Mike and I went to the Greater Houston Scout Fair on Saturday but didn’t get to stay long because it began to rain on us. Afterward we took a little tour of Houston, first driving into the Upper Kirby area and then through River Oaks. We had nothing pressing to do so we continued to meander along Allen Parkway and into downtown Houston. From there we drove along Navigation past my mom’s childhood home, around the turning basin of the Ship Channel and then down Broadway all the way to Hobby Airport.
Ironically I pointed out how placid Buffalo Bayou was on Saturday and thought of my mother’s stories of swimming in its waters when she was young. She often told me that the banks of that waterway were filled with native trees and plants and creatures of every sort back then. She and her brothers thought of it as a kind of paradise. On Saturday I bemoaned the fact that so many of our bayous have been desecrated with concrete walls. Our once beautiful ribbons of water are more like drainage ditches that don’t always function as well as we would like. Mike and I had a brief discussion about Braes, White Oak, and Sims bayous and the memories that we had of them from our own youths. I thought of how wonderful it would be if we were to return those areas to their natural state, creating lovely parks for the citizenry to enjoy. Continue reading “Purple Rain”
I am not among the wealthiest people that I know but if I compare myself to the entire population of the world I am indeed rich. I never achieved fame for the work that I did and none of my blogs have gone viral. Mine has been a rather quiet life, mostly routine and average. On the other hand if I were to consider the quality of the friends whose company I have enjoyed I would have to admit to being blessed beyond measure. It is in the people who have crossed my path and stopped to share extraordinary moments with me that I have become a woman of distinction. Perhaps there is no more interesting and accomplished person among those with whom I have shared a cup of tea than Seng-Dao Keo. 
I love the old black and white movies from the twenties, thirties and forties. I used to watch them late on Friday or Saturday nights on our television when I was still a very young child. It never occurred to me that many of the beautiful men and women who so enchanted me were old enough to be my grandparents. One of my all time favorite stars was Clark Gable. Even back then I was taken by the little squint in his eyes and the sonorous voice that he used so commandingly. He filled the screen with his charisma and always seemed to be featured in epic films with stories that kept my full attention. One of my all time favorites was San Francisco which I just happened to see for the first time when my family was briefly living in northern California. 
Oh how my mother loved baseball! Even on the day that she died she wanted to watch a few innings of an Astro’s game. She thought of baseball as an all American sport, almost an inspirational game with heroes whose faces donned cardboard collectors’ cards. The reality is that once upon a time baseball had a very ugly side. Years after the Emancipation Proclamation African American players were denied access to the big leagues. Instead they were relegated to all black minor league teams despite their talent. All of that changed on this day, April 15, 1947, when the Brooklyn Dodgers debuted their newest player, Jackie Robinson. 
All It Takes Is A Little Love 