Friday, November 25, 2011

Home on the range

Where the heck is Sisterdale, TX?

2 hrs west of Austin, or 1 hr North of San Antonio, but in either case you will not find it in the God's Own Dark that falls over the Hill Country by 5pm.  Arriving after dark added to the effect of opening the door the following morning and seeing the Paniolo Ranch for the first time like Dorothy in Munchkinland.




I'll zoom into that landscape for you:



well....There's been a drought.  Sadly, that lake in the lower right is now just a hole in the ground.  In happier times, that lake looks like this.  So we did miss the misty morning cup of coffee watching birds over the lake.  Instead I was treated to a herd of deer sucking off the last puddle, and that in itself was a scene.

We did not get the sweep of the Milky Way which hangs low over the open landscape.  Instead, we were treated to an early morning prairie style downfall, of the kind that makes Texans dance in the streets.  We stood in the door and watched it for a while; it was more beautiful than  the constellations.



We passed on the winery tours, which are a central activity of this region, just because we were too relaxed to get back into the car, and we had only a few days to hurry up and rejuvenate.

Paniolo bills itself as a Bed & Breakfast Spa.  Meaning breakfast is served and there are spa services. It advertises Wedding Services... in that it has space for an outdoor event, but it is a haul for the caterers and decorators. It is mostly a rustic retreat and you should approach it as such.  The circled building in the satellite view above is the house where we stayed, about half a mile from the main house -- it sounds like a lot, but that's 2500 feet.  You can make it.  If you can't, take the golf cart.  We were afraid of driving it into a ditch -- and besides, we came to get healthy.

Armed with groceries for a 3-day healthy spa menu (and 3 bottles of wine -- we're not stoics, for heaven's sake), we took to the Hills, from whence cometh our help.  Why is whence a statement of place?  Shouldn't it be wherece?  Unplugged (mostly - we had a DVD player and a TV in every room, but we couldn't figure out the cable, and the 2 movies we picked were both disappointments) and well-fed (mmm... kaaaale....), and far from the owner's 4 dogs (really - rethink that when you run a retreat), we began our annual redefinition of our lives and their promise over rounds of Scrabble -- both of which seem deeper to us as the wine bottles empty.

I did not get to play GEISHAS, but I did have it on the tray.   

When you are scheduling your spa services, you'll want to listen carefully when they ask "did ya'll want to be booked at the same time?" or you might end up in couples massage.  Or you might anyway, because the "spa" is just a small treatment room of 2 beds and a whirlpool, with an uncurtained window to the outdoor courtyard, where on a busier weekend, some other guests might have been having their half-day spa lunch.  But none of that was happening, and we only glimpsed other guests (the deer were more prevalent) so we said "meh" and got to it.  Not the best massage I've ever had, but let me disclaim that my therapist was also running the place on her own in the owner's absence.  She had checked us in, brought our breakfast, and would have cleaned the room, but we gave her an out.

If darkness and wilderness makes you feel more "yikes" than "aahh," you may want something more corporate in your Hill Country experience.  If you wanted to swim and boat, well, you may need to wait another 10 years for the Paniolo to get back into gear.  If you wanted to work out, the fitness room is depressing; walk the grounds instead.  If you hate dogs, book the house we did.

I am not linking to them, because this post sounds like a less than ideal review and I don't want to give them the impression we didn't enjoy ourselves.  We did, very much.  maybe I just don't want you to find it more easily than we did.

Sisterdale got a dance hall in it.  Pack your Wranglers.  








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Thursday, November 24, 2011

A typical story

stamps for fun and profit
In my workplace, we frequently send Thank You gifts to customers for various reasons -- mostly variations on Thanks for Not Dropping Us Like a Bad Marriage.  For Sarbannes-Oxley/industry history reasons, these gifts are not of substantial value.  They are not of any value, really,  but they are what we have to offer, so we make do.

I try to gussy them up a bit to hide their schlockiness by wrapping them, or attaching the gushy Thank You Note for which I have always been famous.

That pile of corporate swag has been sitting on the corner for my desk for an extra week for one reason only:  I don't have enough Thank You Notes for the full package.  Someone said this was a fairly typical dilemma than would occur in my life... but not theirs.

It's not a simple case of buying more notes -- They have them at the CVS and I know right where they are.  I can not expense them; they have to come out of my own conscious, so no I don't spend a lot on them.

Not everyone who gets a gift gets thank you note.  These things are hand crafted, and I don't have all day.


They are truly handwritten, but I have some stock text that I use -- one for the project manager, one for the customer, for her boss, for her staff, for the IT boy who grudgingly came to every status call and 10 minutes in would say, "Do you still need me?"  I realized that I was in danger of sending the same notes to people a couple of times a year if I didn't keep track of them, of course.  So I made a library of them.

So first I have to get the cards, them pull from the library, make sure I am not repeating myself (though I don't mind switching off within the same customer, with just a little tweaking), make sure I am not sending them a gift I have already sent and... that it is appropriate to the rank of the recipient and their role in this effort we are quote-quote celebrating.  And those do not always correlate.

This is how to complicate a task beyond reason, and to the point where you can say you don't have time to do it.    It's really not as hard as it sounds.







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Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Mother's little helper

"Oh," said a friend, spotting 2 wine glasses in the sink, "What's happening here?" 
I said, "I drank alone.  Twice."

I spend a lot of time with the parents of pre-schoolers and I testify that Mommy's post-bedtime glass of wine is sacred.  And don't play holier than thou with me -- I've seen your Facebook statuses.  I'm having bookends made for you, in the shape of a Starbucks mug and a goblet.

I will smugly say that it takes me no more energy to get through 8 hours with a 3 year-old than 8 hours with anyone else.  But with anyone else it takes a lot of energy.  There is a reason your Auntie Mame lives alone.  But several times a year she can show up with her carpet bag full of hatracks and crayons in her purse and show your pack of li'l no-neck monsters one heck of a good time.  (that was a trifecta of mixed metaphors.  show respect)


I am not as delicious as a 9 o'clock chardonnay, but I can be as intoxicating.

Little kids dig me for the same reasons married men dig me, I think:  I give the impression I have never heard their stories before, I don't care where they leave their shoes, and I let them win.  If you think I just compared your husband to a child...it's nothing you've never done.

Before a certain age, your child will ask in advance of my arrival a) if I have any children, b) if I am staying "over the night," and sometimes c) if I am a boy or a girl.  I have no longitudinal study to explain this, except that before that certgain age, childen are not likely to know grown women without children and therefore think of motherhood as a secondary sex characteristic.  Or I am flat-chested with a deep voice...

When you are on the phone with me, they will climb on you and beg for the phone, then once they have control of it nod in response to everything I say.  I will lie to you about what I said, and it will surface later in their early adult therapy.  And oh..how I will laugh. 

Next they will show me every toy in the house, in a mad rush to do everything in their plan before Mommy and Daddy completely dominate the guest and everyone goes back to talking about painfully dull adult things only now there are more of them doing it. 

These are the magic fire-from-the-sky-make-the-moon-go-black tricks I have for kids under 6:

Spelling - it's witchery!  Write my name!  Now DOG.  Now LEAF.  Now NOODLES!

Sorting - Legos, dolls, Matchbox cars, cookies, book sizes.  Bring it on.  I got this.

Story telling - I stumbled into the discovery  that my goddaughter did not know The Wizard of Oz.  I have shown an adult their first snow -- that used to be my biggest  vicarious thrill until I impressed Cowardly Lion on a fresh brain.
(I left some things out, like what's in Judy's cup.)


Singing - I know the words to everything: Wheels on the Bus, Mom Threw the TV Out the Window, Go Down Moses.. I'm hanging onto Greasy Grimy Gopher Guts for you.  They'll shoot milk through their noses.  I stunned my niece into silence once by jumping in on cue and without fanfare to a Green Day song (you know, the one with only 2 verses, and you can understand them.  But it was cooler than turning vampire.)

Sitting on the floor - at least until recently.  I may need something trussed.

Now booking, 2-3 weeks in advance.  I have references.




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Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Overheard at the diner

Woman:  Do you have wheat pancakes?

Amber the Waitress: No.. sorry...

Woman:  Ok, then... I'll have the eggs benedict.  But only half the sauce.  Not all the sauce... that you usually put on it.  [pause]  And wheat toast.

Her Son:  Mom.  You ordered eggs benedict.  It comes on, like,  English muffins.

Woman:  Are they wheat English muffins?

Waitress:  No... sorry....

Woman: Do you have anything wheat?

Son: Mom.

Woman:  Well, it's very hard for me... I can't handle white bread.

Son: It's not that much white bread.

Me:  shoot me please. 








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Monday, November 21, 2011

BRILLIANT

From Retronaut, my new place to play.

The Today Show Team tries to read a URL. In 1994.







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