Entry #52

Entry #52

Wednesday, March 28

10:30 a.m. I was just rear-ended while waiting in my van at a stop sign. The guy who rammed into me got out and said defensively, “I thought you were going to go.” “Well, I would have," I said, "but a jogger ran across the street and the car on my left decided to turn."

Moments later, the man confessed: "I leaned down to put my cell phone away and my foot slipped off the brake." Luckily he was driving a small sedan—a rarity around here. Most of the time we’re surrounded by Dodge Rams and Chevy Suburbans and other top-of-the-food-chain vehicles. The damage could've been a lot worse.

Ironically, the car was a pest control business car. I noticed this and told the guy, “I could’ve used you a few days ago. We thought we had an animal stuck in the wall.” He said he was on his way to check on a house with the same issue. I didn’t tell him our “animal” ended up being a whiney garden hose.

About an hour later, the doorbell rang. It was the guy who'd crashed into me. “My boss asked if I could take a photo of your van.” I quietly said, “Okay,” not knowing what else to say, but it felt kind of creepy having this stranger come directly to the house.

Thursday, March 29

9:00 a.m. It’s remarkable how much a sudden tap on the back of your car can whollop the body. I’m feeling mighty sore today. If only I had a taffy stretcher nearby...or maybe a Flinstones-sized aspirin.

I had my last writing class last night, and per usual, I was late, despite having left an hour earlier. There was zany traffic en route to the freeway and all I could think was that I was never going to get out of The Woodlands. It made me even more determined, however, to burst out of The Bubble.

When I got home, Aidan was still reading The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, a book assigned by his teacher about a German boy who befriends a boy of the same age who’s next door in Auschwitz (they refer to it in the book as Out-With).

Aidan was was on the last chapter, and since it was late (and I wanted to know what happened), I offered to read it to him. The end is haunting, and really upset Aidan to the point of tears. “I don’t think the teacher should’ve assigned this book,” Aidan lamented. “It was too sad.” 


This led to a mini-existential crisis: “The world would be much more beautiful without humans,” he said. "There would be more trees and animals and less pollution and no war..." I told Aidan that all we can do is to try to make a positive difference in the world. But he wasn't in the mood to hear this, and maintained his stance that humans are basically lame. All I could do in the end was keep him company.

10:00 a.m. I had to get a few things from HEB this morning, and for lack of a better idea, took Izzie for a walk from there. I walked around the shopping plaza, passing a donut shop, a “wings” restaurant and tanning salon...then walked around to the back to find a garbage can, only to encounter a mass of rotting, smelly litter and cigarettes—a stark difference between the pristine storefronts and the behind-the-scenes wasteland.

After leaving the shopping plaza, I spotted a narrow strip of land that was, to my amazement, completely untended. It was located in-between a small housing development and an outcropping of condos. There were beautiful wildflowers and tall grasses and squirrels running around and birds aplenty. This must be what the area looked like pre-suburbia. Never have I been so happy to see an abundance of weeds. Izzie literally bounded with joy.

Despite the presence of greenery here, it’s hard to find nature that hasn’t been tampered with by the corporate folks who created this planned suburban community. I'm just glad the birds don’t mind. I saw a beautiful blue heron yesterday along one of the man-made ponds here (complete with central fountain).

7:00 p.m. While chatting on the phone, someone rang the doorbell. Turns out it was a woman passing out flyers with the following cover: “How do you view Jesus? As a Newborn Baby? A Dying Man? Or an exalted King?You are invited to hear the answer...” It was an invitation on behalf of the Jehovah’s Witnesses.

The last three people to ring my doorbell have been as follows: the Jehovah's Witness person, the man who crashed into me the other day, and my next-door-neighbor complaining about Aidan’s wayward arrows (one of which landed on her roof). I’m inclined not to answer the front door anymore.

Saturday, March 31

11:30 a.m. Aidan and I watched Harry Potter I for the zillionth time last night while waiting to hear from Noah, who was playing Magic (a card game) at Fat Ogre Games & Comics, about 15 minutes away. Trying to stay up on a Friday night proved to be incredibly challenging, so when it was 11:30, I figured that I’d just get in the car and drive there, then wait for the final round to be over.

Earlier that day, I asked my sister if she knew anyone who might like a “Fat Ogre” t-shirt. There are only certain people who can get away with wearing a t-shirt that says "Fat Ogre," but I think it's pretty funny. Noah gave a friend of his one—but he’s a slight, friendly-looking kid, so no offense was taken. It would be perfect over a Shrek Halloween costume.

Noah said that there was a big bear of a guy with a crew cut at the Magic tournament wearing a t-shirt that said, “I f****ing love cuddles.” Another person wore a shirt with a series of identical photos of Darth Vader, with the headline, “Expressions of Vader.” Happy, sad, confused, cheerful—they were all exactly the same. 

This week’s HereHouston.com had some interesting listings, as well as some truly hokey ads. Moody Gardens' Hotel headline was especially cringe-worthy: “Hop Down to the Island for an Eggciting Easter.”

“How do you spell exciting?” was the header for the forthcoming Houston PBS Spelling Bee. I really don’t think the word “exciting,” correctly as it may be spelled, is something I affiliate with kids standing up and spelling out words for hours. Giggle fits, gaffs and even goofy expressions can be mildly entertaining, but spelling bees are largely nerve-wracking, nail-biting affairs.

One event that sounds like it might be worth attending, though it could go either way (it’s being held at the Home of Santa’s Wonderland) is the Bluebonnets & Bluegrass Festival. There will be “bluegrass music, horse-drawn wagon rides, a World War II exhibit, living history, unique shopping, nostalgiac foods, chuck wagons, a mechanical bull and a blacksmith.” Could be fun. I wonder what they mean by “living history.” Aren’t we all? 


Nostalgiac foods could mean a lot of things, too. Are those gigantic turkey legs considered nostalgiac? They seem to be what people are always gnawing on at Renaissance faires. For me, nostalgiac foods that come to mind are Swanson TV dinners, Ho Hos, and Jello 1-2-3. Then again, they're more like tasty chemical experiments of the 1970s than authentic foodstuffs.

As a kid, we used to go to the annual Yankee Peddler Festival in Ohio (“Step back in time 200 years and visit pioneer America...”). There were town criers and Civil War reenactments, artisans and musicians, people making apple fritters and churning butter—it felt like the real deal, at least when we were kids. My brother once slept through a 64-gun salute, a tribute to my mother’s excellent sleep training.