Terror of Tiny Town

A significant proportion of the Lubbock dog population consists of teeny tiny dogs. Chihuahuas dominate the teeny-tiny-dog social scene, and they rule my neighbourhood with an iron paw. My favourite is a black and white one who I call Napoleon. He patrols the block every morning, strutting down the street with a megalomaniacal confidence. Indeed, many of them roam free, and Mollie and I are frequently accosted when we run afoul of their local bylaws. Mollie's response is to look at them with a measure of disdain, as if to say "You call yourself a dog?" I try to befriend them, which is sometimes effective, sometimes not.

These tiny terrors are difficult to photograph because of their speed and lack of mass, and the one-second delay on my digital camera gives them ample opportunity for escape. I was able to capture this tough guy by peeking through his fence.

I was also amused by this found dog poster - the painted toenails in particular. Actually, this dog looks a lot like Napoleon, which may offer a clue as to her origins.

Double Entendre

Am I right that this is (unintentionally) hilarious? I wonder what kinds of calls Rodney Hardy(!) receives for his Rent A Man services. I feel like calling to ask exactly what "Etc." covers. Note the "drug free" promise over the wheel. I am intrigued by the warning "Beware...Rent A Man Country".

The Stars at Night are Big and Bright

The other night, Mollie was extremely restless. She kept pacing around the house, panting loudly, staring at me, and pawing at my leg. We had just been for a long walk, so she wasn't wanting for exercise or a constitutional, and she had eaten recently, so it wasn't starvation. I opened the back door, and she immediately hustled outside and sat in the yard, looking up toward the moon. I thought "Ok, Mollie, are you going to howl at the moon now?" I went outside to see what she was on about, and looked up to see the Perseid meteor shower. I followed her example and lay down on the grass to watch the shooting stars.

Good dog.

Tasty Treats

I've been discovering the local delicacies of West Texas. For example, when I was coming home on Sunday, my cheerful neighbour shouted across the street "Allison! I have something for you!" She scurried to her backyard and emerged with a bunch of grapes. They were tiny and delicious. She explained that next year she's going to sew mesh drawstring bags to protect the grapes from ravenous birds.

There's a decent grocery store chain in town, but living on the frontier means that some things I took for granted back East, like cheap unripe mozzarella and goat cheese, are less accessible here. You can get buffalo mozzarella, but for 10.99 for one modestly sized ball. So, I started to look around for alternatives, and discovered some swell Mexican cheeses that can do the trick. Here we have some queso fresco, posing alongside a tomato from the recently-established farmer's market:

Finally, I have the good fortune of living a short walk from a bakery that produces only cupcakes. They have a different selection every day, and the mini ones are just right if you want something sweet but deem it unwise to have a cake in the house. They have flavors including pink lemonade, red velvet, chocolate mint, chocolate with peanut butter interior, and good old vanilla. They also have a lot of strawberry cake around here - I was skeptical, because my experience with strawberry-flavoured things (as opposed to actual strawberries) has been universally negative. However, I took a risk on a strawberry cupcake, and it was darn good. Must be something in the water.

Carrot cake and strawberry, with local apple butter in the background.

Two chocolate options: on the left, with a core of peanut butter ganache, on the right, chocolate mint.

Potluck

I responded to a notice on the bulletin board at Lubbock Yoga for a vegetarian co-op. The ringleader emailed me and invited me to their potluck, which was perfect in all ways. I brought a potato-kale dish that gets rave reviews at the Green Door restaurant in Ottawa, and it was well received. The host is, naturally, getting his PhD in wind-generated power, and gave us a tour of his backyard, complete with composting system, rain collection barrels full of fish (to control the mosquitos), and an organic garden that contained, among other things, one quinoa plant. It will probably yield about 11 grains, but it's still exciting to see.

The way the co-op works is that each week a different member cooks a meal, and we all show up at their house and take away a portion. Then, once a month, we have a potluck. The rest of the membership was, not unlike the staff at Lubbock Yoga, delightfully stereotypical. There's the nutritionist from Washington state who has taken a contract with the City of Lubbock to make its residents healthier. She's the organizer for the local farmer's market, as well as initiatives to get people to bike to work, establish walking school buses, and encourage local restaurants to serve salads that don't contain beef. Several people commiserated with her about the lack of bike lanes in town. Her husband volunteers at the local hospital as a baby-cuddler for premature infants, and he spent the evening playing with another couple's baby. The baby's mother explained that he's a vegetarian too, although her six year old daughter is going through a rebellion stage and is eating chicken.

The food was terrific - mmm, walnut and soy bean loaf! One of the participants brought a load of potatoes with her - leftovers from some collective farming thing she's involved with, and we all got to take a bag home. A potluck with party favours!

Yoga Toes

When I made the decision to move to Lubbock, I started to envision my new life with a series of Google searches: “Lubbock vegetarian”, “Lubbock Episcopalian”, “Lubbock aviation”, “Lubbock cinema”, "Lubbock dog therapy" and “Lubbock yoga”.

The yoga search brought me to an institution called, of all things, Lubbock Yoga. The first thing I noticed is what a bargain it is – a flat rate for unlimited classes, and if you come three times a week and get your “frequent poser” card stamped, you get a discount. There are several teachers there, and they are all straight from central casting:

First, there’s the self-described “Yoga Nazi” who jokes (often) that “Yoga is about pleasing your teacher!” She teaches the more intense classes, with the ten-minute poses and the improbable balancing positions. I was chatting with a classmate who said “I’ve noticed you at a lot of her classes – you are brave!” She has a keen interest in the Sanskrit etymology of yoga terminology, and is happy to tell you all about it. After a month, she has started smiling at me when I come into the studio. Perhaps I am pleasing my teacher.

Second, there’s Bed Head. She’s an excellent instructor who amazes me with her knowledge of physiology, but she always looks and speaks like someone who just woke up. At first I attributed her perpetual bed head to the early morning class time, but then I discovered that she’s exactly the same at 5pm. One day she mentioned that she had just come from getting her hair cut. And yet, she still looked like she had been sleeping in a strange position all day. Come to think of it, her classes are extremely relaxing, to the point that you have to scrape yourself off the floor at the end, so maybe she’s just trying to look the part.

Then there’s the World’s Most Encouraging Person, who is an endless fount of compliments. For example, I learned from her that I have great yoga toes. My teaching schedule this summer interferes with her class, but I hope I can go back during the fall so I can hear more about how awesome I am.

Finally, there’s the professor of Environmental Toxicology who teaches the class that is heavy on breathing exercises and meditation. In lieu of a yoga mat, she uses a sheepskin. She has crocheted caps to match all her yoga outfits, and she refers to her baby daughter as her “little yogini”. I have come to realize that all the students in her class are university professors. When I combine this demographic analysis with the persona of the teacher, I conclude that this style of yoga is obviously for people who have chosen a life path that cultivates eccentricities. Works for me.

Neighbours

I have moved into my new place, and it's quite terrific. My office has great windows that look onto trees and a rosebush, and people have been kindly offering me free furniture.

My neighbours are terribly interesting. Across the street is Ginger, who is cheerful and keeps an eye on everyone. She welcomed me to the neighbourhood with this pecan pie. Pecans are big around here. I have a tree in my backyard, and I occasionally go out to collect them for a snack.

My other neighbours are four undergraduate men of the fraternity persuasion. I met them when I was out in my back yard one evening taking in my laundry. I heard a voice in the darkness: "Hey! Come party with us!" I looked around for the source of the voice, not sure if I was the one being addressed. After a few seconds they added "We have beer!" I realized the sound was coming from above. It seems they have put their intellectual and physical resources into placing some couches on the roof of the house (see photo). I declined the invitation to visit the observation deck. Instead, I wished them a nice evening and went inside, thinking to myself "I foresee a trip to the hospital."

P.S. I haven't posted much lately because I still don't have internet at home, and it's a bit of a procedure to get online. For example, I am now trying to tolerate the amateur guitarists at an outdoor cafe in order to take advantage of the wireless signal. Mollie almost had an altercation with the wandering minstrels' three-legged dog.