Snow and sand

Where can you lounge at a sun-kissed beach and then walk in a pure white snowfield?  Houston, that's where!  This classic combo was the greeting we gave Ellen and Meg, who are here for Christmas, having flown in from Heathrow, avoiding a couple of drones on the way.

The beach was our very own Galveston, where crystal blue waves lapped the shore and we enjoyed temperatures that would flatter an English summer.  There was some paddling, but no swimming, and an ice cream at Ben & Jerry's.  I did not remove my sandals and socks.

The next day it was off to find snow, which the Children's Museum had conveniently shipped in and piled up between straw bales.  The ski report would have said "slushy with ice patches" and there was an outrageous prohibition against snowball making and throwing!  Pete and Megan stood in it for thirty seconds then declared they were bored and left.

Around this has been the constant cooking, with delicacies such as Stollen with homemade candied peel, chocolate peanut butter cheesecake, and gingerbread houses appearing hourly in our kitchen.  If I felt the need to get in shape for the summer I'd be seriously worried for myself right now.

And all that before the big day even arrives!  Here's hoping Santa can find somewhere larger than the local snow patch to land his reindeer.

Texan Christmas y'all.

It was hotter than Hannah makes it look.

When I were a lad we had to make do playing with sticks and mud!

A Christmas ice cream.

There's nothing like real snow, and this is nothing like real snow.

Enough room for a snow angel?

The face of unimpressedness.

A much more interesting prospect: soldering LEDs to a rocket in the maker lab.

Merry Christmas!

Aforementioned choc and pb cheesecake.

And a very fine gingerbread house.

Adventageous

It's the run-up to Christmas, which begins as soon as the Thanksgiving turkey has been washed down.  This year offered all the usual parties, kicking off with Chevron Santa and a breakfast buffet.  It was a reminder of how fast my baby boy is growing up, as it's the first year he's been happy in proximity to a red-dressed bearded old man.  We'll be working on stranger danger to make sure it doesn't happen again.

The winter season has brought some unseasonal weather, which meant a birthday party was relocated from a rainy local park to Chick-Fil-A.  For those unacquainted, it's a fast-food restaurant, like McDonalds but for chicken, and extremely religious.  Now imagine holding a birthday party in there on a packed Saturday afternoon.  I sat in the corner supping a milkshake and admiring the chaos.

We rounded out the weekend with the Houston Museum of Natural Science Christmas bash.  Santa was here too, but why bother with him when you can ride a dinosaur?  Finally science delivers something worthwhile.

I collapsed at home after all this, cradling a brandy, and wondering the same thing I do every year: how am I going to make it to actual Christmas Day?

What do you say if a stranger offers you sweeties?

Perfect party location.

Six-yr-old Sebas and his no-artificial-ingredients cake.

Oh, and it was fancy dress.

 

A little pre-Yule yard work.

Rudolph the red-nosed velociraptor.

Pete and Emila, an old friend from pre-school.

One for next year's card.

Advent is all about preparing for Christmas, i.e. getting the body ready for even more indulgence.

Meanwhile, in Laos

I've just found out my parents have another child!  She's called Emily, and is currently working as a nurse in Laos.  Apparently she grew up with me in Frome, but I don't have much recollection of that.

Anyway, Mum decided to travel out to South East Asia to meet her, joined by traveling companion Sheila who goes along whenever Dad judges a location too exotic (i.e. further than the Isle of Wight).

They've been seeing the sights, living the life, and generally having a great time in temperatures 35C+.  They've assured me they won't be carrying any packages for people they don't know, because I am not in the mood to break someone out of a Thai prison, and they've also been keeping me updated with daily photos.  There seems to be a theme...

Important to stay hydrated in the heat.

 Are they both for you?

 Is this the same day, or...?

 At least you're not drinking alone.

Welcome to the family!  Looks like you'll fit right in.

Farewellgiving

All good things must come to an end, even a Thanksgiving stay with the Muckers.  Although I admit it'll be nice to be back in a house where there's something other than turkey leftovers in the fridge.

Before we were allowed to escape wild Florida for civilised Texas, Christine and Vince insisted on a final jaunt out, this time to the iconic restaurant/music venue that is Skipper's Smokehouse.

If you can imagine a wooden music shack, miles from anywhere in the middle of the Florida swamps, with lichen hanging from the trees and a clientele still coming down from the 60s, you have a good idea of what this place is (even though it's in the middle of a wealthy Tampa suburb).  Throw in a Grateful Dead tribute band and a LOT of tie-die, and you have our Skipper's experience.  I enjoyed the strange situation of not being the worst dancer there, thanks to being in control of my limbs, and some judicious use of the free hula-hoops offered at the side of the stage.

The next morning we said our farewells and got back on the road for the small matter of a 14-hour drive home.  We stopped overnight in Mississippi because...well, why not?  It all went very smoothly, and I remain relieved that the one-hour-screen-time-a-day rule is invalid in cars, which means Pete enjoys time driving more than being at home, forced to play with Mummy and Daddy.  Kids these days, eh?

Many many thanks again to C,V,C,JJ and Jim and Jean for another fantastic celebration of that happy time when America was still owned by Britain.  See you next year!

I'm telling you man, Jerry was there!

Some of these folks had genuinely seen the 60s.

They played both kinds of music: prog and rock.

On the way home.

Not the Mississippi, but a tributary.  So small!

Shrimp.

Don't feed the alligators...any of your limbs.

A final one for the road.

Sponge hunters

In the post-Thanksgiving glow/indigestion, what can a family do?  Not go Black Friday sales shopping at 4am, certainly.  Eat turkey and stuffing sandwiches, definitely.  But what about entertainment?  Luckily for us, the Muckers live a short drive away from Tarpon Springs: the sponge capital of the world.

While this news left me looking forward to a nice Victoria sandwich, it soon became clear that they were talking about sea sponges, those things you used to see in bathrooms in the 1970s.  Well, the sponge trade is still going strong in Tarpon, where most people speak Greek because in 1905 an entrepreneur started recruiting Europe's best sponge divers and that's where they come from.

One of my favourite things about America is that you get these places that have their "thing", and then they lean into that as far as they can.  There's the town in California called Solvang where everything is Danish.  Then there's the guy in Arizona who bought London Bridge and decided to build a whole city around it.  In Tarpon Springs, every shop sells sponges and knock-off Greek statues, and every restaurant serves you moussaka and spanakopita, and lets you wash it down with ouzo.  It made me wonder what the local chamber of commerce meetings are like.

But, when in Greece...so we quickly boarded a boat to go and watch a (ridiculously good-looking) diver put on an ancient diving suit, jump into the muddy waters, and return with a sponge on a fork.  And yes, they did refer to him as a "sponge hunter", which seemed a bit dramatic given that sponges attach themselves to a rock and spend their whole life sitting there, unmoving.

I learned some things.  There are only five types of sponge that have any commercial use.  Sponges can live up to 200 years.  Sponges can be used as plant pots.  Most distressingly, having been told by Christine that sponges are plants and they only harvest the top bit so that they grow back, it turns out that sponges are animals, and the spongey bit is actually their desiccated skeleton!  Suddenly I'm washing myself with someone's dead body!!  I will use this as another excuse to skip baths.

After our trip we met up with the rest of the Mucker party at a Greek restaurant and enjoyed gyros and Greek salad, then treated each child to a sponge.  To wash with, not to eat.  I had a friend who swallowed a sponge.  The doctor said he'll be fine, but he can't stop drinking water!  Hahahaa...

Next generation of sponge hunter.

The captain, who may have been one of the original immigrants from 1905.

Sponge diver.

He's hunted a sponge!

Returning to the boat with his trophy.

This is a sponge, before it's DRIED TO DEATH.

 Apprentice.

The five types of commercial sponge.

Sponge selfie!

Girl with sponge.

Talking turkey

Like every year, it was Thanksgiving again, when we celebrate the pilgrims almost starving by doing the opposite.  And our pilgrimage ended as we arrived at the Muckers' new house, although I imagine in 1621 they didn't have a hot tub or multiple TVs to keep all adults and children happy.

Our drive along the Florida panhandle took us through the destruction left by Hurricane Michael, and it was jaw-dropping.  Seeing everything blown around on the news is one thing, but driving through whole forests with every tree snapped off at 20-feet, past the twisted metal of highway signs and corrugated roofs, reinforced my understanding that when you're told to evacuate you probably should.

Thankfully, down in Tampa Bay everything was peaceful and sunny and we received the time-honoured Mucker welcome: a hug, a beer placed in your hand, and then lots of insults and humiliation.  It's so comforting that even in this divided country some things stay the same.  Jim and Jean had come over from Austin (flying, because they're a lot cleverer than us) so it was a full house...and soon after a very full belly.

What's the word for a collection of monsters?

It's Florida, it's the day before Thanksgiving, so it's beach time.  Even though the temperature was more Tynemouth than Tampa.

Hannah and Christine brave the cold waters.

Claire is less convinced.

Some stunning sand castle architecture from the firm Davies & Davies.

Come to the Muckers for the topless cocktail waitresses!

Thanksgiving morning, and the kitchen is already buzzing (I stayed away - no need to add to the crowd).

Oh look, more booze!

Just like the pilgrims enjoyed.

Thanksgiving can be a tiring time.

 The unsinkable Mrs Davies!