Oil wells and picnic tables

Sunday, November 25th 2018

Marfa, TX and Los Angeles, CA

It’s 9am and I am waking up for the last day of Thanksgiving vacation. I meet my parents in the lobby for breakfast and it is incredibly crowded. We immediately decide to check out and eat somewhere else. 

I am leaving from the Midland airport at 6pm, so we start meandering in that direction. We pass through 3 towns before we are able to find a suitable place to eat. 

We end up in a small, Mexican restaurant with multicolored, paper flags taped to the walls and metal chairs. I ask the server what kind of meat is in the taco salad. She looks slightly confused by that question and says that it’s ground beef. Her response is perfect and I feel a small pang of nostalgia as I know this moment can only happen in West Texas. 

After brunch, we drive to a town called Monahans to check out the Sandhills park. This is where Texans go surfing on sand and I am super excited to see it. There are multiple road closures on the way, so it takes us a few tries to get into the park. 

When we arrive, the parking lot is empty. My allergies are raging and the wind here is insane. 

Dad goes inside the main office while Mom and I stay in the truck. He returns with a day pass and the news that it’s too windy to sand surf today. I am silently relieved.

We start to drive through the park. At first, we only see sand and tumbleweeds, but eventually, we reach the end of the main road and are greeted with enormous dunes in almost every direction. The sand is light tan and the sky is a strange mix of dark blue and gray. The dunes appear untouched and are adorned with squiggly lines from the incessant wind. 

Dad parks the truck and we get out for pictures. On a whim, I take off my boots, tuck my jeans into my socks and make the climb to the top of the first dune. The sand is incredibly soft and my feet are sinking almost to my ankles with each step. When I get to the top, the view is amazing. There are dunes as far as the eye can see and not one soul in sight. I feel an urge to run around them but the wind is so strong that I am leaning into it to keep from falling over. I reluctantly slide back down to the parking lot as both parents stand at the bottom, recording me on their iPhones.  

We continue to drive around the deserted park. We pass by a picnic area nestled next to a large, working oil well. If this isn’t West Texas, I don’t know what is. 

Eventually we make it to Midland an hour early. I opt to go ahead to the airport; my allergies are making me miserable and I just want to sit quietly indoors. 

At the airport I eat an early dinner and treat myself to a few glasses of wine. As soon my flight opens for boarding, I am the first in line. I have never been more ready to trade in West Texas tumbleweeds for California palm trees. 

Marfa is a strange mistress

Saturday, November 24th 2018

Marfa, TX

It’s 9:30am CST and I am waking up for our last full day in Marfa. Overnight my allergies have gone from bad to abysmal. I am struggling, but must pull it together. Today will be a busy day.

By 10am I am entering the lobby for breakfast. It's overrun with a strange mix of tourists. The crowd is a combination of Westworld and Portlandia and, strangely, I feel right at home. We luck into a corner table and enjoy a very slow breakfast while watching people and discussing our day. 

The first stop is a guided tour of the Chinati, Marfa's most popular contemporary art museum. Josh, our guide for the day, is wearing all denim and a pair of large, dusty work boots. I wonder if we will be mucking out stalls or viewing art, but I keep that thought to myself. 

Our group is small and, after the obligatory small talk regarding Texas football, the tour gets started. Josh begins with a brief explanation of the history of the Chinati (despite the fact that he is "confident" that most of us already know the story). I smile and nod; I do not know the story.

The Chinati was founded by the artist, Donald Judd. His career starts in the 1960s in New York. The art scene quickly falls in love with him, culminating in a retrospective of his work at the Whitney in 1968. By 1971 he starts to realize the feeling is not mutual and begins to visit Marfa regularly. In 1978 he becomes a permanent resident of Marfa, basically telling NYC it's-not-you-it's-me.

Meanwhile, the Dia Foundation, also in love with Judd, offers him $4M, an old Army base and full creative control to build his dream art museum in Marfa. Judd accepts the proposal and begins building his exhibit space and art in tandem. His sculptures will be permanent, so the galleries (mostly old artillery sheds) and the surrounding dessert will become part of the art. The project ends up running  substantially over budget (an impressive feat for a self-proclaimed minimalist). 

The Dia Foundation eventually breaks it off with Judd and the project is delayed. In 1986 the museum finally opens to the public under the stewardship of the Chianti foundation.  

Our first stop is Dan Flavin’s untitled. I’m not sure what to expect as I follow our small group into a large, dimly lit, rectangular room. The room splits near the far end, where there are 2 sets of neon lights, nestled in short, diagonally shaped hallways. One set is mostly pink and the other is mostly green. The shape of the hallways allow for visibility of a small amount of light from our end of the room, which increases as we approach. As I move closer, I am starting to feel like I can not walk in a straight line. I'm definitely into this.

We walk into to the next door of the same building and are now on the opposite side of the lights. The installation spans 6 U-shaped buildings with similar structures. Around building number 3 I start to become more comfortable and my parents and I take turns standing on opposite sides of the lights while waving to each other and laughing. 

After the 6th building, our group gathers in the shade as we wait for everyone else to catch up. Josh tells a story about a group of hikers at Big Bend, where one of them fell into a hole and died. Half of the group had to wait with the dead body for 3 days, while the others went for help. No one really knows what to say. I think this tour just took a dark turn.   

The next stop is Robert Irwin’s Untitled, Dawn to Dusk. This is the same installation where we unwittingly stopped on our first day town. Now that we are officially visiting, it’s explained that we should not take pictures (oops) and that we can go inside the seemingly empty building (yay). The installation spans 4 acres and we learn that it sits on the site of an old military hospital. Irwin wanted to use the original structure, but ultimately ended up constructing a new one in the same footprint. The building is a long hallway, divided perpendicularly. One side is lined with white, translucent fabric and the other side with black, translucent fabric. The installation is a work of space and light and I am really enjoying it. After everyone is done walking through the hallway, we pile into our cars for the final stop, the John Chamberlain exhibit across from our hotel. 

This exhibit is housed in a large, gutted warehouse that used to be a wool and mohair factory. It includes 22 abstract metal sculptures, made of salvaged cars. The space feels enormous and the sculptures are evenly dispersed throughout. Marfa is doing such a great job of hiding awesome art in dilapidated buildings. 

After the tour, we take a break for coffee and snacks. Around 1:45pm we are approaching Marfa Maid Dairy for our 2pm tour. They are located on Antelope Hills Rd. According to Apple maps, there are two roads that run parallel to each other called Antelope Hill Rd. and Antelope Hills Rd. We inevitably take the wrong one. 

2 phone calls and 3 u-turns later, we arrive at Marfa Maid right on time. We sit on a long bench in a screen-enclosed porch with a small group of tourists. Happy farm cats wander in and out of the partially open door. 

The tour is run by the couple that owns the farm. They are retired and incredibly charming. She is from California and used to run an art endowment in LA. He is from upstate New York and is an heir to a small chain of local liquor stores. Like Donald Judd, they found Marfa as the perfect escape from city life. First they fell in love with Marfa and then with each other. Marfa is a strange mistress.  

It turns out that the goat farm was actually started by accident. At first, she only wanted a house with a garden. This worked well until it was time to pay property taxes. As a way to sidestep the system, they purchased a few goats and registered themselves as a farm. The Californian, the New Yorker and their small herd of goats lived happily for a few years before it occurred to them to actually turn their "farm" into a farm. 

The going was tough at first. Their goats were not the right breed to produce milk and neither of them knew what to do with the milk anyways. Eventually he built up a medium-sized herd of Alpines and Nubians (the best goats for milk), and she learned how to make all sorts of cheese. Now they have a license to sell commercially and while they are not quite profitable, they are finally losing less money than the cost of property tax. I guess it takes a lot of work to stand still in these parts. 

Next, we meet the goats. They are excited for the company and are very affectionate. One starts to chew on the edge of Mom’s coat, but we catch her before any damage is done. My parents take pictures as a few of the goats pose patiently. I am in a state of complete bliss, as I am surrounded by overly affectionate goats and happy farm cats. I have never been happier. 

The next stop is the milking room. Our guide opens the door, shakes a bucket of food and almost immediately a goat comes bounding in. Unprompted, she jumps onto the milking platform and waits patiently. He gives us a quick primer on how to milk a goat by hand and then shyly admits that he normally uses a machine. We are each offered the opportunity to try, but by the time it's my turn, the demo goat is getting visibly agitated. I politely decline. 

The tour ends with a cheese tasting, where we all grab little pieces of cheese with our goat-and-cat-infested hands. This definitely feels like West Texas.

We head back to the hotel and sit down for an early dinner. After washing my hands for a full 5 minutes, my Dad and I split a large charcuterie plate and then I also eat a hamburger patty on the side. I guess that art and goats make me hungry.

Around 7pm we make the drive out to the McDonald Observatory. It's freezing cold, cloudy and very crowded. After only 30 minutes, we are all ready to leave. My allergies are really bothering me and I just want to be inside, next to a heater. 

When we get back to the hotel, college football is playing in the lounge and there is a hot toddy with my name on it. We spend the rest of the evening in this manner and eventually head up to bed by 11pm.   

They're out of toast.

Friday, November 23rd 2018

Marfa, TX

It’s 9am CST and I am waking up for day 3 of our Marfa vacation! Around 9:30am I meet my parents in the lobby for breakfast. The restaurant is packed. Mom points out a young Japanese couple, looking mildly uncomfortable in their cowboy hats and I am immediately charmed. 

After breakfast, Dad opts to stay at the lounge and watch football while Mom and I go shopping. Our first stop is a little store called Wrong. I read about it online and can’t tell if it’s a gift shop or a gallery. It’s only a block and a half from our hotel, but it takes nearly 10 minutes to find. Wrong is located on a residential street, in a house, with no sign. Go figure. 

Eventually, we enter. There is a woman and a younger guy behind the counter. The woman is obviously in charge and quickly announces that she needs to go take a shower. She asks if we need anything before she goes. Don't worry, I quip, we'll come find you.

The store is a really interesting mix of original art and handmade gifts. The prices are high and I feel like I just stepped into an Abbot Kinney boutique through a secret portal in the middle of the West Texas desert. I want to buy something on principle but I just can not stomach $500 for an 8 x 10 print. 

Next we wander up Highland Avenue to see what else Marfa has to offer. The plan is to walk to the courthouse at the end of the street. There is a lookout deck at the top; it’s only three stories tall, but we've been told that you can see the whole town. 

Soon we see a small sign that says Andy Warhol on it. It’s next to an oversized, sliding door. With great trepidation, I pull back the large door. Inside we find a single room gallery with a nice lady sitting at a small table. She explains this rotating exhibit is free to the public, courtesy of the Ayn Foundation. The gallery features 3 paintings from Andy Warhol’s last supper, a series that has over 100 pieces in total. It strikes me as strangely religious given what I know about Andy Warhol. Later I'll find out these paintings were Warhol's last before his unexpected death in 1987.   

Next door we find a similar gallery with the works of Maria Zerres. We learn that she is a German artist who finds inspiration from tragedy. This particular series is about September 11. 

As we continue towards the courthouse, we duck into a few gift shops. I am on the lookout for a t-shirt but end up buying a substantially overpriced sweatshirt instead. Mom buys some organic dog treats to bring home for Hyacinth, their miniature schnauzer.  

When we finally arrive at the courthouse, it is closed for the holiday. We are not surprised and decide to head back on the opposite side of the street. We stumble across another gallery, showing photography by Robert Frank. A series of informational panels explain that he is basically the father of street photography. I am definitely into this. There are 100s of photos and a handful of 8mm films running on loops. I am getting tired, but still manage spend nearly 30 minutes checking out his work. 

Soon we are back at the hotel. We reconvene with Dad and enjoy a long afternoon break and a few snacks before bundling up for the evening weather. 

Around 3pm, we walk over to a small coffee shop called Do Your Own Thing. The cafe has no sign and is only marked by a lone sandwich board in a gravel parking lot. The sign reads "coffee, toast and magic". Upon entrance, there is another sign explaining that they are out of toast. It takes almost 15 minutes to get our coffee. It's okay though, we relax at a long picnic table and take in the scene. 

The next stop is Ballroom Marfa, a gallery with rotating art, located across the street. We are not sure what to expect and find 3 rooms and a lone outdoor sculpture. The rooms are filled with abstract paintings and videos. There are no information panels to explain the context but the whole space has a distinct feeling of chaos. The heart of the exhibit, First Person Shooter, by Jibade-Khalil Huffman, is a medium sized room filled with various projected films designed to make you feel scared, uncomfortable and disoriented. We are the only ones in this room and I notice an unmarked door in the back corner. As I approach, I see that it’s partially open. I slowly push on the door, half expecting another Warhol painting. Inside I find a plain bathroom. Even the expected is unexpected in Marfa.

Next we gather in the truck and make the short drive to the Chinati for a special sunset viewing of a few key pieces of art. It turns out there are multiple installations and galleries located all over the place. The guy that sells us our tickets has to explain where we should go 3 times before we fully understand.

We start out at Donald Judd’s Untitled, 100 works in mill aluminum. One of the most famous permanent installations in Marfa, it spans 2 gutted artillery sheds in the middle of the desert and houses exactly 100 aluminum boxes. Dad, with a background in materials science, has a lot to say about the thickness of the aluminum, how it interacts with the environment and the construction of the boxes themselves. At one point, our docent explains that the boxes were constructed at a mill and that Judd only designed them. Dad is visibly disappointed by this news; he was just starting to appreciate the art of Marfa.

The sun is setting quickly, so we walk over to Judd’s 15 untitled works in concrete, which spans a little bit over half a mile. We don’t have much time, so we approach the very large exhibit somewhere in the middle and stroll up it's dirt road towards the parking lot. The concrete boxes are light gray, smooth and  taller than we are. Dad talks about the quality of the concrete and I muse on the interaction of the art and the landscape. Mom waits patiently as we analyze each box.     

By the time we get back to the hotel, it’s dark and cold outside. We are ready for an early dinner. The hotel restaurant is packed and we are lucky to snag a table in the corner after only a few minutes of waiting. Our server is awesome and lets us order from the formal dining room instead of the bar. I get steak frites and creamed spinach. My meal is great and we even have a perfect view of the TV to watch college football. 

We spend the rest of the evening in the lounge, sipping wine and occasionally talking over the game. Today turned out to be a good day for both art and football.   

But humanity had another plan

Thursday, November 22nd 2018
Marfa, TX


It’s 9:30am CST and I am getting ready for our first full day in Marfa, TX. Today is Thanksgiving and we have no idea what we are going to do! I meet my parents for breakfast in the lobby at 10am. I am wearing wool socks, 3 layers of clothing and my hiking jacket, which is rated for subzero temperatures. After an unnecessarily, drawn out production of shedding multiple layers, I finally sit down at the table. No one else even has a jacket; despite my Texas roots, I am already feeling like a dumb tourist. 

For breakfast, I order a small plate of bacon and avocado. Service is slow, so we spend nearly an hour in the small restaurant, clutching our coffees and deciding how to spend the day. Not much will be open, so we opt to take this opportunity to make the drive to Prada Marfa. 


On the way out of town, we stop at Cobra Rock, which is a handmade boot company. We are surprised to see they are open and go inside to have a look. I’ve been on the lookout for high end boots for many years and am doubtful that I will find them here. While my Mom marvels over their vintage sewing machine, I take a look around. Holy crap; these boots are perfect! I chat with the sales women and tell her about my lifelong quest for Texas boots to wear in LA and she is very sympathetic. She explains that all boots are made to order and that I would need to make my purchase from their website. The wait time is roughly 4 months. I’m into these boots and vow to order some after the holidays 


Our next stop is Prada Marfa, a weird, little art installation in the middle of nowhere. Technically, it’s not even in Marfa; it’s about 1.5 miles north of a town called Valentine, TX. I've known about this installation for a while, but decide to use this time to get up to speed on its history. I pull up Wikipedia and begin to read.


Prada Marfa is a sealed off storefront with Prada shoes and bags from 2005, when it was originally built. The idea was to build the store in a harsh environment and then never repair it so that it would eventually become a ruin and disappear back into the earth (thus providing a pretty overt statement on the fleeting nature of fashion and status). However, as it turned out, humanity had another plan. The night after the sculpture was completed, it was badly vandalized and looted, forcing the artist to restore it immediately. Since then, Ballroom Marfa, a local nonprofit, has performed “minimal maintenance”, including painting over graffiti and picking up trash.

When we arrive there is only one visitor. A solo woman on a large motorcycle. I immediately offer to take her picture and she is grateful. There is a yellow, curly line spray painted around the base of the building, but no other current graffiti. We get a ton a pictures right before a large crowd arrives. Dad wanders across the street to photograph some railroad tracks that are so straight and flat, they look like they are falling off the end of the earth. He convinces me to climb up and we take a few photos of each other. 

On the way back, we catch a new mural, called “Giant Marfa”. It reflects a key scene from the movie, Giant (filmed in Marfa) and was donated to the city by John Cerney this October. There is an extremely large wooden cut out of James Dean set next to cut outs of Rock Hudson and Elizabeth Taylor in a yellow car and a large mansion. There is also music playing in the background. We deduce that it’s powered by solar energy, but are not completely sure. 

Once we get back into town, we take a quick break before convening in the lobby for Thanksgiving dinner. We can get a table at our hotel, but we prefer to go to the buffet the Hotel Paisano. A quick phone call suggests that they are booked, but we decide to walk over there anyways. When we arrive, we are easily seated next to a large table with multiple screaming kids. Our server is totally over the top and has fingernails that are easily 3 inches long. I wonder if that’s sanitary, but am mostly amused by the randomness of this place. He gives us each a small bottle of champagne to start the meal. The buffet includes a basic salad, a Waldorf salad, some prime rib, a green bean casserole, corn, potatoes and bread. Aside from the prime rib and complimentary champagne, it’s fairly unimpressive. Oh well, at least we don’t have to do the dishes.

Next, we go back to our hotel lobby and order a round of after dinner drinks. Port for me, a margarita for Dad and a Shirley Temple for Mom. We call Grandmother and talk on the phone for a while. At one point, Dad asks if I can drive later and I switch from wine to coffee. We lounge around until it gets dark enough to see the Marfa lights.   


Around 8pm we bundle up in our warmest clothes and pile into the truck to go look for aliens from outer space. By this point, Dad is visibly tipsy, I am a little jealous and Mom is bordering on annoyed. As we drive down the dark highway, Dad sings classic rock songs and tells us how much he loves his dog and his truck.  


Once we arrive at the viewing point, we join a small crowd of hopeful tourists to stare into the night. Dad tells me about the Marfa lights, he has seen them on YouTube and explains that the "real" Marfa lights will blink on and off and jump around the horizon. He tells us that the lights date back to 1885 so they are obviously not headlights. We stare intently at the horizon and wonder what they are. After about 30 minutes, just when I am ready to give up, Mom insists that she sees moving lights. I take the binoculars and I see them too! They are near a distant radio tower and are appearing and disappearing in various locations. Other groups of tourists point and chatter in excitement. 

Eventually the cold drives us back to the hotel. We spend the rest of the evening in the lounge. We order some snacks, a few more rounds of drinks and Mom updates us on her research on our family tree. Around midnight we finally close our tab and head upstairs for bed. 

Another dimension

Wednesday, November 21st 2018
Los Angeles, CA and Marfa, TX

It’s 6:30am PST and I am waking up for a full day of travel to Marfa, TX. At 7am I am standing in front of the most awkward Lyft driver of all time. He offers to put my bag in the trunk and then asks if I want to watch him do it. I say that I don’t care to watch him but I also don’t want to sit in the car any longer than I have to. He asks why and I say that I like being outside more than I like being in a car. Thus my trip begins. 

The airport is busy, but I still make it through security with plenty of time to grab breakfast and coffee. I walk the length of the terminal and can not find any food that looks appealing. I end up with a large cup coffee for breakfast.

The flight to Dallas goes smoothly. Once I land, I have about an hour and half to kill before my next flight. I find a restaurant called Cantina Laredo. I recognize it from Austin and am feeling confident about the food. I order some ahi tuna tacos and add on chips and salsa. The tacos are weird and I remember that I broke one of my food rules, which is to never order raw fish in Texas. I end up not eating the tacos and filling up a chips, salsa and Chardonnay.     

By the time I land in Midland, I am starving. The Midland airport has the unmistakable air of small town Texas. The passenger pick up area is small and full of trucks. As always, my parents are early and I find them right away. 

It’s already 6:30pm CST and the drive to Marfa is 3 hours. We decide to stop for dinner in Monahans. The freeway is dark and empty and we are driving fast. My Mom can barely read the map and we are past Monahans before we even knew we were there. Oh well, dinner in Pecos. 

I use my GPS to direct us to the number 1 rated restaurant in Pecos, according to Yelp. When we arrive the building is dark and boarded up. Number 2 restaurant? Same situation. We finally arrive at the Old Mill restaurant at 8pm. This is a self-professed Mexican and Italian restaurant. They are open but the parking lot is completely dark. We take a few minutes to move our suitcases into the cab of the truck. Something about this place feels very rough. 

The hostess is incredibly nice and seats us immediately. The menu is 7 pages long and I am so hungry that I can barely see straight. Eventually I agree on jalapeno poppers for an appetizer and hamburger steak with fried okra and green beans for dinner. The jalapenos are soggy and my hamburger steak is room temp at best. I did not have high hopes for the Old Mill, yet I am still disappointed. 

We drive another 2 hours to Marfa. When we arrive, we are the only car in town. We find our hotel immediately but it still takes 3 trips around the block to figure out where the front door is located. The wind is tearing through the streets and there are literally tumbleweeds rolling past. 

When we enter the Hotel St. George, it’s as though we stepped into another dimension. The main lobby is almost entirely white, with elegantly placed, recessed lighting. To the right is a high end bookstore that only sells books by local artists and handmade, silk scarfs; to the left is a small lounge bar filled with hipsters. Where did all of these people come from? 

Once we get checked in, we only have about an hour before the hotel bar closes for the night. We quickly reconvene in the lounge for a celebratory cocktail. I order a Titos and soda and our Thanksgiving vacation has finally begun!      













What does a bird-shaped coffin and a lock of Lincoln's hair have in common?

Sunday, September 30th 2018

Lake Conroe, TX and Los Angeles, CA

It’s 6am CST and I am getting up to see the sunrise on Lake Conroe. The condo is dark and silent as I sneak downstairs. I think this is the first time in my life I have ever woken up before my parents. After nearly five minutes of searching I finally find a light switch and am able to see enough to boil some water for the French press. I make a very strong cup of coffee and move outside to watch for the sun. 

6:32am, the official time of sunrise comes and goes. Dawn is breaking and the entire lake is bathed in a blue-tinted light that can only be seen at this time of day. The sky is gray and the air is misty, but it’s not raining anymore. I watch a few birds fly by and a lonely fishing boat putter towards the main part of the lake.  

My Mom joins me around 7:30am and almost immediately we catch a glimpse of the sun poking through clouds somewhere in between the horizon and the top of the sky. We seem to be the only people on the lake. 

Eventually, we are all awake and spend a lazy morning drinking coffee and make a late breakfast. Around noon we start to pack up. We have about 4 hours to kill before I need to be at the airport for my flight back to LA. My Mom suggests that we visit the National Museum of Funeral History and I think this is an awesome idea. 

As we enter the museum, I really have no idea what to expect. It starts out with a tribute to Presidential funerals which is peppered with weird little relics like a lock of Lincoln’s hair and dirt from the burial site of President Truman. Next we enter a room dedicated to the burial of Popes. This is pretty interesting and I learn a lot, including the process for the ceremonial smashing of the pope ring upon his death. Other rooms are more focused on science, like mummification and cremation. There is also a tribute to famous deaths of Hollywood and then a display of fantasy shaped coffins inspired by funeral traditions in Ghana. This place is totally wacky. 

Eventually I meet my parents at the end. This experience was so strange, we each buy a t-shirt to commemorate the moment. 

We find a Papasitos on the way to the airport and sit down for a long lunch. I order a taco salad and I excited to see that it’s automatically served with ground beef (in California this would be carne asada). 

I end up at the airport early, but it’s okay, we are running out of things to do anyways. The flight back to LA is easy and before I know it I am back home. What a fun little weekend trip. 

Esty for retired Texans

Saturday, September 29th 2018

Lake Conroe, TX 

It’s 9am CST and I am getting up for a full day in Lake Conroe, TX. The rain is pounding on my window and the lake is desolate. We gather in the living-room-of-Texas-tacky for several rounds of coffee. My parents brought their own coffee beans along with a grinder and french press. They are proving to be amazing road trip buddies. 

We mull over the idea of visiting the Wolf Sanctuary but ultimately decide the weather is too bad. Eventually, my Dad makes us all bacon and eggs and we get ready for the day. 

The Longhorns will be playing at 2pm, so we have a little over an hour to kill beforehand. I suggest that we go to Main Street. There are a few consignment and antique shops and this feels like the right place for my first antiquing experience. Our first stop, Mimi’s, is a warehouse of random stuff; it’s basically Etsy for retired Texans. When we arrive, we are immediately greeted by a nice lady and offered tea cookies and coffee. This is cute. 

We spend almost the full hour wandering from stall to stall as my parents point at different items and tell me about growing up in West Texas. I’m pretty charmed by the whole experience. 

The next stop is Buffalo Wild Wings to watch football. Today the Longhorns are playing Kansas State and anything can happen. We grab a table in front of a large TV. I’m not really hungry and I don’t want a drink, but feel pressured to order something. I end up with celery, cheese dip and a glass of Chardonnay. We spend most of the afternoon here. The games goes great and I am irrationally happy to see Texas play well again. We have good conversation between plays and the whole experience is very nice. 

After the game, it’s getting dark outside. We stop by our grocery store for snacks and more wine. We spend the rest of the evening sitting on our patio, gathered around a Markham Cabernet and large cheese board. 

The magical Yeti cooler of hangover cures

Friday, September 28th 2018

Lake Conroe, TX 

It’s 1pm CST and my parents are picking me up at the Embassy Suites in Houston, TX. I just finished working the Grace Hopper conference and am exhausted and so, so hungover. My Dad immediately grabs my bag and offers my a chilled, coconut-flavored La Croix from the Yeti cooler in the back of their Explorer. I am grateful.

Our first stop is Starbucks. My Dad recently got on board with the Keto diet and has discovered the joy of high fat coffee. Once we grab our drinks we return to the back of the truck where he produces a pint of heavy cream from his magical Yeti cooler of hangover-cures.

Our next stop is brisket. We stop at Pappas and it’s as Texan as you can get. The food is served cafeteria-style, followed with a self-serve onion and pickle bar and complimentary soft serve ice cream. I eat slowly and tell my parents about how my coworkers insisted on eating sushi for most of our trip.

Per my suggestion, we have rented a condo on Lake Conroe for the weekend. The plan is to sit by the lake and eat BBQ. We make one last stop at a small grocery store. We grab steaks and broccoli for a late dinner and finally check into our condo. The entire complex is silent and our unit is decorated as though Whole Earth Provisions was having a yard sale. I am part charmed and part offended. There is a large balcony that protrudes over the lake and the screen door is covered in little bugs. 

Once we get settled, we spend the early evening catching up and then cook a light dinner paired with a really nice Cabernet and cheese plate. Around 11pm we are finally ready for bed. We agree to sleep as late as we want and I have never been so happy to fall into bed.

Goodbye Shalimar, hello Los Angeles

Sunday, September 23rd 2018

Shalimar, FL and Los Angeles, CA

It’s 8:30am CST and I am packing up for my trip back to LA. I am staying in a small guest apartment at the Bob Hope Village, which is a retirement community for veterans and their spouses. A list of check out instructions was left on my door last night. There are about 30 steps, including taking out my own trash. Initially I plan on ignoring the instructions, but then I get scared. After all, this is the military I’m dealing with. I complete the full check out procedure and, as a result, end up at my grandmother’s door 5 minutes late. 

I only have a few hours before I have to leave for my mid-afternoon flight. We hang out in her apartment for a little bit. I help install her new lamp shade and we marvel at its beauty. Around 10am we head out for a trip to CVS to buy a battery operated alarm clock and then to brunch. CVS is empty and the whole staff comes over to help us. They are visibly charmed my grandmother and her aversion to all technology, including digital clocks. She only wants one with hands and it takes nearly 3 people to go dig one out of the back.

Once we are done with CVS, we drive over to a cafe called Joe & Eddy’s for a late breakfast. To my surprise, the food is excellent. I order a large omelette and a side bacon and eat every bite. The coffee is just okay. After breakfast we still have about 30 minutes before I need to leave, so we spend it lounging in the coffee corner of the main lobby of her building. We small talk with the passing nurses and take a few too many selfies on Snapchat. 

Soon it’s time to go and I have a hard time saying goodbye. I vow to call more often and to come visit soon. 

The drive back to Pensacola is easy. I arrive at the airport way too early and end up drinking two glasses of Chardonnay before the plane arrives. During the fight back I am inexplicably emotional. Primarily, I feel an overload guilt, which is somehow amplified by the kindness of everyone I met in Shalimar. I also feel a sense of relief from stress that I didn't know that I had. I guess I was very worried about making every minute of this trip count and my travel problems on day one compounded this significantly. Finally, I feel great sadness for grandmother and everyone else that lives at Bob Hope Village. It's a lonely place.    

When I finally get to my car at the Venice office I burst into tears. I cry the whole way back home to east LA. 

The elusive Jitterbug

Saturday, September 22nd 2018

Shalimar, FL

It’s 7:30am CST and I am at the Bob Hope Village, knocking on my grandmother’s door for our birthday breakfast date. I am running on a 20 minute power nap and zero coffee. I have one full day with my grandmother to celebrate er 92nd birthday and I will make the  most of it. 

She answers the door only halfway dressed for breakfast and looks surprised that I am on time. I hug her and proudly announce that, of course, I’m on time. She says that she better hurry up and get dressed and I agree. 

We eat breakfast in the dining room of her building. We sit at a table with 2 of her friends, Sophia, who is French, and Tim, who is an ex-chaplain. Bob Hope Village is a retirement community for military officer veterans and their spouses. The community is an extremely interesting mix of nationalities and politics. My grandmother lived in Russia for many years with her late husband as part of several Cold War operations and many other members of the Bob Hope Village have similar stories. 

While the company is good, the food is abysmal and the coffee is even worse. After breakfast, she takes me to the “coffee corner” in the main lobby, where we can drink unlimited coffee from the community Keurig and watch people walk by. Several residents and staff members stop by to chat with us. I know that my grandmother wants to show me off and I am embarrassed but strangely affirmed at the same time. 

When we discuss the day, my grandmother announces that she really wants to go to Walmart and buy a lamp shade. We explore a few other ideas, but Walmart is the clear front runner. I agree and we head out to my rental to make the drive. My grandmother insists on giving me directions and after only a few wrong turns, we safely arrive at the Walmart Supercenter in Ft. Walton Beach. We spend about an hour walking around and end up buying shampoo and a lamp shade. At one point, I wonder how she ended up with a lamp without a lamp shade, but then I remind myself that it doesn't really matter. We are here to have fun in Walmart. 

Next, we drive to the Longhorn Steakhouse to meet one of her friends for lunch. We arrive a little bit early and catch up over Diet Coke and water while we wait for Teresa. Once she arrives we order. My grandmother gets shrimp kabobs, Teresa orders a salad and I get a small steak with spinach. My grandmother alternates between musing on how tired I must feel and encouraging me to order some wine to go with my steak. I am running on fumes and decline the lunchtime wine multiple times. I want to yell that I don't want a nap, but I hold it together. 

Eventually, our conversation turns to something called a Jitterbug. It takes me a few minutes to deduce this is a cell phone designed for seniors. My grandmother, who is extremely tech adverse, has interest in owning a Jitterbug. I am over the moon! 

After lunch, I make a few calls to electronics stores to see who may have a Jitterbug that we can go look at. Having not bought electronics in real life in the last 5 years, it takes me a few minutes to remember who sells cell phones. The consensus seems to be Sears, which is just around the corner. We walk into the Sears in Ft. Walton Beach and it’s just as I remember from my childhood.   

A very nice woman offers to help us immediately. They do not have a Jitterbug in stock, but she invites us to sit down on one of their couches while she asks around. The store is empty and spends nearly 30 minutes finding a Jitterbug for us at Best Buy and getting to know my grandmother. I forgot how southerners add the word “Miss” in front of the names of older women. It's incredibly charming. I sit quietly as the two of them make friends. My lack of sleep slowly starts to creep up on me and I am all of the sudden overwhelmed by emotion. First I feel guilt for only visiting once a year. Second I am so appreciative of the people who who are kind to my grandmother. As the sales associate shares her personal phone number with my grandmother in an offer to help her set up her phone, I am actually fighting back tears. I chew on a few Altoids at once in an effort to shock myself back into the present moment. 

Our next stop is back to the Bob Hope Village for a well earned siesta. I walk my grandmother back to her room and we agree to reconvene in 1.5 hours for a trip to Best Buy and then dinner. I am too tired to nap, so I spend my siesta reading and meditating.  

Later that night, after only one wrong turn, we arrive at Best Buy. Again, we are met with a helpful sales associate immediately. They have a packaged Jitterbug, but do not have a demo unit. I ask if the phone can run on wifi-only and she says yes (later, I will find this statement to be false). We resolve to buy a Jitterbug online and run it on wifi for a while, to test out text and a few apps before setting up cell service. The sales associate is also extremely accommodating, showing my grandmother options for training courses on cell phones and the Internet. She doesn’t go as far as providing her personal phone number, but she does give her card and seems genuinely concerned about my grandmother's ability to use the phone in my absence. For the second time today, I leave a consumer electronics department fighting back tears. 

By now, it’s almost 8pm and it’s time for dinner. My grandmother recommends a place called Bone Fish, which is right down the street. We grab a large booth in the bar and decide to order appetizers only. She orders more shrimp and I get the mussels. I also opt for a glass of Chardonnay and my grandmother has the same. We enjoy a long dinner, where she inevitably makes friends with our server. When it’s time to leave he insists on giving us desert on the house. It’s banana foster, which has been on my list of things to try for many years. We end up closing down the restaurant.

When we get back to the Bob Hope Village, it’s so late that the main lobby is locked. I have to stand outside for 10 minutes with my grandmother while security comes to let her back in. 

We agree to meet at 9am tomorrow for breakfast before my flight home.           

Pili nuts save the day

Friday, September 21st 2018

Los Angeles, CA and Shalimar, FL

It’s 2pm and I am standing outside of my office waiting on a Lyft to LAX. I’ve been at my new job for about 6 weeks and I already need to take time off to visit my grandmother for her 92nd birthday. In an effort to minimize time out of the office, I am flying out to Florida on Friday afternoon and back in on Sunday. This is going to whirlwind trip and I hope everything goes smoothly. 

By 4:30pm my flight to Dallas is boarding, as planned. I am armed with 2 liters of water, a bag of pili nuts, 2 Bulletproof collagen bars, Ready Player One and season one of Atypical. The airplane is enormous and I settle into my aisle seat and immediately turn on Ready Player One. The movie is surprisingly good and I am so into it that I don’t even notice we are still on the ground until it ends. Ah man, this does not fare well for my connecting flight. 

Eventually we take off. I order coffee from the the drink cart and proceed to watch most of Atypical before I hear an announcement from the captain. He says that we may have noticed that we have been circling Dallas for the last few hours (I had not) and that we will soon run out of gas (wait, what?). He says that we can not get into the Dallas airport due to weather and that we are going to go land at El Paso (ugh). 

An hour later, in El Paso, I am on my 3rd cup of airplane coffee and halfway through my bag of pili nuts. We can not get off the plane because the jetway is too small to connect to. I am in the way back of the plane and most passengers have a good attitude about the situation. About 2 hours later, we are back in the air in attempt number 2 to land in Dallas. 

At 2:15am I am finally deplaning in Dallas. My American app has deleted the boarding pass to my connecting flight, so I am pretty sure that I’m stuck here. As one of the last passengers off the plane, the line at the ticket counter is already very long. I wander over to the flight status board and see that my connecting flight has not left yet. Whoa, I can not believe that plane is still here. It’s scheduled to leave in 45 minutes.

I easily make it to my next gate and my flight into Pensacola goes as planned. I even get an empty seat next to me, I guess 3:30am is not a popular time to fly. When I arrive in Pensacola I beeline to the rental car booth. I grab one of the last cars from Alamo and end up getting upgraded to a small SUV. I ask the rental guy if my grandmother will be able to get into this kind of SUV and he dryly replies yes. Oh well, this is my only option. 

Around 4:30am I start my 1.5 hour drive to Shalimar. At one point I pull over for a snack, but end up only buying a diet Dr. Pepper. I am strangely not hungry. A bag a peli nuts and 2 liters of water goes farther than you would think. 

I pull into the Bob Hope Village at 6am. My grandmother has booked me a room in her her retirement community and the 24 hour guard is supposed to show me to the room and give me a key. There is no guard at the gate and it appears that parking lot is being prepared as part of a route for a 5K run. I find a phone number on the door of the guard booth and wait nearly 10 minutes for someone to come and get me. By 6:15am I am finally settled in my room. I have plans to meet my grandmother for breakfast at 7:30am, so I use the next 1 hour and 15 minutes to shower, nap and meditate. 

At 7:30am sharp I am knocking on her door for our birthday breakfast date.      

Pizza and macaroons

Tuesday, July 10th 2018

Bordeaux and Paris, France and Los Angeles

It’s 5am and I am getting up to catch my cab to the Bordeaux train station. My train leaves at 6:30am but I am scared about navigating the train station and arrive by 6am. I am able to find the monitors with the platform numbers and see that mine has not been announced. Around 6:15 the monitors malfunction and an announcement comes over the speaker, 100% in French. Uh oh. I follow a large group people who are reacting to the announcement. They lead me to train 8400 and I so relieved. I board and find my seat immediately. The ride back to the Montparnasse station is easy. 

Now that I am back in Paris, I have about 4 hours to make the one hour transfer to the airport. I am starving and carrying two very large bags. I try to get breakfast in the train station, but nothing looks good. I end up drinking two cups of coffee instead. 

I open up Uber to check the price to get to the airport and it’s over 100 Euros. Whoa, that’s well over double what I paid to get into town. Well, I have some time to kill, maybe I can figure out another way. I approach the self serve ticket kiosk to look for a train to the airport. Tickets are almost 70 Euros and the available times are very limited. This is strange.

I log back onto to wifi and do some research. There is an express bus for 10 Euros that leaves every 30 minutes. The bus stop should be right outside. I walk outside and immediately see the stops for city buses, but can not find the stop for the express airport bus. I head back to the other side of the station, to no avail. Oh well, at least I’m not in a rush. 

Eventually I find the stop about a block away from where I started. Just as I walk up, the bus pulls away. Damn. 30 minutes later, I have successfully boarded the next bus. 

Soon I arrive at the airport. Check in and security is very easy. I am early and excited to get settled in my terminal so that I can have an actual meal. When I arrive at my gate I am surprised to find no sit down restaurants on this side of security. I end buying a pizza, coffee and some macaroons. Yep, this is how I’m going out of France. 

Once I am done eating, I reach for my phone to charge up for the plane ride. Uh oh. It’s not there. No big deal, it must be in my bag. I dig around, but still can't find it. Well, it’s probably stuck somewhere. I sit on the ground on empty my entire backpack one item at a time. Still nothing. 

I remember using my phone on the bus, but I have not seen it since then. My pants do not have pockets. Did I leave it on the seat of the bus? Oh crap. I think I did. 

I spend the next 30 minutes buying a temp phone on Amazon and having it shipped to my house. I also file a report with the French department of public transportation. I’m pretty upset by this development but also relieved that I am about to leave and don't have to navigate anywhere else. 

Eventually, I board the plane. The flight back is a healthy mix of wine, naps and TV. When I land in LA it’s easy to get a cab back to my car at the office. 

Well, Bordeaux took my heart and Paris took my phone. As soon as I enter my house, I open my most expensive bottle of wine, pour a glass and start attempting to recover my photos on iCloud. 

The grapes must suffer

Monday, July 9th 2018

Bordeaux, France 

It’s 9am CES and my alarm is going off. This is my last full day in France and I intend to take full advantage. I quickly get ready and head outside to find the perfect cafe for breakfast. My plan is to spend the morning on the left bank of the Garonne. This half town has the oldest buildings, smallest streets and feels decidedly less hipster than the scene across the river.

I start off by randomly taking turns inward from the river until I find a small square lined with sidewalk cafes. I pick the one with the most people and grab a small table. I order a cafe creme and scone. Admittedly my scone knowledge is limited to Starbucks and Virgin Atlantic, so I am pleasantly surprised to learn this pastry more resembles a dense KFC biscuit than a dried out muffin. I dowse my scone in clotted cream and shamelessly stare into the square as little bits of my scone break off onto my shirt and table. I am having such a nice time that I order another cafe creme. 

After breakfast, I have a few points on interest to see. First on my list is the main tourism office, this is where I’ll meet for my afternoon wine tour. I am notoriously terrible at navigation, so I spend about 20 minutes wandering around the main square before I reach full confidence that I have located the correct address. 

Now, onto the fun stuff. 

I spend the rest of the morning locating and photographing the main cathedral, a large fountain, the old opera house and few important statues. As a bonus, I run into the Grand Hommes shopping center, which is a strangely modern building set against a sea of limestone from the early 1800s, many of which are part of an UNESCO world heritage site. I wander inside to find a regular combination of clothing, cosmetics, shoes and cafes. I am not overly enthused to be in a mall, but am grateful for a break in the AC. 

Around 1pm I go back to my hotel to clean up and change for my wine tour. I am back at the tourism office almost 30 minutes early. I find a large cafe next door and order a cup of espresso while I wait. After much internal debate, I booked an English-speaking tour to Saint Emilion, which is the older wine region on the right bank, with smaller vineyards and richer history. As a result, I will not be seeing Medoc, which is the newer, more commercial region on the left bank, with the grand Chateaus. 

At 1:55pm our tour is already gathered. Our tour group is small, consisting of me and couples from Texas, Canada and Norway. Our tour guide is named Luigi and I think that he is not French. He gives a quick introduction of himself and asks where everyone is from. He asks me directly if I enjoy California wine and I lie by saying that I enjoy all wine. 

When we gather in front of the minibus to the winery, Luigi insists that I sit up front, forcing the older Norwegian couple to the back. I feel bad, but after 1.5 days of being truly solo, I really want to chat with someone. 

During the 45 minute drive to St Emilion I learn a lot. Bordeaux was revitalized about 20 years ago, when the French government finally realized that people enjoy visiting wine country. The city is almost entirely built from limestone which starts to discolor after 20-25 years. It’s taken almost 20 years to clean all of the buildings, so now it’s basically time to start cleaning again. It was founded as a port town and the largest industry is aerospace. Bordeaux is a tech hub and many engineers live here and work for companies headquartered in Paris. They recently installed a high speed train that goes directly to Paris in only 2 hours and 4 minutes, which is 310 miles. 

As we near our destination, Luigi gives a brief explanation of Bordeaux wines over the speaker in the bus. Bordeauxs are always blends. In Saint-Emilion the blends tend to be Merlot dominant and in Medoc they are Cabernet dominant. The Medoc region is much newer and was actually created by the Dutch, who drained the swamps to create more space for vineyards. The Saint-Emilion region dates back to the 1200s, when a princess from Bordeaux married the King of England. As a result, the area belonged to England for a brief period of time, when it was decreed to be used for the sole purpose of growing and making wine. For most of recent history the Medoc region has reigned as superior until another kind of royalty rediscovered Saint-Emilion. This time it was American royalty, in the 1960s the Kennedys fell in love with Saint-Emilion and with one photograph, it was brought it back in vogue.    

Our first stop is the town of Saint-Emilion. It’s located amongst vineyards that are mostly flat, however, the town is terraced. I think this is not how California would do it, but I keep that thought to myself. We complete a brief walking tour of the town. Luigi points out a pricing grid, which is posted on one of the main streets. It lists the classifications for all of the vineyards of this region by decade, as well as, as the price per classification. The labels for Saint-Emilion Bordeauxs are fascinating and explain everything you need to know to pick a wine without ever tasting it. This is genius. 

We duck into a small wine shop, where the friendly owner pours our first tasting. He pours 4 tastes, starting off with a wine that is 100% Merlot. I find it offensive, especially in this extreme summer heat. The next 3 pours are better, but I am not blown away. At the end of the tasting I buy the second to last bottle and ask for a recommendation for a basic table wine that tastes less like Merlot. He gives me a bottle for 8 Euros and I am sure that I will love it.  

On the way to the vineyard Luigi brings up the story of the great wine blight of the mid-nineteenth century. He tells the whole bus how a fungus from California nearly killed all of the grapes in France. The eventual solution was to graft roots from California vines onto the French wines to make them resilient to the fungus. The story ends by Luigi announcing that California caused the problem but also brought the solution. He smiles happily at me as to say that European wine will always prevail.   

As we enter Chateau Ratouin we are immediately greeted by one of their employees. She explains a little bit about their biodynamic practices and then dives into the very specific soil of Pomerol, which is a sub-region of Saint-Emilion. The soil is mostly clay and parts of it are actually blue. This occurs because the soil is filled with iron. Once it makes contact with oxygen it turns red (basically, we’ll just have to trust that it was once blue). She speaks about the thickness of the soil, the heat from the sun and the age of the vines (typically between 40 and 70 years). She says that the grapes must suffer to develop thicker skins and produce more flavor. I immediately picture the lush, breezy, terraced vineyards of the California Central Coast and deduct those grapes must be happy. I decide that happy grapes taste good too.

Soon we head inside to discuss the fermentation process. I am surprised to see large clay cylinders mixed in with the more traditional stainless steel. Our guide explains they have been fermenting and aging certain wines in clay to get a cleaner, smoother taste. She says there has been a recent move away from aging wine in oak due to the fact that a major wine critic, who had a strong affinity for oak, recently passed. I am fascinated and hanging on every word.

Eventually, we make our way into the tasting room, where she pours our tasting. Again, the wines start out a little tart and dry for me, but the last few pours are very, very good. The wine here is much more expensive, but I shell out for a mid range bottle.      

On the way back I continue to chat with Luigi. I learn that the roses at the end of each row of grapes are used as an early detection system for disease. I also learn that well aged Merlot would pair best with smoked pork shoulder. 

We arrive back in town around 6pm. It’s still a little early for dinner, so I find a bar to enjoy happy hour. I sit outside and drink a glass of Rosé. The wifi in Bordeaux is very reliable, so I spend my time catching Pokemon and watching people. I want to order a small cheese plate, but as I look around, I see that my only option is a very large cheese plate. I nibble on some peanuts as I order a second glass. 

Eventually the air begins to cool and it’s time for dinner. Tonight I opt for dinner on the river. There are several strips of restaurants and I find one called Formule, which appears to sell only mussels and fries. I’m in. 

I’m seated at an awesome table in the corner with a great view of the river and the rest of the restaurant. The menu has 30 different variations of mussels. I am immediately stressed but ultimately end up ordering the Rockfort mussels with creme and my server assures me that I made a good choice. I am overjoyed by her approval. I also order white wine, which automatically comes in a 375 ml bottle nestled in a little bucket of ice. This is so cool. 

My meal is totally awesome and ranks a very close second to the duck on my first night in Paris. As the sun starts to set, I order a plate of profiteroles and a cup of coffee. It’s great and I am totally stuffed. 

By the time I am done with dinner it’s almost 10pm. I have a very early train back to Paris so I begrudgingly walk back to my hotel. The front desk is extremely helpful in ordering me a cab for 5:30am and I am off to pack and sleep.