Tag: houston

Sleeping City

The advantage of insomnia is that when I have some TJB stuff to overnight to our editor, I can choose to drive out to the airport post office (open 24/7/365) before I go to bed. The dead of night is really the only good time to drive on the highways of the country’s fourth largest and second-most car-obsessed city.

But the best part is that I absolutely love driving back inside the Loop, just ahead of morning rush hour traffic, and seeing the city’s skyline. We’re not New York, but we do glisten at night.

Images taken from the Internet

Everybody has a story

There is this really cool site that I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned on my Live Journal. It was started by a Houston artist and has been supported by a group of gifted people over the years.

The site is called Purse Stories. [ETA in 2022: It is regrettable that this site went away, because it had the only copy of my wee story.] Maybe you don’t think of yourself as a writer, but I think if you read some of the stories on the site, you’ll see how diverse in style and tone they are. Most are very, very short. They offer funny, touching, nostalgic, and thought-provoking writing.

If you’re like Tim and I were several years ago, just reading the stories will make you want to submit one of your own. Maybe you have a memory connected to a purse you’ve owned, or a mother’s, aunt’s, sister’s, or friend’s purse.

If you contribute, let me know, so I can read your story. Or just enjoy reading the many stories on the site, and tell your friends about it.

A bit of Houston

A lot of people who live in the Houston suburbs spend their whole lives outside the 610 Loop. Some of them incorrectly think that The Compound is in a crime-ridden, concrete nightmare, because we are about 1.5 miles from downtown Houston. In fact, here’s a view of the Houston skyline from the ‘hood:

Today I have a screaming headache and can’t work. Since Rex is always ready for a ride, Tim loaded him, Rex’s unfriends Margot and Guinness, and me into the car. (Like Miranda in THE DEAL, I enjoy riding around and looking at houses.) I shot photos of just a tiny sampling of some of the homes in our neighborhood. Because of the waning sunlight, we couldn’t get photos of the well-shaded bungalows and mansions. That will have to wait for another day. But here’s a little bit of Montrose. Among these houses is one that our friend Lindsey used to live in.
not so shabby Montrose

A little Houston culture

Here in Houston’s Montrose neighborhood is a lovely little bed and breakfast that often hosts social and charitable events, the Lovett Inn. (I love going to parties there!) Recently, it became the Lovett Inn Boutique Hotel. The inn has begun displaying the works of local emerging and established artists.

I learned about the gallery by reading Houston’s fabulous OutSmart Magazine. The August issue also includes AN on the 2006 BookExpo America, which mentions, among others, our editor John (we love him!) and our fellow author and friend Greg Herren.

P.S. Whenever I say I LOVE something, I hear the voice of my friend Denece in my head making fun of me. If you’re reading this, Denece, hush!

I’m so grateful for coffee

Today’s coffee cup (it’s blurry; so am I), brought to you by Tom, is from Alonti Cafe and Catering. It was part of a gift bag he received a few years ago while he was working on a Habitat for Humanity home through AIDS Foundation Houston. AFH is the third HIV/AIDS assistance organization with whom Tom has volunteered over the past eleven years. I think he’s a stand-up guy, that Tom. He can’t be doing it for the coffee cups, because we have an abundance.

The rakish palmetto bug

Yeah, I know that they’re only called palmetto bugs in Florida, and everywhere else they’re roaches. Tree roaches, though, not cockroaches (like those that infest your home, are nearly impossible to get rid of, and fall off the ceiling into your father-in-law’s salad when you live in a really crappy apartment as an impoverished newlywed, not that that’s happened to anyone I know).

I know that these female tree roaches can fly when they’re breeding, and they stupidly fly at you, provoking your immediate urge to murder them, instead of away from you, so that you can just run off screaming uncontrollably and they’re allowed to live another day (and bear more young, bless their hearts).

Yet, over time, I’ve made a kind of bargain with them. Inside, they must die and die quickly. I no longer cringe and flee in terror (screaming for Tom at two in the morning when he’s sound asleep, not that that’s ever happened, either) when I spot them. I grab whatever is nearest and bludgeon them to death without hesitation. I don’t see them often in my house, because they’re not really inside bugs, except sometimes at Tim’s apartment, where they like to escape from the heat and look for water. But I don’t live in Tim’s apartment, so they’re his beast of burden to bear, not mine.

Outside, I just try to avoid them. After all, they’re not as big as the ones from South America that I saw (dead) in an exhibit at the Cockrell Butterfly Center (a lovely place that is mentioned in The Deal, a novel I’m sure you’ve ALL BOUGHT AND READ).

However, as I mentioned in Tim’s LJ comments, because my friend’s home in the suburbs is a magnificent showplace of trees and plants and lush foliage of many types, it is also a sanctuary for palmetto bugs tree roaches, like this one who smiled for a photo last night, just inches from where I was turning on a faucet.

for the love of all that’s dear to you, Lindsey, don’t click here to see these photos

rainy day

I’m so very tired. I really hoped to get a good night’s sleep last night. I can’t believe that today, I have to watch my friend bury her husband. I want to say we are too young for this, but sadly, so many of my friends lost their partners even younger.

Still… she is too young for this.

We saw some of Houston’s fireworks as we drove home from the suburbs last night. I couldn’t really appreciate them since I was trying to wend my way through parked cars ON THE INTERSTATE. I don’t think that’s legal, but hey, when people make a parking lot of three lanes of a major interstate in the fourth largest city in the country to watch fireworks, chances are the police can’t get to them to make them move.

One reason I didn’t sleep enough is because sometime after five a.m., we had our own fireworks. To the accompaniment of much thunder, the transformer in front of our house sent off an impressive array of sparks and left us without electricity. I called it in, but I was afraid to go back to sleep because I had to get up and out of here this morning. It only took them an hour to get it repaired, and by then, I was permanently awake.

So…off on a rainy, dreary day to say goodbye to a friend.

road to hell paved with unbought stuffed dogs**

Last night I went to bed between nine and ten. I wanted to sleep through the night and get a lot done today. Instead, I woke up at 2 a.m. to some great news in an e-mail from Tim regarding a project we’re working on. I’ll be glad when that’s at a point where I can speak more publicly about it–but that’s not yet.

Of course, I couldn’t go back to sleep, so I got a few things accomplished through the night, then went out early this morning. Sent my galley changes to Kensington for A COVENTRY CHRISTMAS. Got some birthday cards in the mail. Yesterday was James’s birthday, so in his honor, I had breakfast at our favorite Baby Barnaby’s. I love that place, and it would have been better except for the very tall woman sitting at a nearby table who was showing two inches of butt-crack. Why does anyone think the rest of us want to see that while we’re eating breakfast? Stupid low-riding jeans.

On the way home, with all kinds of plans in my head for work on TJB5, I realized I was getting a migraine. I could barely see to drive. Instead of having a wonderfully productive day, I took drugs and went to sleep until four p.m. So much for my good intentions.

**Bonus points for anyone who knows the source of this entry’s title