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plinkoI feel bad for always telling horrific stories about my step-mother, as if she was some sort of rampaging hell-beast. And while I did live in constant and utter fear of the woman, there were times when, for some mysterious reason, she was a decent human being. Usually, this was when my father, or lots of other people, were around. But, I recall one particular time when she and I were alone...and she seemed totally normal.
It was a road trip.
My father was off (as per usual) in some random state giving lectures about mathematics. This happened a lot in the summertime, when he didn't have to teach, and I'd end up in the care of my stepmother.* My step-sister had been invited to a dance camp in Victoria, Texas. We drove my step-sister to my step-grandparents' house in Victoria, and then...my stepmother and I drove back to College Station alone.
I was dreading it. Utterly and completely dreading it. I just knew that somehow my stepmother would make all this extra driving my fault by saying something like, "Well, if your mother would have just taken you on an off-weekend, I could have stayed and visited." Or she'd spend the entire time thinking up scathing comments about whatever I decided to do in the car (which was usually reading a book or writing stories).
But, to my surprise, this didn't happen at all.
Instead, she put in various casette tapes and we sung along with them. This was probably around '88 or '89, so it was stuff like INXS and Tears for Fears. My stepmother was a lovely singer, and had a very keen musical ear. She'd cut a record when she was younger, and I think she always regretted not pushing to go farther in her musical career.
It was a rather lovely day out. Just a little overcast, enough to cut the Texas summer heat by a few degrees. When she wasn't singing to the tapes, my stepmother told me about church choir adventures when she was young. Her family had always been deeply involved in their church, and she was sad that she didn't feel as much connection or sense of community with our family's church in College Station.
At some point during the trip, we stopped at this...place. Sort of a cross between a restaurant and a tourist store. They had things like mounted armadillos, local hothothot sauces, belt buckles, horny-toad t-shirts, and maps. But, at the very back, they sold homemade dried sausage and this mini-baguette bread. To my surprise, my stepmother bought some for herself and for me, along with sodas! (Usually, she'd tell me something like to "not expect to get a snack just because she was" or something like that.)
Not only did we get this stuff, but my stepmother said we would eat it in the CAR, which was completely-and-utterly forbidden by the house rules. It was GREAT. The dried sausage was just utterly divine, so salty and chewy and good. I've long bemoaned the fact that I've never been able to find that place again. Hopefully someone who has driven between College Station and Victoria a lot knows where it is.
The entire trip went without a single incident, which caused a strange feeling to fall over me. I was glad, but a lot of the gladness was mixed with furtive distrust. Was it a trick? Was I being set up for something? Nothing ever happened, though. And now...looking back, I have to wonder if my stepmother was on some sort of strange medications that day, because she was certainly different than usual.
--
I also realize I haven't written much about my adventures with my mother, which...looking back, I suppose we had some fairly interesting adventures! Recently, my mother said something to me like, "I guess you had a very eventful childhood. With some strange times and hard times." She seemed a little sad about some of the things I went through when I was young. But, I have many great and happy memories of times with my mother. Even if things did get a little weird on occasion. So I told her, "Yes, but... At least it gives me a lot of interesting stories to tell."
When I was a girl, my mom joined a Barbecue Cookoff Team. Some of her friends had convinced her. I think this was around the time that she was working as a bartender, so she met some strange but wonderful people that way.
(A digression - I loved the bar where she worked. It was dark and cool and cavelike on the inside. They always gave me 7-Up with extra cherries in it, which I adored. I suppose it should strike me as odd that I spent so much time in a bar as a kid, but... I remember it being amazing fun. I think sometimes I went there with Mom in the afternoons on the weekends when they were getting ready for big parties and stuff. The best thing about that bar was that they had VIDEO GAMES BUILT INTO TABLES in the back. Pac Man and perhaps Centipede. OMG. Most. Fun. Ever.)
Anyway, Mom joined the Barbecue Cookoff team, and I joined along with her. If you do not know about Barbecue Cookoffs, you may not know that they are SERIOUS BUSINESS, and the various teams do what they can to come up with the best recipes in various categories, from beans, to meats, to sauce, to chili. There's a bit about it on this page.
Serious contenders not only come up with amazing food, but crazy ass designs for their barbecue pits. They make them out of everything! Ours was made out of a Model-T, I shit-you-not. But, there were all sorts of designs. I remember one that looked like a dragon and breathed fire, and another that appeared to be made out of part of a train car. The various groups that built these things were...well, imagine a group of Hell's Angels dedicated to barbecue instead of motorcycles. That's about what the crowd was like, to my mind. They were basically good people, but had immensely strong personalities...and you did not want to piss them off.
The food. OMG the food. It was WONDERFUL. Everyone was always trying to get you to "taste this" or "try these". After setting up our pit and tent, I'd usually ask Mom if I could wander around and look at everything. It was SUCH an adventure to see. All of these strange people from all over the United States (and sometimes beyond) coming together in the summer sun to compete for titles of Best Barbecue. Often, there were bazaars where people were selling their handicrafts and local produce, mixed in with touristy stuff. And sometimes there was even a carnival. My favorite ride was the Gravitron, which I have probably ridden more times than is healthy for a human, or really any vertibrate.
So, all this was great fun... And besides minor incidents of poison ivy, sunburn, and the occasional drama over stolen bbq-sauce recipes, it was without particular incident...
Until we decided to go to Des Moines, Iowa.
(To be continued.)
*My parents had joint custody. One year I would live with my mother, then the next year, I'd live with my father. It was terribly confusing and I almost never went to the same school two years in a row, which sucked on the making-friends front.
It was a road trip.
My father was off (as per usual) in some random state giving lectures about mathematics. This happened a lot in the summertime, when he didn't have to teach, and I'd end up in the care of my stepmother.* My step-sister had been invited to a dance camp in Victoria, Texas. We drove my step-sister to my step-grandparents' house in Victoria, and then...my stepmother and I drove back to College Station alone.
I was dreading it. Utterly and completely dreading it. I just knew that somehow my stepmother would make all this extra driving my fault by saying something like, "Well, if your mother would have just taken you on an off-weekend, I could have stayed and visited." Or she'd spend the entire time thinking up scathing comments about whatever I decided to do in the car (which was usually reading a book or writing stories).
But, to my surprise, this didn't happen at all.
Instead, she put in various casette tapes and we sung along with them. This was probably around '88 or '89, so it was stuff like INXS and Tears for Fears. My stepmother was a lovely singer, and had a very keen musical ear. She'd cut a record when she was younger, and I think she always regretted not pushing to go farther in her musical career.
It was a rather lovely day out. Just a little overcast, enough to cut the Texas summer heat by a few degrees. When she wasn't singing to the tapes, my stepmother told me about church choir adventures when she was young. Her family had always been deeply involved in their church, and she was sad that she didn't feel as much connection or sense of community with our family's church in College Station.
At some point during the trip, we stopped at this...place. Sort of a cross between a restaurant and a tourist store. They had things like mounted armadillos, local hothothot sauces, belt buckles, horny-toad t-shirts, and maps. But, at the very back, they sold homemade dried sausage and this mini-baguette bread. To my surprise, my stepmother bought some for herself and for me, along with sodas! (Usually, she'd tell me something like to "not expect to get a snack just because she was" or something like that.)
Not only did we get this stuff, but my stepmother said we would eat it in the CAR, which was completely-and-utterly forbidden by the house rules. It was GREAT. The dried sausage was just utterly divine, so salty and chewy and good. I've long bemoaned the fact that I've never been able to find that place again. Hopefully someone who has driven between College Station and Victoria a lot knows where it is.
The entire trip went without a single incident, which caused a strange feeling to fall over me. I was glad, but a lot of the gladness was mixed with furtive distrust. Was it a trick? Was I being set up for something? Nothing ever happened, though. And now...looking back, I have to wonder if my stepmother was on some sort of strange medications that day, because she was certainly different than usual.
--
I also realize I haven't written much about my adventures with my mother, which...looking back, I suppose we had some fairly interesting adventures! Recently, my mother said something to me like, "I guess you had a very eventful childhood. With some strange times and hard times." She seemed a little sad about some of the things I went through when I was young. But, I have many great and happy memories of times with my mother. Even if things did get a little weird on occasion. So I told her, "Yes, but... At least it gives me a lot of interesting stories to tell."
When I was a girl, my mom joined a Barbecue Cookoff Team. Some of her friends had convinced her. I think this was around the time that she was working as a bartender, so she met some strange but wonderful people that way.
(A digression - I loved the bar where she worked. It was dark and cool and cavelike on the inside. They always gave me 7-Up with extra cherries in it, which I adored. I suppose it should strike me as odd that I spent so much time in a bar as a kid, but... I remember it being amazing fun. I think sometimes I went there with Mom in the afternoons on the weekends when they were getting ready for big parties and stuff. The best thing about that bar was that they had VIDEO GAMES BUILT INTO TABLES in the back. Pac Man and perhaps Centipede. OMG. Most. Fun. Ever.)
Anyway, Mom joined the Barbecue Cookoff team, and I joined along with her. If you do not know about Barbecue Cookoffs, you may not know that they are SERIOUS BUSINESS, and the various teams do what they can to come up with the best recipes in various categories, from beans, to meats, to sauce, to chili. There's a bit about it on this page.
Serious contenders not only come up with amazing food, but crazy ass designs for their barbecue pits. They make them out of everything! Ours was made out of a Model-T, I shit-you-not. But, there were all sorts of designs. I remember one that looked like a dragon and breathed fire, and another that appeared to be made out of part of a train car. The various groups that built these things were...well, imagine a group of Hell's Angels dedicated to barbecue instead of motorcycles. That's about what the crowd was like, to my mind. They were basically good people, but had immensely strong personalities...and you did not want to piss them off.
The food. OMG the food. It was WONDERFUL. Everyone was always trying to get you to "taste this" or "try these". After setting up our pit and tent, I'd usually ask Mom if I could wander around and look at everything. It was SUCH an adventure to see. All of these strange people from all over the United States (and sometimes beyond) coming together in the summer sun to compete for titles of Best Barbecue. Often, there were bazaars where people were selling their handicrafts and local produce, mixed in with touristy stuff. And sometimes there was even a carnival. My favorite ride was the Gravitron, which I have probably ridden more times than is healthy for a human, or really any vertibrate.
So, all this was great fun... And besides minor incidents of poison ivy, sunburn, and the occasional drama over stolen bbq-sauce recipes, it was without particular incident...
Until we decided to go to Des Moines, Iowa.
(To be continued.)
*My parents had joint custody. One year I would live with my mother, then the next year, I'd live with my father. It was terribly confusing and I almost never went to the same school two years in a row, which sucked on the making-friends front.
