From the desk of T. Boone Pickens
Hey Army,

You all set to take on Washington?

So am I.

We’ve got less than three weeks until a new Congress is seated and our new President is sworn in. But before we muster the troops and charge up Capitol Hill, I want to share an experience of mine that not only changed how I do business but how I look at life.

Forty years ago, the small company I founded was looking at a big deal. In fact it was our biggest deal ever. That’s when a friend of mine, Dow Hamm, gave me a piece of advice I’ve never forgotten: “Boone, you’ll spend just as much time on a big deal as on a little deal.” And, he pointed out, you’ll find plenty of lagniappe in a big deal.

What’s lagniappe? I’ll tell you what it is. When we get America to end its addiction to foreign oil, new jobs will be created in new industries we can’t even begin to imagine. When we stop sending $700 billion a year to foreign countries and start spending that money on energy produced here in the United States, start-ups that none of us have ever heard of will get the seed capital they need to get off the ground and become industry giants. When we go all out and develop wind and solar and other renewable energies, the breakthroughs that American companies will pioneer are going to have other countries sending us billions of dollars for our technology, for our equipment, and for our know-how.

Over the last 50 years, I’ve done more than my share of big deals. But this one here with you, the Pickens Plan, is by far the biggest. And it’s going to pay off bigger than any of us can ever imagine.

That’s what lagniappe is. Now let’s go get plenty of it in 2009.

-Boone

P.S. We’re closing in on 1.4 million in the Army. Let’s get to 2 million by Inauguration Day. Please click here and invite a friend or family member to join us as we march on Washington next year.

It’s been all about Gillian this last month or so…I have the feeling the next one will be about my son, Aidan.  In the meantime, back to Gillian…

A few days ago, she came in my bed to read with me (it’s a family tradition), and said “Hey Mommy, I’m reading a book called ‘The Ugly Princess and the Wise Fool’”. That’s an oxymoron, isn’t it?

Let me remind you that she’s nine.

I told her that I’d seen plenty of ugly princesses, but not many wise fools, so yes, in my opinion, the second half of the title is indeed an oxymoron.

Even though she wouldn’t know what an oxymoron was if I didn’t have a t-shirt that says “Good morning is an oxymoron” and we explained it to her, I still think it’s cool that she was able to intellectualize the concept.

My kids are pretty cool.

Matt is my knight in shining armor. He came into my life when I was in my early twenties, had had my self-esteem beaten out of me emotionally and physically since I was very young, and was willing to settle for anyone who would want me…After all, anything is better than being alone, right (please read the disingenuous in this sentence)?

Although I was willing and would have been happy at the time to settle – I’ve never had much foresight – Matt showed up in my life and loved me unconditionally. He tenderly cared for me, built me up, move beyond the damage of my previous years (heretofore known as the Pre-Matt era) and helped me to learn to be a sociably viable person. The issues I have with my anxiety and depression have been fairly well handled with the miracles of modern science, and I pride myself on the fact that I can be taken just about anywhere and there’s a very small chance I’ll embarrass myself or those around me. Needless to say, this wasn’t always so.

Matt is always the first one to step up to defend me, even when he doesn’t necessarily agree with my point of view, he trusts that I can communicate my feelings and thoughts with tact. If this leads to questions and discussions of more in-depth information of what my opinion is, and he ends up disagreeing with my point of view, so be it, but he backs up the right for me to have one.

Matt’s family is very well-bred, and deep, intellectual conversation is seldom had, and never encouraged. As a matter of fact, any subject which may be controversial is strongly discouraged. I’ve actually had Matt’s aunts shake their heads violently at me when I’ve asked a question in mixed company that they found unacceptable.

My Mother had made a comment about looking into the *possibility* of growth hormone for Gillian, given her size and the fact that she didn’t grow for about two years due to her undiagnosed Celiac disease. She told me that there have been major breakthroughs of late, and is concerned that Gillian might end up being 4′5″ or less, considering where she is now on the charts. I like having as much information as possible before making major decisions for my children. I don’t have a problem with talking to an expert, perhaps having her growth plates measured, and looking into the pros, cons, dangers, etc. I brought it up at dinner Christmas day, because my brother-in-law works in NY and knows the best of the best doctors. Everyone at the table FREAKED  when I brought up the subject. As my aunt-in-law actually turned her back in discomfort, and Matt’s brother let me know I needed to see an endocrinologist instead of her gastroenterologist, and suggested the name of a doctor I should see. Matt joined the frey of the “absolutely nots!!” with which I was being pummelled.

After dinner, we were all sitting around talking, and joking about going to Greece and being on a nude beach. My sister-in-law’s sister, who was there with her girlfriend, was there, and I was reminded of a story of when Matt first went to Texas and went out jogging. We lived in Montrose, a very gay and artsy section of Houston, and Matt was pretty much chased down the street by a 250 pound African American man in a pink dress in heels offering him money to lick the sweat off his chest. Poor little innocent and experience-starved Matt (at that point)  came home shocked and scared, and of course I laughed and asked him why he didn’t take the money.

Well, I guess I started the segue off wrong, and I’ll take responsibility for that.  My sister-in-law’s girlfriend said she’d take us to Fire Island, and I said that would be fine as long as Matt didn’t drop anything and bend over to pick it up. *I* thought that was funny, and tried to segue into the Houston story when I was shut down, LOUDLY,  by every one of his relatives. Including Matt.

And Matt didn’t have enough faith in me to know that after 16 years, I knew exactly how far I could push the line. He let them shut me down.

When Matt’s Mom made a joke about smoking pot after she retires, I raised my hand and asked why that was okay but I couldn’t tell a story about a “a big black man in a pink dress chasing Matt down the street waving a fifty”.  THEN, of course, I got to tell the story, and everyone laughed.

I learned about segues last night, and how to use them, and how not to use them.

Regardless of that, it seems that often, when we visit Matt’s relatives, he reverts to the youngest child who’s afraid to open his mouth, have an opinion, or be a man. I mean this quite literally. He’s a different person around them.

Last night, after everyone left, I told him I wanted him to take me home. I couldn’t handle being in Long Island from Thursday until Monday without his support. I really let him have it. The children were upset, and crying, begging me not to leave. Although we tried to explain that I’d be waiting at home for them, and they’d have fun playing with their new toys and cousins, they were adamant…and I had an epiphany.

They were feeling abandoned. You can call this counter-transference, since I had my Dad leave (and return) when I was very young, but I had the sharp moment of clarity that if I insisted on being driven home, I would damage the kids. I told them I’d stay, and we’d talk about it in the morning.

Well, this morning I got my period, I’m anemic and miserable, and Matt has been a peach all day. One of the things I love most about my husband is his ability to change. He verbalized both to me and the children how he felt, and that he realized he needed to stand by his family.

He’s driving me home tomorrow, but the kids know it’s because I’m ’sick’…they’re going roller skating and doing all sorts of activities that I can’t do…I just need to sleep and bleed for a few days (sorry).

I snuck away from the Christmas festivities for a few moments to share a memory that made me laugh. Matt’s poor Mother decided to host Christmas dinner in Long Island for her three kids and their significant others (two of  the three of us were not yet married), and invited the parents of the significant others to join as well. Her kind invitation was accepted by all, and she ended up with a houseful – and I mean a BIG houseful of guests. To add to all the stress this produced for her, this was around the time that her daughter moved to Chicago, and Matt moved to Houston to be with me – and she’d always assumed that her children would never leave her, we’d all move close by and raise our families. All three of her kids were in serious relationships with Jews, and being Irish Catholic in an extended family where NO ONE had married outside their cultural background had almost pushed her to the limits, but she was a born hostess, and the stress was kept under wraps.

It wasn’t until she appeared with her beautiful crown roast of pork – and saw the faces of the Jews at the table, and the realization of the faux pas she’d just committed - that I had a moment where it occurred to me that I should inquire as to the nearest mental health inpatient facility, because I thought she was going to lose it. Of course, with her wonderful social skills, the whole thing was laughed off and we had a lovely night.

Luckily, none of us were kosher.

At our parent-teacher conference for Gillian, we were told that the 3rd graders were going to be making Gingerbread houses. This posed several problems, because Gillian has Celiac Disease, and it’s been agreed to by the school that no gluten will be used in class projects. This rule can be loosened by Matt and I if we can find a way to supply Gillian with similar supplies for the project, if no common glutenous material will be used, and if nothing is made in-class which will raise gluten into the air – for example, flour dust.

The class was going to be making Gingerbread houses. I was given a list of items they were expecting to use – only a few could be shared with Gillian. I’ve seen gingerbread cookies, but these needed to be cut to specific sizes to cover the milk carton that was serving as its’ base. She and I made a gluten-free sugar-cookie mix from a box, and cut out people with a cookie cutter. I put the dough between two pieces of wax paper, and rolled it somewhat thin before cutting the shapes – no problem. She decorated them, and they looked great.

Gluten-free products are a niche market, and extremely expensive. I searched the Internet and found what was marked as an ‘easy’ gingerbread house recipe. Gillian and I made the dough with her Celiac Flour, and we put it in the fridge, because it needed to be refrigerated for a minimum of 2 hours, preferably overnight. This was Wednesday night, and I’d gotten an email saying they would be completing the houses on Friday. I figured I’d roll out and measure the pieces on Thursday.

Something made me check my email on Wednesday night, around midnight, after I’d taken all of my sleeping pills. Sure enough, they’d be starting to put the houses together on Thursday, and finishing them up on Friday.  The pre-cut shapes would be needing to go in with her on Thursday morning.

I’m not exactly sure what happened, but I think that I began to pump endorphins and adrenaline into my body to counteract the drugs, which normally knock me out for the night. I headed downstairs shortly after midnight, and by 1 am was ready to throw my rolling pin out of the sliding door in the kitchen. Rolling the dough between wax paper? No go. Putting GF flour on the rolling pin? Nope. I ended up with a ruler and a knife, trying to fashion rectangles with my fingers, measure them to the required length, then straightening the edges with the knife. The pieces were uneven, lumpy, and ugly, but they were done and ready to go with Gillian in the morning.

When Matt came downstairs (I got to bed after 1:30 am, so he got them off to school), the sink was loaded with every kitchen widget we owned…all covered with gingerbread dough.  By the way, the rolling pin was there too. I can still use it to smash the pecans for my pecan pie:) Matt clean off and loaded the dishwasher, goddess bless him.

I make an awesome banana bread/cake. My coffee cake can’t be beat. But I’ll sooner pick up a rolling pin to bash myself in the head repeatedly than bake a recipe that requires one.

Live and learn!