Entry #34

Entry #34

Wednesday, January 18

12: 45 p.m. I needed a change of scenery this morning, so I took Izzie for a walk “downtown,” along an area known for its brownstone-style condos. While most houses are landscaped with some sort of shrubbery, one entry was adorned with pots of faux foliage, along with tall vases of faux flowers by the front door. The door itself was decorated with a bear encircled by a wreath adorned with “Bless the Angels” written in gold glitter. I was going to take a quick photo with my iPhone, but then thought better of it in case the occupant of that condo was still there (perhaps enjoying a nice cup of decaf instant coffee with non-dairy creamer and Sweet n’ Low). 

We walked past a (man-made) lake, along the (man-made) waterway, and through another “Texas Townhome” neighborhood. All the while I was looking for a garbage can, but couldn’t find one. Finally, I realized that the low-lying planter box on the corner (sans plant) was indeed a waste receptacle. Whoever designed this area was probably a master at the Highlights “find the hidden objects” game.

4:00 p.m. At pick-up today, things got a bit zany with the pre-school kids and Izzie. Per usual, they ran up to the gate shouting, “Izzie! Izzie!” and proceeded to try to feed her leaves, twigs, and pine cones. She took everything in her mouth (except for the used Kleenex that was offered, thankfully) and accepted it graciously. Then she found a flat brick and carried it proudly between her teeth.

Izzie doesn’t really chew on bricks, but she likes to hold things in her mouth (a Golden Retriever trait, apparently). The kids noticed that she had a “rock” in her mouth, so they started to bring her stones. One child held a large rock above his head, which I told him wasn’t a safe choice; another carried something resembing a small boulder. I know these kids love Izzie, but I should probably clarify that she can’t eat things that are 1) unsanitary (i.e., used Kleenex), 2) undigestible (rocks), or 3) larger than her head (boulders).

10:00 p.m. I just returned from my first InPrint writing workshop. It’s held on a residential street in Houston in a converted house. I was thankful to arrive on time, having driven an hour and a quarter to get there. The teacher is a graduate of the Iowa Writer’s Workshop and is also PhD candidate in Literature and Creative Writing at the University of Houston, so I was prepared to be completely intimidated by him. Turns out he’s seemingly laid-back (seemingly, I say, since I haven’t presented any of my work yet), affable, and has a voice that sounds like Tom Cruise. He also happens to be focusing on “suburban literature” for his dissertation. I’d hardly call Faux Real in Texas “literature,” but it doesn’t get much more suburban than writing about “the second largest planned community in the United States.”

En route to class, I passed a large facility called The Brown Hand Center. This place caught my eye because it made me wonder why it was called “Brown Hand.” A center for brown hands? Is this a place for people of color? It sounded neither politically correct nor particularly sanitary. I looked it up when I got home and discovered that the place is named after a Dr. Michael G. Brown (a white guy, by the way), who pioneered a type of endoscopic surgery for people with carpel tunnel syndrome, now called the Brown Procedure (for people with hands of all pigments). So now I know it's the Brown/Hand Center, as opposed to the Brown Hand/Center.