Texas Food & Music – My Addictions | 12.8.10

I do not consider myself a “Christmas Sap” by any means, but I have small children and that in itself brings out the kid in me for the December holidays.  In Texas, the sights of Christmas may include a wreath on the front grill of an F350 truck accompanied by the stiff legs of a newly shot buck deer in the back.  Or perhaps a small town courthouse lit up like a nuclear power plant.  And one of the confused-hayseed Christmas lawn art classics, a plywood cut-out of Santa kneeling at the baby Jesus in the manger.  Tradition is a powerful thing, especially in Texas where we’ll kick your ass if you don’t agree (tongue n cheek, of course).

I played a show this past weekend at the legendary Gruene Hall in New Braunfels.  It was like who-ville … the town bustling with shoppers and the “lighting of the Christmas Tree” celebration, streets roped off.   It had been 85 degrees that day and once the sun fell, Texas received a Norther that [at least] made it seem cold enough for hot chocolate.

Although I do love the Christmas Holidays, my childhood along with my general skewed view of the world has me still searching for other interpretations of the meaning of Christmas.  Being the 4^th child in a poverty-stricken small town with divorced parents gave me plenty of reasons to want to find Christmas.  As most 1970’s custody-battle kids, I spent many holiday hours on a Grey Hound bus sitting behind the driver.  Back then, putting a 7-year old on a bus alone didn’t raise many eyebrows.  I got on and off at midway stops and perused the aisles of the coffeeshop or truckstop, where a couple of passengers were picked up or dropped off.  I always made it back to the bus on time before it roared down 290 towards Johnson City and then on to Austin.

My mother frequently “forgot” to pick me up from the downtown Austin bus station, so I sat behind the counter with the ticket lady who had some peppermint candy to keep me company.  I remember checking every payphone change hole for that lucky dime or two which might buy me a treat in the vending machines.  I was fascinated with the one which held toiletries such as black plastic combs, soap, and Aspirin instead of potato chips or candy. Who was the genius behind this machine? Or maybe not.  But I was fascinated, and I was soon ready for a life on the road.  What an adventure to take the bus all over the country and buy socks out of a vending machine in the winter…I had it all planned out, my kid-hobo life on the bus. Maybe I would even take up smoking so I could sit in the long triple seat at the back of the bus with the crazy-eyed man and his dog Shemp.

My hobo daydream was interrupted as the scene was stolen by my drunken mother as she flung open the doors of the bus station and slurred loudly, “There’s my BAAAAABy!”. That night, we took out half of an I35 guardrail as an encore performance to skipping-out on paying for a tank of gas.  I closed my eyes and thought of how I would have been in better hands with “crazy-eyes” and Shemp.  “Next stop Ozona, Midland-Odessa!”

Over the years I have come to realize how much I take for granted.  My life has been full of color from day 1 and although sometimes I feel that I should not have survived, I did.  Even if making it past the age of 18, statistics would say that there was probably little chance of future success.  In fact, the odds were definitely in my favor for meth-lab ownership or marrying my first cousin.  At a minimum, I should have been knocked up at age 15 by a stereo salesman in a Camaro named Rod.  Instead, I fell in love with a bass player twice my age named Lunchmeat and we wed under the stars and danced to George Jones’ “walk through this world with me” and Lucinda’s “Prove My Love”…we have been together for 20 years, have two kids, make beautiful music together and laugh a lot. 

Finding Christmas is never hard as long as my heart, mind, eyes and ears are all open.  When I close my eyes and think about Christmas,

I hear … Pretty Paper by Willie Nelson and The River by Joni Mitchell

I smell …tamales…freshly cut cedar from a chainsaw…diesel exhaust from a Greyhound bus

I taste …tamales…German panas…those ribbon candies at the nursing home where my Grandma Julia would use my cherub face to make the old-and-lonely smile

I feel ….the strings of artificial icicles in my hand…breadsacks-over-socks winter gloves … the pieces of loose shag carpet and hair stuck on my 3-day-old giant peppermint stick, yeah Baby!

And I see the many colors as they continue to decorate the branches of my tree of life.  Have Mercy on the Ordinary.

It’s comin’ on Christmas

Their cuttin’ down trees

Their puttin’ up reindeer

Singin’ songs of Joy and Peace

I wish I had a river

I could skate away on….Joni Mitchell

This week, I salute my favorite breakfast during the holidays, German Panas.  I suggest that you visit a meat market in a German town such as Fredericksburg or Comfort, TX.  If I gave you the recipe, it might completely gross you out…but Panas rock!  Buy a block of panas and cut the masa-like loaf into ¼-inch slices.  Fry the slices in canola oil or bacon grease until golden brown on both sides. Serve with over-medium fried egg or German soft-boiled eggs.

Non-traditional Holiday book recommendation: I read Las Christmas every year at Christmas – a set of short stories from various Latino writers who contribute a memorable Holiday Story or tradition along with a latino holiday recipe which makes the imagery in the story even more vivid to the mind. It is a scream!!! These stories are rich with colorful family life so very reminiscent of my own childhood and holiday family gatherings. It’s actually in the Food section at your local book store.  Warning: Not recommended as XMAS bedtime stories for the kiddies.

Peace, Love and…

Happy 2 U

Author: admin
Published: December 8, 2010
Filed Under: Blog

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