Houston Flood 2017

Refrigerators float.

She hated that refrigerator. It hummed and groaned twice as loud as the old one, and it's door handle had to be taped down even though it was still brand new. The old one lasted 30 years and the door handle never slipped off.

Now, the hated one lays face down on the kitchen floor, humiliated. She feels its loss. Tells a story about a man who once saved his family by removing the refrigerator door, laying it on its back, and then loading his family inside to escape flood waters.

This one, though, never served such a heroic purpose. It, and its rotting contents, have been washed over with a slimy layer of sewerage silt, in a house who's brief submergence devastated everything.  

Picking Up the Pieces

This is my latest project, hanging on the wall right above my computer monitor. Mary helped motivate me to finish it with her project titled False Advertising. It's a beautiful collage with a heart breaking story of abuse. I liked the idea of using tissue paper, and decided to incorporate some in mine. Also, the theme of hands is similar, but I actually got the idea for that while sitting with my hands together one day, and noticed that they made the shape of an upside down heart. It seemed so appropriate for this piece to have the sun shining through an upside down heart.

One of the pieces of my life that I've been working on picking up is my social life. I met a very interesting woman at the pool the other day who is involved with an international organization called One Billion Rising that is raising awareness of human trafficking, rape and abuse through dance. The mayor of the city of Houston (Houston is the #1 city for human trafficking) had asked her to organize a dance for an event she was having to promote her new human trafficking task force called Shine a Light on Human Trafficking.

Yup, you guessed it. I've been dancing on the steps of city hall along with about 70 other civic minded dancers. Even though I'm a terrible dancer, I had a lot of fun and met some really nice people. I'm in the video above, but hiding way in the back. If you look close enough, you'll see me for a split second a couple of times. Fortunately, the camera man didn't catch me trampling over the poor cello player who played for the candlelight ceremony right before our dance.

Here's a video of the song written for One Billion Rising called Break the Chain:

I love this song. Here's the lyrics:

I raise my arms to the sky
On my knees I pray
I'm not afraid anymore
I will walk through that door
Walk, dance, rise
Walk, dance, rise

I can see a world where we all live
Safe and free from all oppression
No more rape or incest, or abuse
Women are not a possession

You've never owned me, don't even know me I'm not invisible, I'm simply wonderful I feel my heart for the first time racing I feel alive, I feel so amazing

I dance cause I love
Dance cause I dream
Dance cause I've had enough
Dance to stop the screams
Dance to break the rules
Dance to stop the pain
Dance to turn it upside down
Its time to break the chain, oh yeah
Break the Chain
Dance, rise
Dance, rise

In the middle of this madness, we will stand I know there is a better world Take your sisters & your brothers by the hand Reach out to every woman & girl

This is my body, my body's holy
No more excuses, no more abuses
We are mothers, we are teachers,
We are beautiful, beautiful creatures

I dance cause I love
Dance cause I dream
Dance cause I've had enough
Dance to stop the screams
Dance to break the rules
Dance to stop the pain
Dance to turn it upside down
It's time to break the chain, oh yeah
Break the Chain, oh yeah
Break the Chain

Dance Break Inst.

Dance, rise
Dance, rise

Sister won't you help me, sister won't you rise x4

Dance, rise
Dance, rise

Sister won't you help me, sister won't you rise x4

This is my body, my body's holy
No more excuses, no more abuses
We are mothers, we are teachers,
We are beautiful, beautiful creatures

I dance cause I love
Dance cause I dream
Dance cause I've had enough
Dance to stop the screams
Dance to break the rules
Dance to stop the pain
Dance to turn it upside down
Its time to break the chain, oh yeah
Break the Chain, oh yeah
Break the Chain

(Repeat chorus)

Downtown Houston

city haze

church reflections

glass appiritions

Our friends from Canada, Sue and Bernie, wanted to see downtown Houston while they were here, so we took them up 60 floors in the Chase Building, down through the tunnel system (which was a waste of time thanks to the last few hurricanes), and then around photographing churches and glass reflections. I learned from the trip that Houston does indeed have a building more than 100 years old (Houston is such a new city by most standards). The church in the second pic is about 150 years old. Sue says that everyone they visit learns something new about the city they live in while they are there.

Sue's Visit

My friend, Sue, and her husband, Bernie, came to visit us the last week of 2011. How exciting to meet for the first time someone that I've been friends with online for a while. We had a week of taking pictures, talking about writing and music, and showing my Canadian friends some of East Texas.

We spent a day in Galveston.

A day in downtown Houston.

Standing on top of the world on the 60th floor of the Chase Building.

And, a day at The Big Thicket National Park.

Individuation/Assimilation?

...or the lack of both. This poem seems to demonstrate the lack. The > Language > Place Blog Carnival's theme this month is Individuation/Assimilation. I'm a little late to join the carnival this time, but thought I'd post this anyway. Maybe next month.



rush hour

stepping out of line
from a nameless crowd
and losing my place -
socially extrinsic

waste by-product of a
selfish generation
my speech is drunkenness
my sickness self-inflicted
coughing up anger chunks
intoxicating and toxic
ineffectual smears

driving exhaust-fumed freeways
with backward exit signs
slapping laughing faces
belligerently – just like them

groping for wisdom, but
babbling into empty ears
they see I’m lost
nakedness turned inside out
shame and weakness
bead up like sweat

they’re indifferent, and
I’m too tired
or maybe lazy
damned dyslexia



Loop 610's bridge over the Houston Ship Channel, obviously not during rush hour. To me this bridge reminds me of a giant serpent slithering across the landscape. Rush hour traffic gives it the illusion of movement. This pic was taken on a Sunday morning.


This is Beltway 8's bridge over the same ship channel. It makes me think of an invading Roman army. It's a toll bridge, so the traffic's not usually too heavy. This pic was taken during evening rush hour.


Here's a view of the east side of downtown, from 610's bridge. I live between the two bridges, but closer to 610.

The Cretoron List

During the early 80’s, I drove four hours every day, two hours each way, in rush hour traffic to attend high school downtown. At that time, the boom-town oil rush of the 70’s left Houston’s freeways plagued with a stifling bumper-to-bumper 20 mph stop-n-go crawl. There were bumper stickers that read, “Will the last one out of Michigan, please turn out the lights?” it wasn’t just Michigan, though. There were probably just as many out-of-state license plates as there were Texas plates. At 16, I learned how to drive in this traffic.

I carpooled with three other classmates of mine in a ’72 Dodge Dart, that one of the girls christened “The Hippy Mobile”. The actual christening was another story that I won’t go into here. Suffice it to say that this fire red Hippy Mobile was well suited for four teenage girls in rush hour traffic. The scratches and dents just added to its personality.

I left my house every morning at 6am to pick up the others, and didn’t get home until 6pm, so all our after school free time was spent driving. We quickly found ways to entertain ourselves. Groucho Marx glasses and hand puppets would solicit some pretty humorous reactions in the morning. After school though, a six pack of beer and a bag of Doritos while waving at all the truck drivers was the entertainment of choice. My friends like to see how many of the truckers they could get to honk their horns.

The morning rush hour mentality was different from the afternoon’s. In the morning, people were sleepy and distracted. They would be reading the newspaper or putting on make-up in the rear view mirror while driving. We were rear-ended many times, but in stop-n-go traffic, it was more of an annoyance than a fender bender. Nine times out of ten, it wasn’t worth stopping for. One day, we came up with the idea of having one person sit in the driver’s seat reading the newspaper, while I sat beside her and drove with my left hand and foot (the Hippy Mobile didn’t have bucket seats; it had one long bench seat). We thought the double-takes of the other drivers were hysterical.

In the afternoons however, people were tired, cranky, and in a hurry to get home. The unintentional accidents of the morning became intentionally rude road rage in the afternoon, hence the creation of the Asshole List (please pardon my language here; we were just teenagers). Yes, we kept a score card above the sun visor to track all the incidents. Here’s how it worked: An asshole was worth 1 point, and was someone who would cut you off and then drive slower than the rest of traffic especially in the left lane. A total asshole was 2 points, and was someone who’d cut you off, and you would have to swerve or slam on your breaks to avoid hitting them. A complete fuck up was 3 points, and was someone who actually hit you, ran you off the road, or tried to run you off the road in a fit of rage. For example, those idiots who don’t care to merge safely, because they don’t want anyone to get in front of them. After about six months, we figured up the totals and found we averaged about 17 points per week. Unfortunately, my dad found the list one day, and took it away. He didn’t think the language was appropriate for young ladies, and tried to scold me for it, but couldn’t keep a straight face. I wouldn’t be surprised if he took it to work with him the next day to show the guys in his carpool.

Well, here it is thirty years later, and Houston’s freeways have finally caught up with its population. Even though there’s still construction on many of the freeways, there’s no more stifling stop-n-go traffic except after an accident. One would think that the driving attitudes would improve with the progress, but apparently not. I still see road rage on a daily basis.

The other day, I was driving in the left lane, getting ready to pass a silver SUV and the 18 wheeler in front of him, when suddenly the “2 pointer” SUV pulled over in front of me, causing me and the cars behind me to slam on their brakes. Generally in most states, the left lane is for passing. Slower traffic is supposed to keep right, but Mr. 2 Pointer must have felt he was the exception to this common courtesy, because he continued to go the same speed as the 18 wheeler that was still in the lane to his right. The cars behind me cut over two or three lanes to the right to get around them. I decided to wait and see if he would eventually speed up. He did, and I followed him. When I was even with the cab of the 18 wheeler, Mr. 2 Pointer cut back over to the right in front of the 18 wheeler, revealing to me the road construction that was ending my lane. I didn’t have time to stop, so I sped up to get in front of the 18 wheeler. Apparently angry about the SUV, the 18 wheeler sped up also, and intentionally hit me, because he didn’t want me to get in front of him as well, making him Mr. 3 Pointer.

The rage of these two men spreads like the swine flu across our freeway systems, infecting everyone who comes near. It’s a highly contagious, ugly, angry, porcine disease, and now I have it too. I’m afraid to drive, afraid of acting just like them. So, I’ve decided to start another list, to try to make fun of the situation. I’m trying to make light of things like we did in high school. It’s the only way I know how to work through this kind of anger. This time I’m calling it the Cretoron List. I made the name up from the words ‘moronic cretin’. The words seem more descriptive than the previous list’s words. Here’s how it works: A Cretoron is 1 point, a Gross Cretoron is 2 points, and an Utter Noxiousile (from the words ‘obnoxious imbecile’) is 3 points. The standards for scoring are the same. If anyone would like to play along, feel free to leave your scores here in the comment section on Fridays.

I've also been spending a lot of time in my garden, trying to work through the anger.


floral choir's hymn
harolding healing colors
nature's therapy