Beyond Words

Red River Shootout.  Red River Rivalry.  OU-Texas weekend.  (sorry Longhorns, I can’t and never will refer to it as Texas-OU weekend like you do!)  The mere mention of these phrases brings out a hatred that is hard to explain.  Why the animosity between two teams, two states, and two sets of fans?  So much so that even the name of the game changes depending on where you’re from!

I went to OU after being born and raised in Santa Fe, NM.  I really didn’t know what I was getting into!  I do remember everyone making plans to go to Dallas for the game my first year there and thinking, “we’re going to Dallas for a game?  I’m in!” I was in and I was in awe.

I have now lived in Austin for 26 years.  You’d think that after that long of time I’d have an even tiny bit of allegiance to the hometown team.  Never.  Ever.  I could live in ANY other city or town in America (well, maybe not Stillwater) and be capable of rooting for the home team against anyone but my Sooners, but the Longhorns?  No way.  Jose.  I don’t even like the color orange.  It hasn’t always been easy living in the enemy’s backyard, but I’ve never wavered.  I love my Longhorn friends but I love when my team beats theirs almost more than life itself.  Okay, maybe not more than life but it does bring me a joy that I live with for a whole year.

The first game was played in 1900 and is named after the river that runs along the border between the two states.  Even though the Red River is often hardly a river, there is something magical about the game.  Number one being that it is played every year on neutral ground at the old Cotton Bowl in Dallas.  The venue is logistically half-way between the two schools and offers one of the most memorable experiences as a student.  Being that the stadium sits right in the middle of the Texas State Fair just adds to the festivities.  Mingle around the rides and fried food booths on the second Saturday of October and you’ll see nothing but Crimson and Cream and Burnt Orange.  You’ll hear words and shouts you normally don’t (which is the main reason we never took Kristen to the game until she was in middle school!) and although those dishing them out are vocal and appear confident and cocky, inside they are most likely just a tad nervous.  I’m a wreck every year.  Rankings don’t matter in this game.  Records can be thrown out the window.  Anything can happen and everything has.

Something else that makes the game so special is how the Cotton Bowl seating is configured for this game. Normally opposing fans sit on either side of a stadium.  Not so in Dallas.  The Sooner and Longhorn faithful are configured in two “U” shaped areas.  Those lucky enough to get 50-yard-line seats are also unlucky in that they sit right next to their opponents.  This proves awesome for the winners, but for the losers, it is humiliating.  The seating also means that walking out of that stadium a loser is a first hand lesson in humility and embarrassment walking down the ramps amid jeers that your team sucks!   Every year there is talk of making the game a “home and away” series, but each time it’s voted down.  As a dues paying OU alum, I steadfastly vote no and always will.  As much as I would love to have the game and Kristen and her friends in Austin every other year, I remember how much fun it was to go to the game as a student and I want that same thrill for every current and future student.

But why the hatred between two legions that are really pretty much the same?  Being that I didn’t grow up in either Oklahoma or Texas but having lived in both, I can honestly say Okies and Texans are very, very alike.  I know they both hate hearing this, but sorry friends, it’s true.  Dallas and Oklahoma City have the style and swagger, OKC and Houston have the oil history, and Tulsa and Austin have the rolling hills and a river running through them.  In between them all are small towns filled with good ole boys and gorgeous gals.  Both states love their football, love their religions, and love their guns.  They are both, for the most part, friendly types and are the subjects and writers of many a country music song.  Personally I have a Texas born but Sooner bred daughter so I guess you could say she is the best of both worlds!

In today’s 107^th meeting of Oklahoma and Texas, you’ll hear many a “Texas Sucks” and “OU Sucks” and once the coin is tossed and kick-off gets things rolling, tension will be at an all-time high.  I will be thinking of Kristen as she works the game in the press box and I’m wishing so badly I was there but I’ve got my flag flying outside my Austin home and will be hoping and praying that it’s those from Oklahoma who are happy walking down those ramps.  Boomer Sooner!

Do you know how many 8 ounce glasses are in a bottle of wine?  How big is 1 ounce of meat?  What is considered an “average” bagel?  Here friends, are the answers in a simple “clip and save” format:

1 oz of meat = size of a matchbox

3 oz of meat = size of a deck of cards or bar of soap

8 oz of meat = size of a thin paperback book

3 oz of fish = size of a checkbook

1 oz of cheese = size of 4 dice

medium potato = size of a computer mouse

2 T peanut butter = size of a ping pong ball

1/2 cup of pasta = size of a tennis ball

average bagel = size of a hockey puck

8 oz glasses in a bottle of wine = approx. 3.5

“A teacher affects eternity: he can never tell where his influence stops.” Henry Adams

I was watching an NFL game last weekend and was really impressed by a PSA featuring a player talking about how a certain teacher in his life influenced him.  It was all part of a campaign in support of America’s teachers…most of whom hopefully have today off for Columbus Day!  Like that NFL player, I bet you could quickly and easily name a special teacher in your life.  I can remember like it was yesterday learning that I’d gotten Mrs. Winston for fourth grade.  It was as if I’d won the lottery!

I guess you could say I’m a teacher in that I teach three-year-olds at my church’s preschool, but I’m not a certified or degreed teacher.  Still, today’s society demands that I not only love and nurture my students, but that I start making them Kindergarten ready by age 4.  Watching the recent debates made me realize that education in America is at a cross-roads.  How is it that my three-year-olds are being taught letter sounds but many of today’s elementary kids are only just beginning these lessons?  Education, like life, is often unfair.

I consider “real” teachers true heroes in our country…those in it for the right reasons that is.  They essentially have our country’s future in their hands and in their classrooms.  Those teaching in America’s inner cities and underprivileged schools, even more so.  I always respected Ms. Vanessa, Kristen’s former riding instructor.  “V” is funny, loving, and boasts brilliant horsemanship.  Vanessa is also a high school English teacher and for many years chose to teach in an underprivileged school.  I remember asking her one day why she didn’t transfer to a more wealthy school and she essentially said because she knew she was making a real difference in her students’ lives.  It all reminded me of a story I once heard called “What Teachers Make.”  I thought I’d share it with you in salute of those who are changing our children’s lives.

“What Teachers Make”

The dinner guests were sitting around the table discussing life.  One man, a rich and cocky CEO, decided to explain the problem with our education system.  He reminded the dinner guests of the old saying, “Those who can, do.  Those who can’t, teach.”  He then turned to a guest who was a teacher and asked, “You’re a teacher.  Be honest.  What do you make?”

Having the reputation for honesty and frankness, she replied, “You want to know what I make?  Here’s what I make:”

I make kids work harder than they ever thought they could.

I make a C+ feel like a winner of the Congressional Medal of Honor.

I make kids sit through 40 minutes of study hall in absolute silence.

I make kids wonder.

I make them question things.

I make them criticize wrongs.

I make them apologize and mean it.

I make them write and I make them read.

I make them show all their work in math and perfect their final drafts in English.

I make them understand that if you have the brains and follow your heart you can do anything and if someone ever tries to judge you by what you make, you must pay no attention because they just didn’t learn.”

I, MAKE A DIFFERENCE!

Remember, teachers make ever other profession possible.

What do YOU make?  What do you teach?

“Don’t worry about anything and have no anxiety.  Instead, tell God your needs and thank Him for His answers.  If you do this, you will experience God’s peace, which will keep your thoughts and your hearts quiet and at rest.”  Phil. 4:6-7

Happy Friday everyone!

I just returned from a visit to New Orleans and came home with a blog’s-worth load of tales to tell.  It wasn’t my first visit to the home of the Saints (and sinners!) – I have been there many times – but it was the first time since starting this blog.  As we all know, New Orleans is synonymous with imaginative food and imaginative fun.  It is a city blessed with a bevy of natural attractions and a unique culture.  Unfortunately, New Orleans also has an abundance of sordidness.

Is “The Big Easy” really “The Big Sleazy?”  In some ways, yes, absolutely; at least in most tourist areas.  Walk down any street in the famous French Quarter and you’ll be treated to fine eateries, distinctive shops, and of course those celebrated drinking establishments.  Three-hour lunch at Galatoires?  Check.  Antiques on Royal Street?  Check.  Hurricanes at Pat O’Brien’s?  Check, check.

Sadly, you’ll also be subjected to everything and anything related to sleaze and smut…whether or not you want to be.  You can’t run from it in the French Quarter and you can’t hide from it.  Gaze up and you’ll find the city’s instantly recognizable distinctive lace-work balconies and legendary lanterns.  Look down, however, and you’ll see things you probably don’t care to see…ever.  Yes, I get it, it’s all part of the “Nawlins” experience, but why?  In my humble opinion, that kind of stuff should be found in cities that don’t have as much historical and epicurean appeal as New Orleans.

It’s a little disturbing to walk out of a celebrated restaurant that requires jackets on men, only to run right into a strip club that’s not hiding much from the innocent passerby.  I do love Brennan’s Bananas Foster, Café Du Monde’s beignets and Drago’s oysters, but I would like them a lot more in a city that knows how to clean itself up.  Don’t get me wrong, I like New Orleans.  It just saddens me that a city would choose to be so, well, shady in so many ways.  Even New York City cleaned up it’s act.

Most people I talked to agree and say that New Orleans, much like Las Vegas, is one of those cities you’re usually ready to leave, unlike say a tropical island.  Those same people also feel New Orleans needs to stop with the Katrina stuff.  Enough.  It was horrible but it was also so long ago. I’m not being insensitive; I’m only repeating what I heard over and over again.  Maybe I just don’t get that part either.  What I do know is New Orleans has somewhat recovered from that devastating hurricane, so perhaps it’s time for the Crescent City to take a cue from Sin City and reinvent itself.  Maybe, just maybe, what happened to Vegas could happen to New Orleans?   Could the Big Easy turn into the Big Cheesy?!

What I loved about New Orleans were the many locals who were just down-right nice.  I love their accents and could listen to them all day and all night.  Cab drivers, the doormen at our hotel, waiters, a restaurant owner, our Swamp Tour guide Allen, and even the dread-locked bartender at Bubba Gump’s.  They all bent over backwards to welcome us to their beloved town and couldn’t thank us enough for visiting.  They’ve got it down and they made my visit memorable.

I also loved the famous Carousel Bar and Lounge at our hotel, Hotel Monteleone.  The street-front bar actually rotates and the lounge harkens back to days gone by, where the clientele dressed up, acted respectfully, but still had fun…crazy fun!  I loved the hotel itself too and would stay there again in a heartbeat.  (unless of course they keep denying the hair straightener I know I left in our bathroom was not found!  That, is really annoying me!)

Two other things that stand out are the Swamp Tour our group took and the dance contest I stumbled upon one day in the French Market.  Boarding the small air boat in pouring rain, we nonetheless had the ride of our lives as we meandered through hanging moss and Cypress trees to catch many glimpses of alligators, raccoons, and even Bald Eagles.  And the dancers; oh the dancers.  Moseying solo through the French Market, I came upon a dance contest…not just any dance contest, but a jam-packed, highly-competitive, down-home, died-in-the-wool, Cajun style jitterbug/swing/stomp dance-a-thon.  It was both entertaining and mesmerizing and I stood there and watched for minutes on end.  I could have stayed all day.

These are the things that make New Orleans what it is.  So why, the sleaze?  Why the smut?  It is so unnecessary and distracts from what is truly special about a truly special place.  A place blessed with a treasured past and a place ready for an exciting future that includes not only annual Mardi Gras festivities, but this season’s Super Bowl, Sugar Bowl, and NCAA Final Four.  It’s enough to make any metropolitan area cry with envy.  But envy is not what I left with.

As the cab pulled away from our hotel to take us to the airport, I glanced across the street to a spot where every day and every night a rag top band of sometimes talented vagrants played music.  That day it was two men, but I couldn’t help but notice the woman sitting on the ground next to them just listening.  On her lap was a five-or-six-year-old little girl who was clearly exhausted and wanting to be anywhere else but there.  I thought to myself and actually said out loud to our friends in the cab that I wondered if we offered that woman money if she would hand over her little girl.  I would give her a long, hot, relaxing bath then tuck her in a warm bed and let her sleep until she woke up.  A home and a school is what that little girl needs.  Jokingly I said I’d also have her saying “Boomer Sooner” within a week, but in all seriousness, I’m still thinking about that little girl and hoping she’s okay.  I’m not sure how easy that will be for her though on the streets of The Big Easy.  Here’s hoping the saints are watching over her.