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Judging by last night’s turnout of four local precincts at our caucus/convention and the various state rallies, Obama should have had Texas. What a system, though. The caucus was ridiculously disorganized! With Jens accompanying us, we got there about 6:40 pm, only to realize at the last minute that Steve was still undecided and had not yet voted. The rest of us had voted early and assumed he had, too! He was directed to the long line around the back of the school building to vote in the Democratic Primary, or he could go to the short line inside to vote Republican. Put on the spot to choose in our presence, we teased with, “Vote whichever party you want — but we’ll know!” With that, he headed toward the long line, and the rest of us headed toward the Democratic caucus gathering in the cafeteria.

When we first arrived, there were plenty of seats. We passed a stack of small Obama signs, Jens helped himself to one as a souvenir, and we sat down. After a few minutes, we were directed to divide into our four precincts, with each taking a corner of the cafeteria, and soon the room was filled beyond capacity with people standing wherever they could fit. Although anyone eligible to caucus had already voted, we were increasingly uncomfortable being the only ones with the sign and Jens took it to the car. By the time he returned, Steve had joined us in the cafeteria.

Voting was closed at 7 pm, but anyone in line by closing was, of course, permitted to vote — and this continued for quite some time. The temporary chairwoman started signing us in for the caucus at about 7:15, when it was supposed to convene, but after only a handful of caucusers (caucus goers? conventioners?) had filled in the sheets, a very panicked female election judge ran in yelling, “Stop! We can’t start until the last voter finishes. Tear up those sheets!”

There was much arguing between election officials, but no one trying to explain anything to the caucus could be clearly heard above the crowd’s dull roar. Thankfully, someone from the crowd volunteered a megaphone, but even with that, the mumbled words of the soft-spoken temporary chairwoman could not be distinguished. Finally, a man who could enunciate and be heard took over and told us what was going on. We had at least another thirty minutes to wait for voting to end and for permission to assemble in other rooms.

With the four precincts in our caucus overflowing the school cafeteria, we were finally (after about an hour) granted permission to move at least two of the precincts into the library and gym. Our precinct completely filled the gym; however, after having arrived early to get a good place (and seats) in the cafeteria, we were now standing at the back of the lines in the gym — with all the late-comers at the front. The Obama supporters far outnumbered the Clinton supporters. We had at least eight lines of people signing in at three tables, while Clinton had one, maybe two, lines at another table. For those who didn’t bring proof of voting, there was yet another table where they could look them up. Jenna went into that line and reported that Clinton supporters were obnoxiously trying to cut in line ahead of her.

Then after sign-in had started and people had begun to leave, we were asked told to stay for a head count. I would imagine our crowd had diminished at least by half before this announcement was made by the temporary chair whose meek voice still couldn’t be understood over the megaphone (so annoying). Confused about why they couldn’t just count the signatures, it was finally explained that 33 precinct caucus delegates and 33 alternates (23 for Obama, 10 for Clinton) needed to be chosen from the remaining caucus to vote at the county convention March 29. Jenna will be one of our alternates. (Go, Jenna!)

Welcome to Texas: home of the most ludicrous, convoluted, and downright screwy Democratic primary system in America. Actually, it’s not even a primary; it’s a primary-caucus hybrid, the electoral equivalent of the turducken.”

The New Republic

The hard-fought Lone Star rumble captivated voters for weeks, and a record turnout led to long lines at the polls and delays and chaos in some precinct conventions afterward.

DMN Article1

Too many people and too little experience created chaos Tuesday night at several Texas caucuses. Complaints included biased election helpers, missing voter logs, fire code violations and not enough parking.

DMN Article 2

Also at tonight’s meetings, Republicans and Democrats will select the people they want to attend the county conventions. You could be one of those delegates if you get yourself nominated and get enough votes.

DMN Article 3

In Dallas County, turnout was twice that of 2004, and the most since at least 1980.

DMN Photos:
Obama’s Texas Primary Day | Clinton’s Texas Primary Day | McCain’s Texas Primary Day

As a side note, I was amused by this response to those 3 am Clinton ads:

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For Sunday, we had anticipated a family picnic and outing at the Dallas Arboretum, but mother nature decided to cool things off, spread a few showers, and ruin our plans. Instead, we spent a good part of Sunday indoors visiting the Dallas Museum of Art. Of course, there was much to see that we didn’t have time for, but we did purchase memberships (so we can go back the rest of the year for free), took an audio tour of the Turner exhibit where photos were prohibited, and took photos in other areas as permitted.

Photos: Ali’s Flickr | Blake’s Flickr |Jenna’s Flickr
DMA Collections: Highlights | J.M.W. Turner

By Sunday evening, the weather changed yet again, and on Monday morning, we awoke to a snow-covered yard.

As for the Dallas Arboretum. Oh, well… another day. We did get to see it last fall, though.

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As politically incorrect as “Gypsy Gyp,” which I called this story growing up, and the description of the fortune teller would be today, this is another tale of my mother’s childhood. To be more appropriate for today, this story should probably be renamed “The Fortune Teller,” although I’ve retained Mom’s original words.

From the time I was in fourth grade I had been playing the cornet, and by the time I was in Jr. High I finally reached the level of being accepted into the MAHS Band. From that time on, I played at every city, county and often state events in which the band was invited to participate. Sometimes we even received a small pittance for our services. For all city and county appearances we each received the huge amount of fifty cents per concert! It was during one of these events that the following story took place.

Then, in her best Sophia Petrillo voice…

Picture it: the Ringgold County Fair, 1947.

Mom, high school senior photo

With events both at the Fair Grounds and all around the entire city square, it seemed as if the population of the entire county turned out in full glory for these celebrations, and large carnivals were one of the biggest attractions, especially for the younger set.

Each day during the County Fair our band played two concerts, one in the afternoon at the Fair Grounds, and another in the city bandstand located in the middle of the square in the courthouse lawn. After our evening concert, we each received our ‘pittance’ for the day, a whopping total of one dollar for the two concerts. This sum, naturally, was spent at the carnival or on refreshments, and was soon gone.

The summer before my junior year in high school, during the County Fair and following the evening concert, after receiving our ‘pay,’ a girlfriend and I decided to be really daring and go to the Gypsy tent and have our fortunes told. Standing outside her tent, this decrepit shriveled up old hag was chanting over and over, “Fortooooons I tell yooooo…just fifteeeeee cents!” Well, Phyllis and I each had our dollar, and since we had already made up our minds to learn the unknown… we each handed her a dollar. We were escorted into her tent, asked to sit at the table, and then told she would have to go to her trailer for our change, and she would be right back.

Well, you guessed it, an eternity passed, and not one sign of the old dilapidated shriveled up Gypsy, or our change; however, we were two naive rural bumpkins and still thought she would return. After waiting another ten or fifteen minutes, it finally ‘hit’ us… my gawd! She wasn’t coming back! We then went out the back entrance of the tent, and bravely knocked on her trailer door… Of course, no sound from the trailer, and no response to our constant pounding. It was then, that we became a bit wiser and realized we had been taken for a buck apiece, so we devised our revengeful tactics.

Now since neither of us had any money, and could do nothing else at the carnival, we spent the next hour or so standing in front of this Gypsy’s tent shouting constantly the following chant: “Fortooooons she tell yooooo…just fifteeeeee cents to get eeen and fifteeeeee cents to get out!” Naturally, no one attempted to enter the tent, and her business dropped off like a lead balloon. We were quite an attraction, and probably should have passed the hat among our appreciative audience. We were having the time of our lives, even though our money we ‘blew’ for had been blown!

Well, by coincidence, my neighbor (and good friend of the family who bore a striking resemblance to Gunsmoke’s Matt Dillon) was the Deputy Sheriff on duty that evening. As he strolled by us he hesitated, looked around at the crowd, then at us, winked and asked us if we were having fun. It was then we told him our sad story of being cheated out of a ‘day’s wages’ by this hag, and we were merely revengefully getting our money’s worth. He then burst into an uncontrollable roaring belly laugh. Finally, after what seemed forever, he composed himself enough to suggest we accompany him to the Gypsy’s tent and he would see that we were refunded all our money. Of course, when this towering 6’6″ pistol-packing Deputy Sheriff in full uniform pounded on her door and uttered the words…. “Open up in the name of the law!” she did not hesitate to answer the door. It took him about five seconds to retrieve our dollars and order her to remove her tent and trailer and to ‘get outta town.’ Even more amazing was that it seemed to take her no longer than the next five seconds to dismantle the tent and drive off with her trailer….

After we stood and watched her departure, our hero, the Deputy, escorted us both to one of our favorite hangouts — Barney Horne’s Drug Store — and bought us each a double dip ice cream cone with cherries on top as sort of a reward for being ‘crime stoppers.’ Well, we always assumed the ice cream was our reward, but I think it was that he was just a nice guy. I do know this — he enjoyed telling the story over and over to anyone who would listen, as I have enjoyed telling it to my children and grandchildren throughout the years.

To this day, I have never again desired to have my future told, but I sure do enjoy a double dip cone!

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A story about my mom — in her own words.

Much to my dislike, but because of my mother’s insistence, I was forced to endure one class of home economics each day of my four years of high school. Our class usually consisted of around twenty girls, which is not an uncommon class size; however, the home ec. department was not well endowed with appliances or other facilities needed for proper hands-on instruction. We were to share the four sewing machines during the times sewing was our project, and it was required you do all your sewing in class. With only three kitchen ranges, it became rather hectic when we were in the cooking or baking mode, but it was during one of those cooking and baking modes that caused the following event to evolve:

The Superintendent treated the entire teaching staff to a ‘Teacher’s Tea’ after school hours on the last Thursday of every month. And for this occasion each home ec. class baked cookies. Now, mind you, there were four classes of home ec. each day, and we all spent two class periods baking this humongous amount of cookies. All four classes spending two days baking cookies created several dishpans full of cookies, which were stored under lock and key in the department’s pantry. Now, if you can imagine, this little school had an entire teaching staff, grades K-12 of less than twenty-five….. Just how many cookies do they need? Needless to say, none of us were allowed even so much as a taste of these goodies, as ‘there wouldn’t be enough for the tea, if we were to eat any!’ I’m sure by now you have an inkling as to what followed.

It was to be the last ‘Teacher’s Tea’ of my senior year, and as usual, we were baking for two days, storing away in the pantry, and watching our instructor lock the door and then place the key in the middle drawer of her desk. Well, the entire class was completely fed up with the way we were made to bake all these goodies and never allowed to eat any, but only four of us would decide to correct that situation. We were well aware of our home ec. instructor’s free period time, and her daily habit of going to the hot lunch room to consume her little mid-afternoon snack, a Bermuda onion sandwich! We all had other classes or duties, but decided we would each ask to be excused for a restroom break at exactly five minutes after our home ec. instructor’s break began. With three of us in different classrooms and one serving as secretary for the Superintendent that hour, no one would be the wiser.

At the predesignated time, we all left our respective classrooms, and even though we each had to walk by the Superintendent’s office which was next to the home ec. department, we quickly made it to our destination, obtained the key from the desk, unlocked the pantry and began our ‘Great Cookie Caper’ in full swing! The pans of cookies were removed from the pantry, the door locked, and the key returned to the desk where we had found it. We each carried one of these huge pans heaping with a variety of delicious cookies and made our way to the tunnel under the stage in the gymnasium. As the side door of the home ec. department led directly to the stairs down to that tunnel, we successfully maneuvered without being seen by anyone. With the cookies safely in place, we returned to our respective classes or duties as if nothing had taken place except a long restroom break.

Now, you’re probably wondering just what ever happened to all those cookies, and what did the teachers nibble on during their ‘Tea. ‘Prior to our ‘Liberation Heist’ of the cookies, and even though we were not positive our plan would work, our ‘gang of four’ managed to successfully spread the word via the grapevine to every student in high school that there would be goodies in the tunnel after 2:30 p.m….free for the taking, compliments of the ‘Teacher’s Tea’ and home ec department!

By 3:00 p.m., as we passed through the halls going from class to class, it was very evident the cookies were being thoroughly enjoyed and consumed by all, as the halls were already strewn with cookie crumbs from end to end. Every pocket of every student was stuffed with cookies, but not a soul said a word about the cookies, where they came from, or how it was made possible — not even the Superintendent as he strolled the halls nibbling a chocolate chip cookie. However, he did have a twinkle in his eye, a huge grin on his face, and winked as we passed in the hall. And I heard him exclaim as he walked out of sight, “So much for the cookies at tea for tonight!”

Mom, high school senior

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I’ve always enjoyed genealogy and sharing family stories with my kids. Now that I’m a Nana, it somehow seems even more urgent (and fun!) for me to record things for prosperity so that our descendants will know the people from whom they came — even if for the most part, they were very “ordinary” people, living very “ordinary” lives.

My parents were both good story-tellers about their early years. Dad has his own blog now, and with enough coaxing, perhaps Mom will do the same. There are three main stories I loved so much as a child that I gave them titles and have retold them to my own children. They may remember them, but it’s good to have them in writing. One of my favorites involved my dad as a child in the 1930s, when my grandparents decided to modernize the monstrous coal-burning furnace in the basement of their house. Dad often told me the story of “the mysterious furnace,” which he once used as a subject of a school paper. Unfortunately, the paper no longer exists, but to the best of my recollection, I will retell his story:

Young Dad

One winter, my father’s parents decided to convert their coal furnace to electricity. My grandmother’s cousin, Charlie Trimble, was an electrician in their small rural town. They asked him to come over and wire the furnace for electricity.

Granddad watched as Charlie finished up the job. The furnace worked well and soon the whole house was toasty warm. Granddad and Charlie climbed the stairs, turned off the light, and Charlie departed. Shortly after Charlie left, the house began to get chilly, so Granddad decided he had better check on the furnace. He flipped on the light switch at the top of the stairs and descended to the basement. Expecting to find something wrong with the furnace, he was puzzled to find it roaring away. Satisfied that the furnace appeared to be working properly, he went back up the stairs and flipped off the light.

Much time passed and still the house did not warm up so he called Charlie back to see what the trouble was. Charlie and Granddad returned to the basement, turning the light on as they climbed down the stairs. When they reached the furnace it was roaring loudly. Charlie could not figure out the problem—he checked it all over and could find nothing wrong. All the time he was there, the furnace ran perfectly and the house again grew warm, but shortly after Charlie left, the house cooled off once more.

While Charlie and Granddad had been working on the furnace, my dad had been playing outdoors. He knew they were having a lot of trouble getting the furnace to work right. When Dad decided to go into the house, he entered through the outside basement doors, thinking Granddad and Charlie might still be there. The basement was quiet as he stumbled in the darkness up the stairs to turn on the light. As he flipped on the switch, the furnace began to roar. Startled, he turned around to look, and then decided to run and tell Granddad that the furnace was working again. However, just as he flipped off the light switch, the furnace abruptly stopped! Wondering why it had stopped so suddenly, he turned the light back on to have a look and just as he did, the furnace started up. He turned the light off and the furnace quit. He turned the light on and the furnace roared—he did this several times in amazement, and then ran to tell Granddad about the weird goings-on.

XT Prentis

Granddad hurriedly went to the basement to check out my dad’s unexplained mystery. He discovered that by mistake, Charlie had hooked the furnace up to the light at the top of the stairs, so whenever someone had been in the basement the furnace worked beautifully and pumped out the heat, but as soon as they had gone back upstairs and turned off the light, the electricity to the furnace was disconnected and the furnace stopped working! My dad had solved the case of the mysterious furnace. Charlie returned to the house and rewired the electrical connection so that it would operate on a different circuit.

Whenever my dad told this amusing story, my mother would jokingly add, “That’s probably the only time in your life you remembered to turn off the light when you left a room!” Mom grew up in the same small town and even though Charlie really was a very good electrician, word must have gotten around about his goof, because she also recalled her own father saying, completely in jest, “If you want some electrical work done properly, for heaven’s sake, don’t call Charlie Trimble!”

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dance costume

About fifteen years ago, Ali wore this costume and bluffed her way through her first ballet recital. Jenna, a more accomplished tap dancer at age 4, was wearing a nearly identical leotard in the same recital.

dancers

More Nostalgia:
Ali: Ballet | Tap || Jenna: Ballet

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I was very lucky that all my birthday celebrating overlapped a weekend when everyone could be around. Besides dinner out on Sunday and playing Rock Band, festivities continued on Monday. Joel, Blake and Zoe’s surprise birthday activity had to be postponed until today so a lunch date with most of us at Café Max became our alternative activity for the early part of Monday. In the evening, we gathered again for pizza, cake, and gifts.

Ali woke early Monday to make a chocolate wacky cake. When it cooled, Jenna made a special milk chocolate frosting and set it aside for later. I got lots of cards, flowers, a lovely vase, my favorite tea, a Sara Bareilles CD, and a gorgeous framed painting.

The surprise activity turned out to be a 2-1/2 hour ceramic craft experience, which we enjoyed today. Zoe provided the hand prints and I attempted to paint in the rest of our artwork, which once fired, will be a beautiful, personalized baking dish.

Zoe & Nana art

We also used some of our outing time on Monday to vote early. Three-day birthdays are as awesome as my family. 🙂

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49 and Holding

Since Benihana was closed for renovation, my usual birthday meal couldn’t be had, but I chose an excellent alternative of Macadamia Nut Chicken at Kona Grill, and was thrilled to have the rare privilege of having all of us (plus our daughters’ boyfriends) in attendance, even if it had to be a day early. Oh, darn. 😉

Joel, Blake and Zoe topped off our evening with Rock Band, which none of us except them had ever played before. Drum playing got me booed off the stage, but I was fair at the beginning guitar level. I intentionally avoided the singing experience altogether and let better vocalists belt out the lyrics. Zoe joined in with a few lyrics of her own and finally she and I retreated downstairs to finish off the night cuddling up with a couple of Sesame Street episodes while Steve went to bed and the rest rocked on.

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It’s my son’s birthday today, and when I think about a birthday cake for Joel, this is where my mind goes. . . back to 1983, baking a cake with my helpful 2-year-old.

Joel age 2

Loaf of Gold Cake
(Bake at 350° F. for about 65 min.)

2 cups flour
1 cup sugar
3 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. salt
3/4 cup milk
1/4 cup shortening
1/4 cup butter or margarine
2 eggs
1 tsp. vanilla

Heat oven to 350° F. Get out bowl, spoons and ingredients. Grease and flour 9x5x3-in. loaf pan. Remove 18 blocks, 4 toy cars and plastic hammer from kitchen table. Measure 2 cups of flour. Remove Joel’s hands from flour. Wash Joel’s hands. Measure one more cup of flour to replace the flour on the floor. Measure remainder of ingredients (except eggs) into large mixer bowl. Get the broom and dustpan and brush up pieces of bowl which Joel knocked on the floor. Put the dogs outside. Get another bowl. Answer doorbell. Return to kitchen and remove Joel’s hands from the bowl. Wash Joel. Get out the eggs. Answer phone. Return. Take out loaf pan and remove cup of salt from the pan. Look for Joel. Get another pan and grease it. Answer the phone. Return to kitchen and find Joel. Remove the grimy hands from the bowl. Wash off shortening. Take up greased pan and find a handful of dog food in it. Head for Joel who flees, knocking bowl off the table. Wash the floor. Wash the table. Wash the dishes. Call the bakery. Lie down.

Joel

Happy, happy birthday Joel dear
Happy things will come to you all year
If I had one wish then it would be
A happy, happy birthday to you, from me

And happy birthday wishes also to my niece Brandy who was born a year and a day later.

Superfriendshug

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Joel emailed everyone in our family a few days ago asking if any of us wanted to attend today’s “Stand for Change” Barack Obama rally at Reunion Arena. Jenna’s boyfriend, who is visiting from Germany, has been particularly interested in our Presidential campaign, so I brought up the email and asked if everyone had seen it. Jens and Jenna really wanted to go, but Jenna had class, and of course Ali also had class, and Steve had work. I, on the other hand, had no excuse. Joel, Blake, and Zoe picked the two of us up a little after 9:00 a.m. and we headed to the rally.

We had a little trouble finding the parking ramp entrance, but once there, we found plenty of parking on the 4th level. We were there before 10:30, when the doors were to open, so no problem. However, we descended to the 1st floor to find a line of people snaking around the parking garage, outside, and beyond — and wondered how much earlier those before us had arrived. At first, it was difficult to see the end of the line because it snaked around so much, but we eventually found our spot and in no time there were hundreds of people behind us. We stood nearly 2 hours before moving any substantial distance, and then suddenly we were speed-walking to catch up.

Yeah! We were finally in! — in the nosebleed section, but still with a pretty good view. Later we learned that somewhere in the range of 17,000 people were there.

DMN Photos | WFAA Brady Blog | Speech Excerpts | Speech Replay

Zoe was a real trooper. None of us had ever been to a campaign rally before, and I’m very glad we all got to go.

UPDATE (Feb. 22): From the Dallas Morning News:

The Barack Obama political road show that hit Dallas on Wednesday had the look and feel of a rock concert, right down to the cavernous venue – Reunion Arena – and the 17,000-plus folks he attracted, not to mention the thousands who were turned away.

The Clinton event could easily have been mistaken for a high school pep rally, sans the pompoms. There were no long lines – just a few hundred frozen noses pointed toward a Mariachi band and a table loaded with free coffee and burritos.

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