The Saturday Texas Journal:

A soldier from The Netherlands training in Central Texas said: "I have never been in a place where I experienced all four seasons in two short weeks." Buh-dah-boom.

There are historical markers all along the Texas backroads. There are virtually no pull-outs. When reading these markers close up, try not make history by being squashed like a bug by pickups going over 70 MPH. Buh-dah-boom.

A small town in Central Texas is named *Ding Dong*...after the not so notorious Bell brothers. Buh-dah-buh-dah-ding-dong.

By the main gate on the post, there is huge expanse of bluebonnets followed in a few weeks by tons of black-eyed Susans and other wild flowers. But there is absolutely no way to get near them to take photos or smell the flowers without risking MP encounters. Hoo-rah!

Know how Texans know people are new to the Lone Star State? Newcomers get wild-eyed at every tornado alert, and are constantly on the alert for places to shelter their cars from the hellish hail stones big enough to knock a hard-headed longhorn silly. Watch the skies! I mean it! Ka-Boom!

Speaking of *lone stars*...Texas is nicknamed the Lone Star State to signify that it was a former independent republic. This is still the ardent desire of many Texans. (The lone star on the flag is a sort of like a Confederate flag...hiding in plain sight.) They mean it! Boom!

Lest you take my journal entries as a sign I am assimilating, note that I have gone from saying that the whole state of Texas sucks, to pointing out the nuanced ways in which the state of Texas sucks.

I can only close by saying: Ted Cruz for President? I refer you to the movie *King of Hearts.* The asylum gates are truly wide open in Texas and the lunatics think that since they run the state, they should run the country, too,

I presume I shall not run short of fodder for my journal cannon, as long as I am *Stuck in Lodi* again (so to speak).

Giddie-up and Hoo-rah!

Perhaps, the most civilizing phrase in all of human history is: Use your words!

The old soul of five years came to find me. Her big brown eyes trained soberly on my face, and with all the sincerity of Atticus Finch, she said: "Today, daddy and mommy broke my heart."

Few opening remarks of even the most esteemed barristers would be hard-pressed to compete with this address. And so we recognize we must begin saving for law school.

Neither Rain, Nor Sleet, Nor Hail...

While all of this can confirm that a girl really is a princess.  It is carrying mommy's umbrella to school that is confirmatory.   Clear umbrellas that reach down to your middle, placing you in the middle of a bubble - remote from commoners - is evidence enough that you are truly not just a princess, but a fairy princess.  Remember to try not to smile.  You are royalty and your middle name is "Reserved."

Imagine that you have accomplished six years with few opportunities to feel truly powerful. One school morning, you awaken to sleet and cold and misery. You struggle to get your backpack on over your bulky coat, and get your fingers in all the right places in your gloves. Resigned, you open the door to the blast, and duck your head. Then…someone snaps open an enormous, manly black umbrella, and steading the behemoth contraption in your hands, says: You take this one.

The most important thing, then, becomes your effort to look like you shoulder responsibility of this magnitude every day.

Stella…Stella…Stella

Today was late start because of the cold weather.  Normally the 2 1/2 year old is sleeping (while his mommy works in the next room) when his siblings go to school.  Today, he had to be bundled up and dragged along as a sort of over-clothed mascot.  It was so cold, and everything was happening so fast, and he was still a sleepy head, that he just silently trudged along. He waved a hesitant goodbye to his siblings.

Then suddenly, he is Marlon Brando, his desperate calls for his love echoing against the hard surfaces of the desolate elementary school landscape.  Sinking to his knees, he yells: "Stella…Stella...Stella" (subbed here instead of her real name).  His 5-year old sister, sympathetically looks once over her shoulder…and then disappears into the gaping double doors.  It was not a happy walk back to the house.

A Chronicle of Displacement and Social Media Restraint

From our very first room of our own to our last room (hopefully) of our own, many of us experience living arrangements that are not Conde Nast ideal.  This blog is for those of us whose living arrangements over the years seem like they were set-up by the "concierge" in the movie, The Best Exotic Hotel Marigold.  My purpose in writing this particular blog is three-pronged.

1. The Living Arrangements blog is my note-taking place for recording the quotidian events that will support the development of a play by the same name.  The play, Living Arrangements, is about the increasingly common phenomenon in which otherwise independent members of an extended family consolidate under one roof.

2. Writing this blog may help me with my resolution to restrain (note that I have not used the word refrain) my tendency toward excessive political posting on Facebook.  The GOP tilt in Congress causes me no end of lamenting and snarling.  I will attempt to enlist my resources in more constructive writing pursuits, such as finishing the smattering of writing projects with which I litter my life.

3. Since I exist in the learn-as-I-go world of full-time nannying and full-time freelancing, it occurred to me that I might be able to share an occasional insight about intergenerational living.  The nascent idea is  to write a humorous guide on grand-parenting in situ.

The reasons for intergenerational living vary, but money is probably the most common denominator.  My living arrangements journey began with being laid off in 2009 due to the fiscal meltdown, at which time I - and a staggeringly huge mass of people - became displaced.  This euphemistic term generally means that one's situation is not restored in short order.  In Victorian times, an even more polite phrase was whispered: unfortunate people experienced "reduced circumstances."  

It should be told that the occasion of a grandparent's reduced circumstances sends out a series of ripples to one's offspring that triggers opportunistic thinking.  To be honest, this is a mutual sentiment, but parents of young children are very quick to connect the dots.  

The highest bidder was the daughter living in Germany with her soldier husband, a toddler just learning to walk, and a three-story house with an open-design spiral staircase.   I believe her appeal went something like this: "I'm really afraid the baby will fall all the way to bottom floor; the stairs are completely open!"  The spiral staircase was indeed scary…carrying a squirming toddler down three-flights, I feared for my own neck.  I soon learned that my sanity was in greater jeopardy.

It wasn't until I arrived at the airport in Germany that I learned the toddler would no longer be the baby in the family.  My daughter was three months pregnant with her second child, and though we didn't know it at the time, would be put on bed rest in her third trimester.  Thus, I began my apprenticeship, morphing from doting grandparent to join the ranks of the weary and wary live-in mothers-in-law.

I will say that this episode closed happily with a series of dashes for freedom…to Munich, Majorca, Berlin, and Amsterdam.  I'll have more to say about those trips later.  But for now, I leave you with this question: What might be the reason "aloha" means both "hello" and "good-bye?"