$250 Bucks and Worth Every Penny

In case you were wondering, it costs $250 for someone to remove a rattlesnake from your couch in the middle of the night. 

What had happened was...

I was flossing my teeth. Trey took Hank out before bed. They came back in the front door, Hank be-bopped in like normal, and I heard Trey shout.

I went into the living room, called his name to see what was going on, and realized he was in the pantry (grabbing a broom) but the front door was open. I went to the door and saw the tail end of a snake slither under our couch. 

Nope. 

Naturally I jumped up onto the counter to save myself. Duh. Then later I tried to say nice things to the snake to convince him that he was an outdoor reptile. He did not listen.

But Trey, he was the bravest man I've ever known. He poked all around the couch with a broom handle. Then decided it had crawled up underneath somehow. 

Sidenote: we have a giant sectional sofa. I love it. It didn't fit in our apartment, so I was SO HAPPY to move to our current home where there is room for it. But it's GIANT and the pieces attach to each other and it is very hard to move. 

Trey started flipping the couch over, one piece at a time. 

"Stormy. You have to help me. You're the only one here," he says. 

And I am a brave country girl, so I put on my shoes and stood far, far away with a stick and periodically shouted for the snake to leave our home. Still it did not listen. The couch was disassembled. No snake to be found.

Of course then I googled "how to get a snake out of your house." 

FYI - This is not helpful if you don't actually know where the snake is. 

Next idea - cut out the bottom lining of the couch to see if we can find it. Trey, like a ninja or a great knight, slashed at the couch lining with a knife and pulled it free, hoping to find the snake.

Being sure to do my part, I stood on the counter giving him encouragement and periodically screaming in case I saw the snake. I didn't see it, but I needed to be prepared. With the screaming. 

Still no snake. 

So for my next helpful act, I googled "people who can get a snake out of your house."

And let me just say, Praise the Good Lord for Jesse's Critter Control. They answered the phone and said someone would be here at 11:45. And we positioned ourselves carefully around the room so that if the snake left the couch in any direction we would see it. And we talked about what it looked like and how it was probably a rat snake. And we laughed maniacally because who has a snake in their couch on a Wednesday night?

Just before 11:45, a super nice kid arrived with a snake catcher stick and a bucket. It took him about 90 seconds to find it in the cushion of the third section of couch. It took him a bit to get a hold of the thing, but he finally grabbed it and put it in his bucket as we cheered. We were saved!

Snake Catcher Kid put the bucket down and suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, turning his ear toward the bucket. Of course we did the same, and together we all heard the rattle. 

RATTLE!  

IT WAS A RATTLESNAKE! AND IT WAS IN OUR COUCH!!!!!

Have I praised the Lord for Jessie's Critter Control already?

Things to note: When Trey was talking to his dad tonight, he was saying that Jackie (our niece) and I are the people he wants in a crisis. Tonight he may have changed his mind. Please note I am currently unavailable for any crises that involve venomous reptiles. 

Also, Hank apparently stepped right over the snake when he came in the house. Trey almost stepped on it, and that's when I heard him yell.  Apparently young rattlers are the most poisonous, so I suppose this night could have gone quite differently.

Also also, this is how Hank felt as we tried to convince the snake to leave. Safe to say he cared not.

We keep saying we're having empty nester adventures these days. Couch Rattlesnake was not part of that plan. And that might be the best $250 spent in my entire life. 

And now it's one in the morning, and we'll try to sleep and dream only of outdoor snakes. Oof. 

The End.

An Open Letter of Thanks to FUMC Bastrop and Pastor Dave

On June 7th we attended the First United Methodist Church of Bastrop for probably the last time. We're moving next week and have had other commitments on Sundays since then. 

We moved to Bastrop on July 1, 2025 and attended FUMC for the first time on July 6. If you've been around this space for a minute, you may recall the communion incident that occurred on our first Sunday there. As it turns out, that was also the first Sunday for their new pastor, Pastor Dave. Also, they let us come back even after "the incident." 😊

This church has been a haven of peace for us over the last year. We kind of slip in at the last moment and slip out when the service is over, but it's been exactly what we needed. 

Hymn numbers on the wall each week. Smiles and handshakes from parishioners as we passed the peace. Sort of uncomfortable wooden pews. The Lord's Prayer. Communion open to anyone. Gloria Patri. The Apostles Creed. And sermons that focused on being like Jesus. Reminders from our pastor that there is no such thing as "the least of these" because with God we are all honored children of the Lord. 

Over the course of the last year, we moved from our home of decades. We both had major job changes. We lost Trey's precious mom and experienced our first Christmas and Mother's Day without her. We navigated the feeling that somehow everything seemed different, but with each other and this precious church we could remind ourselves that the really important stuff has not and will never change. 

On our last Sunday, we sang Spirit of the Living God, fall afresh on me. The incredible Elizabeth, with her amazing voice, sang Chris Rice's "Come to Jesus" as the special music of the day. The song is one of my favorites, and it was divinely fitting for our last week there as the lyrics walk through different parts of life that all point back to Jesus. Many of those parts of life we have experienced over the last year. 

(And of course I sobbed through the whole thing, so people probably wonder what on earth is going on with me!  Nothing is wrong. I just cry when I'm moved. Anyway...)

We shared communion. This has been a topic of conversation in our marriage because many churches that I knew of growing up did not and do not recognize Trey's and my boys' baptisms and would not welcome them to communion. They certainly have their reasons, but I was always so taken before communion when Pastor Dave reminded us that Jesus doesn't say to get your act cleaned up before he invites you to his table. He only asks that we come. 

Our whole lives, we have known that we should be givers of our time and contributors to our church family, but over the last year we were takers. We went to church, were blessed and inspired, and went home. We needed to be filled each week, and the FUMC Bastrop friends gave that to us with no pressure or guilt about not doing more. Just smiles and kindness each week. They shared the peace of Christ, and we needed it. 

And so, this is an open letter to them and to Pastor Dave. They likely have no idea the gift they gave the Hickmans over the last year, but it was meaningful and kind, and in some ways helped us get through it all. 

May the Lord bless you and keep you. May the Lord make his face shine upon you and be gracious unto you, May the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace. 

You gave that to us. And we thank you.

And now to find a new church near our new home. Be sure that the standard is set very high. 

The end. 

Where is my Cooking Show? (or as an alternate title) Maybe it Will be Gross

I'm still confused about why I don't have a cooking show on the Food Network where I attempt random recipes that I find online. I do this every single weekend, and the world needs this type of diversion right now. 

Plus, I'm delightful. Duh.

My sweet and wonderful Trey Hickman ate a meatball and mozzarella Hot Pocket and a Chobani strawberry banana yogurt for lunch every single day for like 47 years. I, on the other hand, enjoyed many, many lunches with my bestie Tiffany sitting in the Sonic drive-in sharing cheese sticks and cheddar peppers. I think Trey's sad pauper lunch was to shame me for spending money on eating out all the time, but he would never admit it. 

And then a couple of years ago we decided we should try to cut down on processed food. And we decided we should spend less money on food and traveling if we ever hope to retire and also keep our head above water with two homes until Tucker graduates college, so our meal prep era began. 

To compensate for the (hopefully temporary) decline of our #YOLO life, I started cooking random recipes more and more and more. 

Then I found TikTok. And I got a sourdough starter. 

First, sourdough. 

Sourdough people are special. They all have their own way that you have to do things EXACTLY or everything will be TERRIBLE! And they talk in made up words like "fermentolyse" and "levain." 

I feed my starter every night, but occasionally I forget. And so far, so good. What I cannot master is the "scoring" of the dough. I think that must be the easiest part, but I have not once gotten it right. Sourdough should have a beautiful score directly down the center. Mine tends to look like that emergency C-section that happened on The Pitt. IYKYK.

Anyway, sourdough is fun. Especially when there are giant, puffy bubbles. I really like those. 

Last week I experimented with a new breakfast - I eat breakfast at my desk every morning. I sort of made this creamy jalapeno basil edamame spread. I left out the miso paste because it was kind of expensive and I only needed a little, and I didn't measure anything because measuring is lame. I ate it each day on a slice of sourdough with some Everything but the Bagel seasoning and a side of cheddar cheese. It was healthy and delicious, but the recipe made like 3 gallons so I threw most of it in the trash today when I cleaned out the fridge. I felt so domestic eating my sourdough every day! 

I also make lunches on Sundays for Mr. Hickman and me to eat most of the week. 

Sidebar: I feel so wife-y when I make Trey's lunch!

My lunches are generally a hot topic in the office, as they are usually delicious and fresh and homemade. It's my flex. Some favorites are a pizza bowl (cottage cheese, hot sausage, pepperoni, mozz, banana peppers, olives, marinara). Lately I've started also adding chick pea pasta because Trey pointed out that a meal needs carbs to really be a meal. He's not wrong. 

Taco bowls are also a go-to (the Cholula taco seasoning is the best one). And buffalo chicken pasta salad is a new addition to the rotation. This one from Marianna's Pantry is the basic recipe I started with. I'm a super fan of hers (but language alert for my mom FYI). 

Sometimes I make things that are gross. Not on purpose, of course, but it happens. When it does, I accidentally forget my lunch the rest of the week and go to Golden Chick for a gravy-laden meal all week. Trey always eats all the lunches I make. Even the gross ones. I know he thinks they are gross because he'll say "Hmmm...I'm not sure we should have this one again." Cutie. 

This week we're having this Asian salad, kind of. It's a salad jar recipe, but I don't have any jars in the apartment. Also, I left out the maple syrup because Trey insists he would smell it a mile away and it would ruin everything. And I added soba noodles for carbs (see above). 

My plan was to mix up all the ingredients in a bowl and put the sauce in a separate container. But then the noodles all stuck together and I couldn't really stir it all up. So I just put the noodles in the containers, then added the rest of the mixture on top. And I mostly just put stuff in the sauce until it tasted good. Hopefully the whole thing will stir together when the sauce is added. 

I think it's going to be delicious! But maybe it will be gross. Oh well.

That's life on the edge. Who says we don't live #YOLO?!?

And now you see why this should absolutely be a cooking show. What percentage of the listed ingredients will Stormy actually use? Will anything be measured? Will Trey deem this addable to the rotation or is it a week of fast food for Stormy? 

Such intrigue! I'm ready when you are Food Network! 

PS - Trey still eats a yogurt every day, but the hot pockets are few and far between. I'm going to make him live forever! 

actual photo of me cooking

My 49th Year

 I will turn 49 in a couple of weeks. In case you were wondering, that's almost 50. Geez.

I've been thinking of my upcoming birthday a lot more than I usually do. Mostly because I remember I'm going to be 49 and my brain makes this face:

Additionally, spring can be a stressful time in the school business, so I sat down tonight thinking I should write a little for a creative outlet. But I'm tired and can't think of a clever thing to say. So I googled writing prompts, and the first one was "What would you say to your 18 year old self?" This made me think of two things: 

1) What I would say to my 18 year old self (for obvious reasons).

2) Things that I might should be ashamed of as a practically 49 year old human person but am absolutely not ashamed of.

Regarding topic #1 I would say this:

Girl. Stop taking yourself so seriously. Be comfortable in your own skin. Also, maybe crazy hair days are to remind you that you're not actually in control of most things and that sometimes a little chaos can be fun. Which reminds me... have fun. And you'll always feel good about yourself if you're honest and good to people. Oh - and you're a terrible liar, so go ahead and decide to use that as your superpower. And you'll never believe what is going to happen in your life. It's epic!  

Regarding topic #2 - things I should probably be ashamed of but am not:

I am influenced by TikTok and I like it. Case in point:

• I make TikTok recipes all the time. 
• I'm sold on eating an excessive amount of protein. 
• I bought this glider exercise thing because I can work out while I'm watching TV (and we all know how super work-outy I am!). 
• I am led to believe that Mercury in retrograde really does affect my mood. 
• BookTok is a blessing and a curse because I find lots of books I might like and I also will aggressively judge any creator who says that Yellowface is one of their favorite books. 
• I will gladly scroll past videos that are more than one minute because that is just too much for my attention span in leisure time. 

I will absolutely default to my pajamas. Let's say I get home from work around six and know I'm not leaving the house. I can change into shorts and t-shirt for a few hours and then change into my pajamas after that, or I can just go straight for the PJs. At my age, I should probably have some expensive athleisure to wear around the house. But why go to all the trouble? It's PJs for me.

I tried something new with my makeup (that I learned on TikTok, of course). I had to watch the video again every day for a long time to make sure I was doing it right, so I found myself getting ready for work by following a TikTok. This should be embarrassing because I am practically 49 years old and should know how to do my makeup. But if you've seen me lately and thought "Wow! Her jawline is snatched!" then now you know why. 

Also, I just used the word "snatched" and I really hope I used it correctly in my almost-old-age and didn't just say something offensive. 

I love puzzles. I do all of the NYTimes puzzles every day and usually have a real-life jigsaw puzzle that I'm working on. My goal is to get the Mini Crossword in less than 30 seconds. It's very grandma-ish, but I care not. 

I brag to my friends about sleeping all night long. When it happens, it's a flex. 

I find myself completely unable to see without my readers. Completely. As a result, I often shamelessly saying "I can't see that at all" in random situations, such as the checkout line or when someone shows me something on their phone. I knew I'd probably have this happen to me someday, but NOW seems a little too soon. 

I'm sure there are many more things I shouldn't admit to at my age, but this will do for now. 

49 sounds old.

The end. 

The World Kind of Sucks Right Now, or (as an alternate title), Three

Here's what's in my brain.

The world kind of sucks. 

It's hard for me to say that because I believe I am an eternal optimist. I work really hard to find the good in all situations, primarily because I believe there is good in every situation because God is in control. But lately I feel inundated with the fact that the world sucks.

Politics above all else. Capitalism is bad. Socialism is bad. Christians are bad. Everyone who isn't Christian is bad. Everyone who disagrees with me is bad. Everyone who doesn't think like me is bad. No one is doing enough to fix things. All of the bad stuff is because of someone else and their wrong-ness. 

On and on and on and on. 

It's been kind of getting to me.

I have a tattoo of the number three on my right wrist. I had been saying I was going to get it for years, and then I finally did last year in Nashville over Christmas. My Mr. Hickman is the third, so it started there. It was a kind of re-commitment to our marriage, I suppose, as we embarked on a whole new world of empty-nesting, changes, and being brave with our lives. 

Sidebar: Trey also got a tattoo that December. It says "la tormenta" - "The Storm" - and I love it!

But three is significant to me in other ways, too. I always say that I have three Hickman boys who are my world (Trey, Tucker, and Keaton), so it reminds me that family is most important in life. And reason #3 (haha) is that sometimes I need to be reminded that I am third - God, others, self. I do my best to choose to be number three, although my success rate is often debatable.

(Leave it to me to overthink something cool and possibly impulsive like getting a tattoo.)

Anyway, I walked into our sweet little Methodist church on Sunday feeling joyful. I love church with Trey, and we have a three day weekend so life was good. I had taken the fact that the world sucks and tucked it into a little box and decided not to think about it.

The sermon was about Psalm 23. The Lord is my Shepherd and all that jazz. You know it. It was familiar and comforting and fit my mood perfectly. Just happily attending church on a cold Sunday of a three day weekend. 

Then it happened.

Pastor Dave wrapped it up with this point:

We all know (or at least church people do) that Psalm 23 tells us that God is our comfort in difficult times. But what about those times when life is good? What is our job when we aren't in the "valley of the shadow of death" but just out here in the world? Maybe it's our job to be comfort and safety for those who ARE in the valley. 

Not just our job, but our privilege. (I added that part to the sermon in my head.)

I noticed the three on my wrist as the sermon wrapped up, and I remembered that I should be third. 

And now back to where this started. The world kind of sucks right now. 

I loathe and despise all things politics. This entry very deliberately takes no sides, and while some may criticize me for that it's where I am. Rather, I choose to see things this way: 

When someone is hurting, it's my privilege to comfort them. 

When someone is disrespected or treated poorly, it is my privilege to stand up for them. 

When someone lacks opportunity, it is my privilege to help them find it. 

It's not political. It's what makes me human, Christian, mom, wife, educator. But my success rate is often debatable. 

In so many ways and so many areas, it feels like I can't do enough because if I were doing enough, it wouldn't still feel like the world kind of sucks. 

But y'all. I can't be the Shepherd. That's not my job. 

My job is to be a really good sheep. And when my fellow sheep need me, I can be there for them as an ambassador of the Shepherd. And that's not only enough, it's a privilege. 

A privilege to be third. 

May we all continue to get better at it.

Hovering (as an alternate title, This is My Therapy)

I have many things in my head. If you've known me for long you know the way I get them out is that I write them down. I suppose sharing them with the world is a bit self-indulgent, but the English teacher in me believes that writing has the power to help others, connect them, lift them up, make them laugh, and on an on. So allow me to both get my personal version of therapy and to self-indulge.

This morning I cried in church. I haven't done that in a very long time. The running joke in our house has that I always cry in church and Trey worries that people will think it's all his fault for making me cry. But church has been weird since we left our church of over 20 years for a different church, then moved to a new town and have dabbled in finding a church home. 

But today, I'm baaacckkk!  I cried for absolutely no reason and for all the reasons in the world.

And now for the things in my head.

This is our first Christmas to not live in College Station since 1998, but we still have our CS house and may still have Christmas there this year. Where do I decorate? How much effort do I want to put in to the house where my 20-something boys live? How do we celebrate the Christmas season when it's just Trey and me? Don't get me wrong, we like each other a whole bunch and will have a great time, but it's weird and different and sitting on my heart a little bit.

Trey's job is weird. The bank he worked for sold, and then two weeks later sold again. He's still driving to Bryan for work each day. He has a good job, and we're thankful. But it feels weird and different and uncertain. 

Two and half years ago my dad was diagnosed with a terminal illness. They told him he probably had 2-5 years left. Now, two and half years in, he's doing pretty well, all things considered. But it hovers. And as much as it hovers for me I know it hovers for my mom even more. Just sitting there. Hovering.

I know the Hickmans are technically my in-laws, but they are my family and have been for over half my life. My sweet mother-in-law is not in good health. We always have hope for her future, but we recognize that this world is not all there is and we collectively do not want her to suffer. We all wake up with that reality every day. Just there drifting in the air around us. 

Poor, poor Stormy, right? 

Nope. 

I'm determined to NOT treat these holidays as "What if they are our last? (sad face)" but instead treat them as  "What if they are our last! (LET'S GO face)" 

Over the last two years Trey and I have had a chance to be happy, healthy empty nesters living our grand adventure. With all the good and bad of life that hovers around, we've worked really hard to say the thing out loud, whatever it is. We're both suck-it-up and power-through kind of folks, so speaking aloud the things that are heavy while also celebrated the silly fun things is well, growth for us both. Somehow saying the thing takes away its power to bring us down. And I like it.

We are 48 and 58 (I'm younger, in case you didn't know) and have all four of our parents. That's remarkable! Many, many people don't get the chance to watch their parents get old. We talk of wanting to "parent" them and how they don't listen, and we laugh about how our kids will want to do that to us someday, God willing. 

And it's Thanksgiving!  And Christmas!  And the Aggies are winning! I love all of those things so much! 

Back to crying in church.

There were two scriptures this morning. One was the familiar "woman at the well" from the New Testament and the other was Isaiah 41: 17-20:

“The poor and needy search for water,
but there is none;
their tongues are parched with thirst.
But I the Lord will answer them;
I, the God of Israel, will not forsake them.
I will make rivers flow on barren heights,
and springs within the valleys.
I will turn the desert into pools of water,
and the parched ground into springs.
I will put in the desert
the cedar and the acacia, the myrtle and the olive.
I will set junipers in the wasteland,
the fir and the cypress together,
so that people may see and know,
may consider and understand,
that the hand of the Lord has done this,
that the Holy One of Israel has created it."

Life. All of life - all of it - was created by the Lord. And he gives abundantly even when hard things come. The preacher noted that he didn't just give the poor and needy a sip of water, he made rivers flow and turned the desert into pools! As we heard those words I felt so peaceful and hopeful and joyful!

Now I sit here on a Sunday morning writing this down. After going to church, Trey made me breakfast. I've meal planned for the week, ordered groceries, paid some bills, and he's off washing my car. We might have an afternoon cocktail or a nap later. We'll make dinner and enjoy the sunshine. Just a regular Sunday in a great God-given life.

That's it. I am saying the thing out loud - there's some really crappy stuff happening around us. And in the midst of that, all around us, rivers are flowing and trees are growing and God, who never forsakes us, continues to give us joy. 

Joy. Not just hovering, but entrenched around us. 

The end. 

Moving and New Churches (or as an alternate title, Communion Fail)

We moved. It's exciting and fun and adventurous and weird. 

We've gone from our lovely home in College Station to a brand new "luxury" apartment complex that is closer to my work. A few notes about moving:

1) Moving is hard. My whole body hurt in an "I am now paralyzed and can no longer move" kind of way. I'm sure this has nothing to do with me being incredibly out of shape.

2) I've had a few sad moments about leaving College Station. Not nearly as many as I thought I would. When I did, Trey would remind me that we're exactly the same distance away from College Station that I drove for work every day the last year. Then he drops our moving-is-scary-but-exciting catch phrase: "It's not like we moved to Michigan!"

3) We had/have a lot of stuff. We left plenty of it in our house in CS (our boys live there now - pray for us all). But through downsizing we have laughed at how much stuff we have. My top two most ridiculous items, because of their quantity, are coffee mugs (I lost count) and black running shorts (at least 20 pair for the various sizes of my booty over the last 20 years). 

I'm sure I have many more words of wisdom, but that's not why I started this post.

We know we need to find a church here. Backstory - I grew up good and Baptist, and Trey is a lifelong Methodist. We went to the same church for 24 years. We got married there, our kids were baptized there, all of life happened there. Then, last summer after watching a different local service online, we started visiting another church. For about the past year we've attended there. Now I think one reason God sent us to that church was to help us practice what it would be like to be the new people before we actually moved and became the new people. 

Anyway, last night Trey says (as he does most Saturday nights as his hint that I'm not sleeping in on Sunday), "You going to church with me in the morning?" And I said yes because I mostly always say yes to Trey even if it means I have to get up early on a weekend. 

So off to church we went this morning. We like an 8:30 service which often means we are among the younger in the crowd, and this service was no different. It was a small Methodist church, quaint, and we were warmly greeted by many people without feeling like we were the oddities of the day. It helped that it was the new preacher's first day, so folks were probably preoccupied with that. 

We sang hymns (important for us in a church) and did all the usual Methodist things which was familiar and comforting. The prayers all included prayers for strength for those impacted by the horrific floods that happened over the weekend, so of course I cried. I think I was cool about it, though, so maybe no one noticed. 

The message was about grace and hope and how it's our job to spread that in a hurting world. I liked it. 

Then, communion. 

The new pastor wasn't quite sure of all the procedures in this particular church, so after we finished the recitations in hymnal the nice ushers helped show him what to do. It was lovely and not stuffy at all - a happy display of the past members helping out the new guy. One side of the altar had a cup for dipping and the other had those tiny individual cups. The pastor offered that you could go to either side based on whether you liked to dunk or have a cup. 

Sidebar: I'm sure there are technical religious terms for dunk and cup, but I don't know what they are. Church folks know what I'm talking about.

Our side had the cups, so it was cups for us. We didn't want to do anything out of the ordinary like go to the other side. I was surprised to learn that they started the line from the back. This meant we were some of the first people to go given our seats near the back. No big deal. It's communion. We know what to do. And also, these people didn't seem so formal that we would mess up and cause a scene. 

So I make my way to front, accept the bread, and then make my way to the cups.

This is when things went very, very badly. 

The nice communion server from the choir, in her white button up shirt, offered me the tray of cups. 

"The blood of Christ shed for you."

I reached for a cup, but it was stuck.

So instead of solemnly drinking from the cup with a whispered "amen," I crushed the tiny plastic cup as it sat stuck in the tray. And the blood of Christ exploded all over my dress, my hands, the floor, and the lady's pristine white shirt. Like a volcano. 

Uhhhhhhhh...

We made eye contact. She quickly said, "It's OK." I selected another cup, drank, said "amen" and fled for my pew attempting not to leave a trail of grape juice all the way to the back of the church. 

Keep in mind that the communion line started from the back, so the vast majority of the church saw the new lady douse the choir lady in a purple juice volcano.

Awesome.

I laughed. It was my only choice. Though I tried not to laugh too obviously because I thought these people who do not know me at all might think I am disrespectful. And I realized that whether we come back to this church or not I will always be the lady new to town who doused the choir lady in purple juice during communion. 

Needless to say, we left pretty quickly after the benediction.

The end.