Officially a Texan

In the mail this week came a little booklet called "How to apply to be a Texan." I've rented a house, obtained gas, electric, water, cable and phone service, opened a bank account, and started a new job but until I complete all the steps required by the Texas Department of Safety, I'm not officially a Texan. The first step is insurance coverage, which in a nice bit of timing, was due for renewal shortly after I moved here. Then comes something called a state inspection. Assuming the vehicle passes, you take the certificate and title and proof of insurance to a title office - along with a passle of money. To complete the process, one has to go to another office, taking all the papers you've accumulated so far, plus Social Security card, and passport or birth certificate, to get a Texas drivers license.
Heading the warnings not to carry one's SS card around, I'd very carefully put it someplace safe months ago. Yeah, some place so safe that I couldn't find it. So after an afternoon of sorting through file boxes of "important" papers - and throwing away many which were no longer in that category - I finally found my card - yep, in the place where it should have been, where I thought I put it and already had looked several times. AARRGGHH! Friday afternoon I appeared with all the right papers, endured the 90 minutes of waiting by working on my Spanish vocabulary, posed for my glamour-not shot, signed my name, pressed each thumb on the appropriate scanner, wrote another check and walked out with my temporary card. Now, I'm officially a Texan.
Not that I'm any where close to being a REAL Texan. My guess is I could spend the rest of my life here and never achieve that status. I've been here long enough to figure that would require far more than three pieces of paper and payment of a few fees.

Climate Change

Last March, I was struggling to decide whether to renew the lease on my apartment in Wisconsin for another six months or to give the required 60-day notice vacate at the end of the May. On the 30th, the call came that I was the choice of a church search committee to serve as interim pastor. Two weeks later, I was in El Paso for interviews, signed the lease on a house I found through the web, and three weeks after that, I arrived in Texas.
Whew! What a quick change! What a climate change!

A visitor from Europe who had no idea what Wisconsin was like asked me to describe the place I had most recently called home. "Just think of the opposite of here," I explained. That was all I need to say.
From the predominance of one feature of climate/culture to the abundance of its contrasting elements, here's some of my observations of opposites or difference between eastern Wisconsin and west Texas :)

Rural / urban
green / brown
evergreens / cactus
wetlands / desert
grass / gravel
trees / rocks
wind chill factor / heat index
wild turkeys / hummingbirds
sandhill cranes / doves
deer on the highways/ traffic jams on the freeway
Brats / burritos
Southwest / Upper Midwest
storm windows & doors / barred windows & doors
unlocked / double locked
polka / mariachi
cheese / chilis
beer / tequilla
space heaters / Swamp coolers
ice fishing / ???
Greenbay Packers/high school football
fleece and flannel / sunscreen and sunhats
Canadian border / Mexican border
Dairy cattle / pecan groves
Opening Days deer season and fishing season / Cinco de Mayo and Day of the Dead

Neighbors

The blue tarps are gone.
One of the first things I do in the morning is pull back the blinds at the sliding doors in my living room. I love light. I need light, lots of it. I picked this particular second floor apartment because of its view to the west of sky and trees and geese flying pond to pond.
Of course, I also have a view of the building across the parking lot, identical to the one in which I live. So when I sit on my couch, I look through the sliding glass doors and the railing of my balconey to the windows and balconeys of the other apartments. I'm aware when lights are on or off, when shades are open or closed, when patio furniture is moved. To not notice, I would have to keep my blinds closed.
So, of course I noticed when the folks directly across from me covered their patio furniture with tarps on a cold day last fall when winter's first snow appeared likely in the weather forecasts. Bright blue glossy tarps tied down with ropes were an affront to the weathered wood of the railing and the natural grays and tans of the rock exterior of the building.
The tarps were also sensible protection against the wet and cold of the winter months. We have indeed had plenty of wet and cold the past few months. Weeks at a stretch when the thermometer barely budged above zero. Snow storms following snow storms with some helfty wind gusts thrown in for good measure. For almost two weeks, there has been a snow drift on my balconey that was more than 2 feet deep. The weather began to warm over the weekend, the sun was shining brightly, and by Tuesday, the snow had melted.
Wednesday the tarps were gone.
Today I noticed that my neighbor was gone.
At the top of the stairs in this end of the building is a small landing with just enough room for the doors to three apartments. When I came home this afternoon, hoses from a carpet cleaning truck snaked up the stairway through the open doorway of a now empty apartment. I have no idea when my neighbor moved out. Of course, I never knew his name, never had a conversation with him. Our paths rarely crossed. I couldn't help but hear his footsteps on the stairway that shares a wall with my living room. I never did figure out what kind of schedule he was keeping. Was he a student? Did he work shifts? Was he staying at his girlfriend's house part of the time? I did notice her coming and going a few times.
How did I not notice that he had moved out? After all, I work at home and spend most of my time here.
What a contrast to the way I moved in. Dozens of trips with a van full of boxes and furniture, augmented by a couple loads in a pickup and trailer.
Now, I wonder, will I notice when I have a neighbor?