Gadding about Houston and Beaumont
This past week has flown by. Of course, I worked the first three days which were incredibly busy and then I had doctor appointments on Thursday and Friday. I also dropped off quilts for our local quilt show and had a kidney stone—or maybe it was three or four—the recent ones have been too small for me to see. It’s still rather chilly here and I’m having a hard time being motivated to do much more than sit bundled up in front of the fire.
My brother who lives in South Carolina sent me a wonderful email description about their experience with snow—I think he inherited the story telling gene from our mother who tried so hard to be a writer. She did have a regularly published column—entitled ‘From Me to You’ in one of the local papers. M y youngest son has inherited that story-telling skill but my oldest does not need to use that skill which he also inherited—he’s writing his dissertation on something that sounds suspiciously like turning lead into gold at UT-Austin in the Physical Chemistry. The middle son got his grandfather’s intuitive feel for mechanics and his quirky sense of humor.
Yesterday, my doctor visit went well. My nose is healing well and the planned for derma-abrasion was cancelled (then I would have truly looked like Bozo the clown not just feeling like him). We had parked at the Museum of Natural History and Science, rode the train down—there’s not much parking at St. Luke’s that doesn’t involve enclosed ramp driving—and with a F250 that is 6’2” tall and a clearance of 6’3” at best with antenna scraping the piping—I far prefer parking in the open and walking a good distance. Even inside the truck, I find myself ducking to avoid the ceiling. Fortunately on a Friday afternoon there was plenty of parking at the Museum.
We took a short stroll through the fragrance garden; a few decorative kales and some sad looking pansies were trying their best; the rest of the garden was empty branches and a few dead leaves. However, inside the Cockrell, butterflies flitted about; many of them on the Fire of Tobago, that happened to have the sweetest and most plentiful nectar. Fake flowers of red plastic bowls and yellow scrubbies had a few customers as well. Rotting fruit—bananas, papaya, honeydew melon—was offered in similar bowls. I had worn a bright yellow tank top over my gray thermals hoping to convince the butterflies that I was a flower. Alas, the day was overcast and the butterflies not particularly active.
Since breakfast had been late, we opted for an early supper at Al-T’s. Crawfish is in season; Glen had a huge plate of them—all deep fried—I had stuffed shrimp and a bowl of excellent shrimp gumbo.
**Sorry–no photos, my camera went swimming in the Rio Grande and it thinks it takes pictures but there’s nothing on the memory card. A new one is on its way from Canon