Undashing through the toll booths

We drove to my oldest daughter’s house yesterday afternoon. She lives in Cypress, which she tells everyone is near Houston.  If you consider being on the outskirts of Austin near Houston, then-yes-there we are. The city of Houston is, for us Star Trekkies, a municipal Borg, and/or for us pre-sophisticated game players, Pac-Man City. It continues to assimiliate any town that brushes its shoulders. And the interstate system resembles some concrete circulatory system, its weaving arteries and veins of roads and bridges feeding outlying neighborhood appendages. The problem with Houston is it is suffering from massive blockages–of traffic.  I could live in Houston…if I was on high doses of tranquilizers. Or if the city figured out a way to make flyovers of Prozac spray. Might even help with the mosquito population.

COMMERCIAL BREAK: The following Christmas message compliments of my granddaughter, 19-month-old Emma. She said it means gliberstotanktoo

n nm    f  vmkfmkkmkkscmcxmcxmkcxkmcxm mmmmmvhjjjkjjjccjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjhnn 1        kcckkckkcjcjcccccccccccccc

This morning Erin treated me to Starbucks while we were at the newly redesigned Randall’s grocery. And it’s not even Christmas day! A triple play. Ken was with us or I should say Ken and Erin were with one another. Neither one shares my fascination with supermarkets. The aisle with the rows and rows of self-dispensing containers lured me in, until one of them yanked me away while I was indulging myself in the various colors of lentils. I didn’t know one could buy red lentils.

The lasagna is ready for tonight’s dinner.  Emma is entertaining us. Joy to the world.

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