Ya know, folks, the world works in mysterious ways. Here's a little example.
A few weeks ago, while visiting the Texas Museum Jobs website as I do regularly in my quest for a job, I came across a posting for a research librarian at the Texas Ranger Hall of Fame and Museum in Waco. The job sounded right up my alley--lots of research work for individuals and groups looking for information on the legendary lawmen (and women!) of the Lone Star State. The museum requested applicants have a Master's Degree but would substitute years of experience towards the requirement which meant I could apply and be in the running. And it turns out I was because I received a phone call from the director of the research center inviting me to come up for an interview. I was delighted! This would be my first interview in five months of job hunting. There was only one small fly in the ointment: Waco is 100 miles from Austin, 200 miles round trip.
But I was undeterred. The job sounded very interesting. It would be all highway driving. Yes, I'd pay a king's ransom in gas but this was the first positive response in five months so it was worth the effort to go for it. How cool it would be to be working for the Texas Rangers! The drive up for the interview would be good exposure to what the commute would be like and I would see how the Taurus handled on a long, fast haul.
I went to bed early Monday night, setting my alarm for 5:00 am.
I woke up at 3:00 and couldn't get back to sleep. I stretched out in the dark listening to the noises of the city, thinking about the people I would meet, both in person and in history, if I got the job.
Finally, 5:00 am arrived. I got out of bed, fumbled to put in my contacts, ate a protein bar and started getting ready for my 6:30 departure. Remembering that I needed to have my Social Security card with me, I went to the place I kept it...and it wasn't there! Any sense of calm immediately left me. Had I forgotten it at the bank where I had last used it? I went through my files and piles and twenty minutes later found it right where I had put it, under the wooden heart bowl I keep my bracelets in. Phew. I shook my head, laughing. What a beginning. I finished getting ready and was out the door by 6:40 am.
In theory, the drive should have taken about an hour and forty five minutes. I had given myself two hours and twenty minutes so be safe. It would be the early stages of the morning commute for Austin and I was heading north, which was in my favor. Once I cleared Georgetown, the traffic would thin out some and the pace would become faster and less stressful. I had gone as far as Temple, which is 36 miles south of Waco, with Jeff the week before and paid attention to traffic patterns as we zoomed north. I had the trip visualized and was feeling centered and alert as I merged onto the interstate.
Traffic was flowing at a good clip. I-35 is the major north-south route for Texas so it is nearly always busy. During rush hour, things often come to a stand still. Jeff is fond of quipping, "They say there iare no parking spots in Austin but really there's plenty....on the Interstate." As we would say in Maine, "Oh the traffic is wicked!"
The speed limit on many Texas highways is 70 mph which means most people cruise at 80. I was in the flow and looking at the clock and what good time I was making, said aloud, "I'm going to be plenty early. I'll even have time to pee before the interview."
Oh you stupid girl. When will you learn not to say things out loud.
A few more miles and then traffic stopped. Three lanes of traffic, stopped and then started creeping. Then three lanes became two lanes and we crept some more. Then two lanes became one lane, and we crept some more. Then one lane took us off the highway onto the access road, which is a phenomenon in Texas that will drive me to drink. You can see the sign for IKEA or Rudy's BBQ or the Valero station, but if you didn't exit at the last exit 4 miles back when you had no clue IKEA was looming ahead, you are never going to see those places in person, not unless you have a vehicle with decent ground clearance and you four-wheel it down over the grassy divider to the access road, which is legal and frequently done here. I can picture myself trying something like that in Maine and ending up with half the state police chasing after me and Kim Block commenting on the live video feed from the News13 chopper following the story!
Big I digress...or detour, as it were. We crept along for miles on the access road, able to see the empty highway and never catching sight of whatever construction convoy, as the sign had cryptically said, had closed down miles of I-35.
Twenty miles an hour is fast if you are running. It's slow if you watching time tick away as you begin to realize you are going to be stunningly late for a job interview and there's not a damn thing you can do about it.
Thinking ahead, I had brought both phones and the number I had requested from the woman who had called for the interview. I called the number that was already in the black phone first. It rang and rang and rang and then a non-specific recording came on saying leave your name and number with no mention of the museum. That struck me as odd but I started leaving a message none the less when a woman picked up.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
"Yes, " I said. "I'm trying to get through to Cristina Stopka."
"There's no Cristina here, " the woman replied. "What number did you dial?"
"I thought I was dialing the Texas Ranger Museum, " I replied.
"Well this is Canton, Ohio, and it's raining here."
I started laughing at the totally random weather report. I said I was in Austin, Texas, and it was nearly 90 at 8:30 in the morning and rain was sounding pretty good right about now. The woman was very pleasant and we chatted for a minute after I apologized for the wrong number.
I tried the next number I had written down and got through to voicemail for Ms. Stopka. I explained my predicament and asked her to ring me and please advise. She called back ten minutes later, sympathetic, and letting me know what my time window was as they had a full day of interviews scheduled. As we were finishing the call, I had made it back onto I-35 finally and traffic was flying. If nothing else happened, I could still make it in time.
If.
Oh, it's such a little word but what a big punch it packs.
I had somehow managed to find myself nestled in between a long stretch of tractor trailers. The highway was only two lanes and the trucks were using every inch. There was no way to pass them and it was what I imagine flying in formation is like. No one can see anything except the guy in the lead. You keep your eyes on the brake lights in front of you. And I was, when they all came on at once at 75 miles per hour. I hit my brakes as the trucks around me did what they could to not pile up on each other. There was smoke and noise and the smell of burned rubber coming in through the air conditioner. That there wasn't a crash, at least in front me, was a miracle. Who knows what transpired behind us. We all kept moving but that ended shortly after.
The pace once again was reduced to a crawl until eventually we passed the scene of an accident that had resulted in large, iron support beams being tossed about the tread-rutted grassy roadside like pick up sticks. There were sheriff's deputies all about in their brown uniforms and cowboy hats. I can only guess that some driver ahead of the tractor trailers had rubber-necked or hit the brakes at the sight of the accident scene and that's what had sent our pack into a riot of red lights and squeals.
By this time, my future was sealed. There was no way I could make my interview and there had not been an option offered to put me at the end of the day, which I totally understood.
Just to complete my journey, I went on to Waco and found the museum. It is very conveniently located just off the highway. The grounds are beautiful and include a park along the Brazos River. Knowing that Jeff and I had things to do upon my return, I didn't bother to visit the museum as a tourist. I stopped for gas and a quick pee and headed south. And do you know, the ride home took me one hour and 45 minutes.
After a journey of 200 miles, subdued road rage, nearly getting squashed amongst giant trucks and peeing at a truck stop (I'm always a little nervous when the restrooms are "upstairs" at those places, near the showers and the truckers' lounge, and the men watch you from behind as you go up the stairs), I treated myself to a quick stop at IKEA, remembering to take the Cedar Park exit so I could get to the access road! I bought this rug in the photo for $1.99 plus tax.
So what's a girl to do? Obviously not work for the Texas Rangers! What's funny is, when I got home and checked my email, there was a note from the City of Austin saying I had not been chosen for a library job I had applied for nearly two months ago! And what's even funnier about that is this:
About a month ago, I received a letter in the mail from the Texas Historical Commission, informing me in the most lovely way possible, that I had not been selected for a position and thanking me having considered working with them. Truly, as rejection letters go, it was poetry.
(I subsequently received another from them, from a different department for a different position and it was equally warm and thoughtful. I just applied for yet another position with them and mentioned their kind responses in my cover letter, so whether I get the job or not, I'll have another piece of posh stationery with nice words on to remind me that I'm at least worth a watermark and postage!)
Anyway, right after I pulled that "you're lovely but we don't want you" letter out of my mailbox, I went to the library to drop off books. The Yarborough branch locks the outside bookdrops during the day forcing you to come inside to return items if they are open.
As I walked in, I saw a smartly dressed young woman waiting in the small lobby with a clipboard and an air of anticipation. For some reason, I knew immediately she was there for a job interview. I would have bet my life on it. And it would have been an interview for the position I had applied for at that branch. Obviously, my application had not warranted an interview.
I waited in line to put my books in the bin. As I did, the library director came floating down the stairs from the offices above.
"Patricia, " she said. "How nice to meet you. We'll be holding the interviews upstairs."
The women shook hands and the director motioned the young woman to the elevator. Evidently librarians in Austin walk down stairs but not up them. I dropped my books in the slot, trying not to laugh at the cosmic joke I was part of that day. Sharon, we are going to make it really obvious that some days you are not going to get what you want....which begs the question: did i really want it to begin with?
Hmmmmm.
Big loves from the still unemployed in Austin!
Memorial Day. When I was young it meant going to the cemetery with my family to put flowers on the graves of my grandfathers. I had never met my Grampa Mallory and I scarcely remembered my Grampa Davis. We would often pick up my grandmothers and bring them with us, or, if they had already been to plant their geraniums and petunias, we would go to their houses afterward for a visit and something to eat.
During the winter of my first year of the library, I lost both my grandmothers within three months. Now there were more geraniums to buy and no lemonade or cookies in familiar houses.
Memorial Day became something quite different when I became friends with soldiers. Having people whom you care about deployed to a war zone tends to make every day a kind of memorial day. Each time you get an instant message or an email or a phone call, you breathe a sigh of relief. You try to memorize everything the two of you talked about. If they called, you put the sound of their voice deep inside, somewhere you won't lose it..just in case.
My soldier memories are recent ones. But for many, Memorial Day stretches back decades. If you saw the news coverage of the hundreds of thousands of motorcyclists who made the trip to Washington, DC, in tribute to those who have served and to those who did not return, then in the throng of iron horses you may have seen a man named Bill who is a close friend of Jeff's father. He has ridden his motorcycle from the Texas Coast to our nation's capitol to be part of Rolling Thunder. He will be visiting The Wall for the first time and remembering, surrounded by thousands who will understand.
I have a dear friend who is also a Vietnam veteran. His name is Max. He lost friends in that war. He lost his legs and an arm in that war. Through sheer will and determination, he has created a life for himself that has been devoted to helping others, especially fellow veterans. He is generous and funny and insightful and he wakes up every day a living memorial to war.
We were chatting a few weeks ago when Max mentioned he had received paperwork in the mail that had included his birth certificate. He hadn't ever paid much attention to that document but on this occasion he took the time to read every word. He had lost his mom recently and seeing her name next to his made him pause and think about her. After a moment, he turned to the attached piece of paper and there waiting for him were the tiny, inked impressions of his infant feet. He stared his little toes.
"I miss my feet, " he said to me quietly. We cried on the phone, together.
Not long before he left for Iraq, Mitch came to my house. He brought with him a small bag of things he wanted me to hold on to for him. There was a postcard from Japan where he had taught. A set of his Army dog tags. A Beanie Baby black bear--bears grin and bear it and persevere. A page torn from a worn DeLorme Maine Gazetteer Atlas, which showed where his house was on a road called Pleasant Hill, across from Good Earth Farm where I had worked once upon a time. He said these items represented his life, a life to which he hoped to return. He asked me to keep these things to remind him of his life in case he came back and couldn't remember. He gave me a lapel pin from his uniform with the motto of his unit. "To the Last Man."
I have that pin here in Austin with me and I'm looking at it now as I write. On Saturday night, my phone rang. It was Brian calling to tell me he was in New Jersey. For those of us from New England, someone calling from New Jersey is rarely cause for celebration. It's New Jersey, after all. You celebrate once you've left. But for Brian, New Jersey looked like heaven. He and his unit were finally back on US soil, their long and challenging deployment to Iraq nearly over. A quick flight to Fort Bragg in North Carolina, a week or so of out processing and he will be home in Washington, DC, hopefully for a long, long time.
Brian was my last soldier serving overseas. To the last man, my boys are home.
This morning, I made the drive out to the airport with my lovely friend Jane Benson in tow. Jane had arrived from Maine on Saturday, a day later than she had wanted thanks to lousy weather in New York and the vagaries of the airlines. Being the well-seasoned traveler that she is, she picked up her rental car and made her way to my door with the help of Google Earth, a few maps, and not just a little determination.
Just as Jane was landing at Austin-Bergstrom airport however, another visitor arrived at my door. Jeff had been kayaking on Lady Bird Lake in his new kayak we had found on Craigslist. He is beginning to train for 260-mile voyage down the Colorado River this fall, a trip that will take him from Austin to the Gulf of Mexico,but that's another story for another time. Thus, Saturday found him paddling the lake when he came upon some turtles. Lady Bird Lake is brimming with testudines and with spring here, it was no surprise to find them in varying sizes. What was surprising to Jeff was finding big ones eating very small ones. His first impulse was to save the closest baby turtle he saw from the jaws of a hungry grown up. He scooped up the little fella, put him in the kayak and paddled away from the feeding frenzy. Of course, once one has a turtle in one's kayak, the question becomes what to do with it? I'm guessing you can see where this is headed.
"Sharon," Jeff said excitedly on the phone. "I got you a present!"
Oh dear.
The turtle made the trip in the bow of the kayak. Jeff had wedged the boat at an angle into the back of the truck, poured in some lake water and floated the newest resident of Guadalupe Street home. Wendy had no opinion on the matter.
For Jane's visit, I was quite prepared. For a turtle, I was less so.
"Do you have a bowl it can live in?" Jeff asked, en route. I owned three, one with half a tomato in it, one with half a grapefruit in it, and my mixing bowl. It would have to do for a starter home.
"What do turtles eat?" I asked, meeting the new arrival in the parking lot. Jeff shook his head.
"I figured you would know," he replied. Oh the faith of the young in a reference librarian.
We poured a bit of the lake water into the bowl then I added the baby. Jeff found a couple sticks and picked a handful of grass. I found a couple of rocks. We made a pint-sized ecosystem of sorts and then all looked at eachother--boy, turtle, girl. Just another Saturday afternoon in Austin. I took my new companion upstairs after thanking Jeff for the gift, appreciative of his gesture but telling him I would have to return to the baby to the lake. It could spend the night and I would cater to its every turtle whim, but it belonged with its kinsmen, even if some of them were right bastards!
Alone in the apartment with my new roommate, waiting for Jane's arrival, I couldn't help but be absolutely in love with the little bugger. I transferred the living arrangements into my 9x13 baking pan so he had room to swim a distance, which he seemed keen to do, if only to be thwarted by stainless steel walls that smelled of baked chicken and gluten-free brownies. He was a red-eared slider, common to many areas of the US. Some of you will remember when turtles were the rage for pets. I think most of us have at least one turtle skeleton in our closets because the poor little things usually died from too much handling by eager hands or from neglect 
when they just became smelly things that didn't really do much. At one point, sale of the turtles was banned in the US because of widespread cases of salmonella in children. Turtles evidently naturally carry the wee germs and we silly kids were too busy playing with turtles to think about washing up afterwards it seems. I didn't want my little charge to face a similar fate but it nearly killed me to not just pick him up and lug him around the apartment. It's probably much in his favor that he wouldn't lick me or purr.
Jeff called to see how things were progressing and asked if I had named the baby yet. Mike was the first name that popped into my mind, god knows why, but it really didn't fit. Then I thought about where the turtle had come from, Travis County. Travis the turtle. Jeff mentioned that in Texas, people name Travis often get the nickname, Travel. Travel made me think of General Robert E. Lee's horse, Traveller. It was a perfect fit for this little refugee.
Traveller.
Those who know me well have heard countless stories of truly uncanny coincidences in my life. Jane's arrival marked another. It turned out that our animal-loving Jane, with her cats and dogs and chickens, had only been allowed one type of pet as a child growing up in New York City....turtles. She knew Traveller's kind the minute she saw him. She knew he would enjoy lettuce and raw hamburger and bless her heart, she welcomed him with instant adoration. If you had to be in exile for a respite, who could ask for a more qualified advisor speaking on your behalf.
Jane's visit was wonderful. That afternoon, we took her to Paradise to see the art show, and to Zilker Park to see where Traveller had come from. She and I drove to Hutto the next day to meet up with her friend Lisa Walker, from Freeport, who has been involved in an amazing training program that will end in certification as a dog trainer
and behavior specialist with canines. Triple Crown is known world-wide for its dedication to helping troubled dogs, that would otherwise be destroyed because of their behaviors, become happy and productive pets.
http://www.triplecrowndogs.com/ Check out the website and if you live in Freeport, look up Lisa Walker when she gets back to Maine. Her stories from her time at Triple Crown are inspiring. Lisa has been involved in canine rescue for many years. She and Jane met through their love of animals and Jane currently has a dog through Lisa's rescue efforts, along with having been part of several rescue efforts herself!
While we were in Hutto, we also had to check out several of the Hutto Hippos around town. The hippo is the high school mascot and has many different stories attached to it. I can't begin to do the legend justice so I'll let you find out for yourselves.
http://www.huttotx.gov/Community/History/Hippo.htm
And you thought Yarmouth was proud of clams....
We visited the Mexic Arte museum downtown http://www.mexic-artemuseum.org/
which included an exhibit of retablos, small, religious images painted by Mexican immigrants to thank God, the Virgin Mary, and the Saints for a miracle bestowed upon them during life's trials, such as illness, accidents, or the dangerous journey across the the border into the US. To have a retablo created, you would go to a member of your village or an itinerant craftsman, tell them your story, then they would create a small painting involving a scene from your story as well as writing out the basics of what precipitated your giving thanks. It was a very moving show.
There was a trip to the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center (which I will write about in a future blog with lots of photos) and a road trip in the Hill Country to Fredericksburg complete with breakfast tacos from Flores' Roadside Tacoria and iced tea made by a high school gal at a tiny tea room who informed us she not only had common sense but "book smarts", too! We met the first female life guard for Barton Springs pool in Austin who was now working in a natural foods store in Fredericksburg and we learned from an elderly Scandinavian lady at the Pioneer Museum that the goats we were seeing grazing in area pastures were now strictly meat goats because "the bottom had fallen out of the angora market, ok?" Oh what a grand day we had on Highway 290.
When we got back to Austin, we stopped at Central Market to pick up odds and ends for a light supper. I had self-served a partial container of guacamole to go with chips and hummus but the scale was out of stickers for pricing the weight. One of the floor managers told me the cashier could weigh it for me and punch in the item code when I got to the register so I wouldn't have to wait while he fannied about getting a roll of stickers and loading the printer. Jane and I got in line, happy with our delicious soup and hummus and fruits and chips, when the chatty lady behind us managed to drop a bottle of red wine on the cement floor. A wave of cabernet sauvignon flooded over Jane's feet but fortunately no glass did. She was unscathed, though very much smelling of the grape. Her sandals were dark and luckily did not show the stain.
With all the excitement going on, the cashier managed to charge me the full pound price for my two dollops of guacamole. I didn't notice until after she had completed the transaction. I don't usually raise a fuss over small quantites of cash but this was $9.00 for about two bucks worth of avocado. The young woman was apologetic, telling me she couldn't do the refund at her cash register but that Information Desk would happily take care of me. (Information desks....we're miracle workers, aren't we!) So Jane of the Vineyards and I made our way in search of customer service. Boy did we find it. Along the winding route, I passed the manager who had been attending to the stickerless scale. Seeing me holding my guacamole aloft, he asked if everything had worked out at the register. I said yes and no, telling him of the mix up.
"I"ll take care of this, " he said. He rang the lady at the information desk, instructed her to refund my whole nine dollars and give me the guacamole. Talk about saving money at Central Market! Few things taste better than good karma.
Jane's visit was full of fun and laughter and wonderful conversation. We had sushi with Jeff and Wendy at Silhouette and were just in time to see the millions of bats emerging from under the Congress Street bridge as they do each night, flowing in a great air river of winged movement over the Colorado, heading out into the neighborhoods of Austin in search of mosquitos. It was awesome. http://austin.about.com/cs/bats/p/bats.htm
But perhaps the most poignant event was our trip back to Lady Bird Lake to return Traveller to familiar shores.
With a belly full of raw hamburger, Traveller settled into a small deli container for the ride downtown. It was nearing dusk. The moon was almost translucent in the early evening sky. As we approached the water in the car, he pushed himself up against the side of the bowl, standing, as it were, on his hind legs. His neck was stretch out from his shell and he looked for all the world like toddler trying to get out of a playpen. I think he could smell the water. He knew he was nearing where he was supposed to be. As Jane and I scrambled down the big blocks of limestone to get to the walking path at water's edge, Traveller became more and more excited, his tiny but strong legs sliding along the plastic. Jeff had found him on the other side of the lake, but I brought him to the inlet that leads up to Barton Springs, mostly because I knew how to get there but also because it was less open. I hoped the little lad could find a spot to hide and get his bearings before going it alone again, which for turtles, happens soon after they hatch.
Jane looked on as I said my goodbyes to my tiny house guest. I lowered the dish to the water, letting the lake spill in. Traveller paused, the lake water was cooler than his room temperature water, but instinct propelled him forward. He looked so tiny, and truly he was, not much bigger than a silver dollar. So tiny compared to the world around him. I felt that pang of regret that comes with letting go of something you have loved. In one way, Traveller and I shared a common bond. Jeff had plucked both of us out of the water when our seas were stormy.
A few strokes of his little flippers and he was gone, moving beneath the algae and tree roots along the inlet's edge. Jane waved a fond farewell over Lady Bird Lake and we left.
When I got home after dropping Jane at her hotel, I went automatically to the kitchen counter where the baking pan sat, still full of water and rocks and sticks. Over the course of the evening and even into the next day, I found myself heading in to see what Traveller was up to now, only to find he wasn't there any more.
It amazed me how quickly caring becomes a habitual behavior, how having another heartbeat, however small, in the same room can bring a comfort you might not realize until you know it's no longer there.
Say a prayer for all the travelers.
And pray Jeff doesn't go kayaking in crocodile waters any time soon.
"Sharon, I got you a present!"
Much love to you all.
It's no secret that artists are an eccentric bunch, and it's no 
secret that my boss has a certain panache about him, so it shouldn't come as a surprise when I tell you that on Friday night we had the most interesting art opening I've ever attended. It was pure El Jefe Loco, pure Crazy Jeff.
"The Faces of Crazy Jeff" has been up on the walls at Paradise, downtown, since the beginning of March. He sold a couple of pieces right off the bat which was really exciting. During the South by Southwest Film and Music Festival, which brings people to Austin from all over the world, he sold a few more, including a trio of paintings to a couple from Ann Arbor, Michigan. Nick and Becky Houle were here visiting friends and enjoying the thought of trying to see all 800 bands that performed over the course of a week. They ended up mostly drinking and sightseeing but had the good sense to wander into Paradise and become smitten with some of Jeff's work. He called me from the bar, totally excited, to tell me the news and that we would be delivering the paintings the next morning to Nick's room at the Radisson not far from the house. The Houles were going to treat us to breakfast, which they did, at Star Seeds Cafe, an Austin icon. It was a very lively breakfast with stories flying fast furious around the table and the inevitable curiosity about the tattooed felon, his cat and his demure secretary. I'm telling you, folks..it never gets old. Half the fun of working with Jeff is watching people as they try to figure out what the heck it is I do! If they only knew......
Because the art exhibit was allowed up far earlier than anticipated due to another artist not being prepared, we held off on having the opening reception a few weeks so I would have time to advertise. The opening was planned as a fundraiser to help pay more of Yolanda the Dog's vet bills. I sent out press releases and got us listed on every free website in town I could find. We even made the "Things to Do" column in the Chronicle, Austin's big, alternative newspaper. We were number three on the short list. Not bad for our first time out. And really, who could resist the ad? Raffle items. Silent auction. And musical chairs to live mariachi music! Yes...you read that right. But I'll get to that in a bit.
The night before the opening we went to the Dollar Store just down the street to look for silly raffle prizes. Jeff had his heart set on a rubber chicken or two and thanks to
the very good memory of one of the guys at the door, we found ourselves with a basketful of small rubber chickens that made a squeaky noise when you squeezed them. We also found some yo-yos, bubbles, Easter peeps, a three-pack of Yo-hoo chocolate drink and the piece de resistance....a pregnancy test, yup, for a dollar. We giggled all the way home over that. I also picked up red and gold ribbon to festoon the raffle prizes with to match Jeff's ensemble for the event.
We had picked up the sombrero a few weeks ago then found the gold shirt and red shorts at the fitness store. When the subject of what to wear on his feet came up, we happened to see white, slip on tennis shoes. He remarked on how comfy they were. I asked how he knew and he said they were the exact same brand that he wore in jail! I suggested he could paint them to match his outfit and he was over the moon! He's such a girl.
Before I go much further, let me just slip in a little information on the music for the evening. I should take you all the way back to the fact that one of Jeff's favorite movies is "The Three Amigos" with Chevy Chase, Steve Martin and Martin Short. If you haven't seen it, do. It's silly fun and the costumes are a riot. Real mariachi outfits are custom made and breathtakingly
beautiful. When we came across the sombreros at the crazy corner shop on Lamar that has tanned cowhides, taxidermy of very interesting animals, jewelry and all sorts of tat, including sombreros as luck would have it, well, Jeff was just in love. He tried on every sombrero in the place and settled on the magnificent red and gold one. We couldn't buy it that day and I'm glad we didn't because when we came back a few days later to get it, I had the immense treat of pulling into the parking lot and hopping out of the truck to find a stuffed baboon's head by my feet. And me without my camera. There was the chest mount of a wildebeest being photographed on the side of the building. The whole thing was completely surreal, and we just added to the crazy by walking in with Wendy in tow and leaving with a gigantic sombrero. Turns out, it's not easy to drive a Suburban with a sombrero on your head.
We got to laughing over how it would totally freak people out to pull up to a business or gathering and have a bunch of people all dressed in black mariachi outfits and sombreros and dark glasses get out, just stand for a few minutes, then silently get back in the black truck and leave. Of course, Jeff would be wearing the red sombrero so people would know he was the leader.
It was the sombrero, and the subsequent acquisition of a beat up old trumpet found on Craigslist and purchased from a guy who drives for Capitol Metro, that gave us mariachi on the brain. Along with this was the fact that in his days as a firefighter, Jeff had organized a party at the firehouse and set up a game of musical chairs. What was first scoffed at as totally stupid became the hit of the party and what tune is more associated with musical chairs than The Mexican Hat Dance? Now you can perhaps see the method in the madness. We did an online search for mariachi bands in Austin and found Mariachi Diamante. Jeff gave them a call. They agreed to play for an hour and gave us a special rate because this was a fund raiser. As it turned out, mariachi music was not our only music that evening.
The boss had been down at Paradise checking on the show a week or so ago when he heard 
someone playing saxophone out on the corner. Going out for a smoke, he found a very tall, young musician playing some smooth, cool jazz with his sax case open for people to drop some cash in if they liked his music. Jeff, our new trumpet player, asked the guy if he could play trumpet with him and the guy said yes. Being a very good sport, he evidently did some improvising around Jeff's shall we say "inspired" performance, which ended when he couldn't feel his lips anymore. The boss handed him a 20 and said if he came back and played at the reception on the 21st, he'd give him 30 more.
Ok...now we can fast forward to Friday the 21st.
I spent the morning getting the silent auction items printed up. We had certificates for people to bid on. You could be the high bidder on Crazy Jeff doing the recording on your answering machine or voicemail. Or maybe you would prefer a phone call to the person of your choice from Crazy Jeff (some restrictions would apply). Perhaps you would like the framed, signed copy of the Austin Police Department Booking Photo of Crazy Jeff when he was arrested for Aggravated Assault. Or just maybe your thing would be to have Crazy Jeff make a guest appearance at your next social engagement, with special attire provided for bachelorette parties and quilting bees.
Our corporate communications director,
Michelle Allen, had to work until 5 so she arrived at my place to shower and change into her spokesmodel dress, Miss EJL World sash and gold
tiara. She was as excited and nervous as Jeff and the two of them were positively vibrating by the time we all got dressed. I had found a rather sassy dress and wrap to wear and even Wendy had a glittery new harness and leash to go with the pink boa Jeff had made for her. To say we stopped traffic as we crossed Sixth Street is no exaggeration. Of course it also might have had something to do with the red traffic light....
Things started out fairly quietly, as art openings often do. Devin the saxophonist apeared a little after seven and soon sexy, slippery jazz was rising to the high ceilings of Paradise. Friends arrived. Laughter mixed with music. Jeff and Michelle worked the room while I sold raffle tickets. 
Devin played for an hour then we chatted while salsa music blared out of the speakers. He had been an All-State saxophonist in high school and went to college on scholarships from his music. He was working during the day at an internet technology
business and playing at night whenever he could. Along with being a talented musician, he was quite simply a delight to talk with and had a good time between raffle customers.
At 8:30, the mariachis arrived and the evening kicked into high gear with trumpet
and guitars and violin grabbing the attention of the crowd and passersby. 
Jeff took over as master of ceremonies and the fun began. Fifteen people paid 5 bucks each for a seat in the game. The last person sitting would win a painting. The music, and when it stopped, was at the whim of the mariachis. For the first round, when the music stopped, everyone sat down, much to their amazement. Jeff had not taken away a chair and said to the crowd as they looked around for someone standing, "That was your practice run!" The place exploded with laughter and the real game began.
If you think kids are cut-throat at musical chairs, you should see adults with five bucks on the line! It was hysterical pandemonium. Forget chivalry and women knowing their place. I'm pretty sure some of the players woke up with black and blues the next morning. And Bill's dad came close to having a concussion when he went spilling ass over teakettle as he was bumped sitting down with zeal. He was fine
and still in the game because he took his chair flying with him. He made it almost to the end of play and had the place in tears when he decided to just pick his chair up and keep walking around the table with it. 
The winner ended up being Stix's brother David. He earned that painting!
The funny continued with the raffle. The amount of excitement generated by rubber chickens and marshmallow peeps should never be underestimated. But my favorite moment of the night was when Valdez, a handsome, single, day trader who had commissioned Jeff to do a painting for his house, won the pregnancy test. He took the prize from Michelle and headed for the bathroom. I couldn't see through my tears.
In the end, we raised a nice bit of money to help pay for Yolanda's bills. Our first Crazy Jeff event was a success thanks to the kindness of friends and family and a few strangers. We now have a saxophonist and mariachi band in our stable of talent to boot. Most importantly, we had an evening that won't soon be forgotten. It was a Good Friday indeed.
For anyone interested in helping out with Yolanda's vet bills, there are still paintings available for sale. (visit www.flickr.com/photos/librarywren to see the whole show) We are not a certified non-profit yet so I can't send you a tax receipt but any donations would be happily accepted if you aren't interested in the art work. Yolanda has made a world of difference in our veteran's life. Love is one powerful thing.
Hope this finds you all well and happy. I've got a bunch more stories to share and hope to write again this week. For now, goodnight from Austin!
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