap: evidently, it makes them feel prosperous to have all the vehicles on-site.  Another place would make an appointment but didn’t have a shuttle, couldn’t get to it for at least several days and charged just as much.

So . . . these and other seeming setbacks remained running around in tiny circles in my mind.  Meanwhile, my plastic-bodied car key gave it up.  One side has been broken for ages; I have superglued and packing-taped it ‘til hell wouldn’t have it (a phrase utilized by my old Pappy, no idea what it means).  So I was without a key that I could put on a keyring for a car that needed work.

Having no idea where I might get a key made, I began a circuit of the city, one eye on traffic, the other eye on the lines of businesses on both sides of the road.  Fortunately, the right eye worked on its side and the left worked on the left side; otherwise, it would have given me a headache.

Having traversed from the city’s south side to its furthermost boundary on one road, I had no luck.  But then as I turned around in a mall parking lot, I saw Sear’s automotive.  “Wow”, thought I, maybe they can diagnose the car trouble.  The very nice young man (funny how they get younger and younger) was most helpful; however, they don’t diagnose.  “Rats”, thought I.  But as I turned to leave, he informed me that Auto Zone does free diagnoses.  “What?” exclaimed I; “the mechanic wants $130 to do it!”  That young feller even gave me directions to Auto Zone and away Ruby and I went to get our free diagnosis, which took all of about two minutes and which they even printed out for me.  Wouldn’t it be nice if medical doctors could plug in a machine and two minutes later print out what ails you?  But I digress.

I didn’t really comprehend the words strung together on the slip of paper but my handy husband informs me the insufficiency is of a non-mechanical nature and will not harm my vehicle by inaction.

Adding to the perfectly directed day, on the way to Auto Zone, I spotted a hardware store that whipped out a great little key for me . . . and has an excellent RV parts department.  Flying high that day!