---For much of the past few days I was more or less folded up in the back-cab? of my sister's pick-up truck: you know, that one-foot-square crevice that allows for the ample cramming of shabby T-shirts, old purses, notebooks, and shopping paraphernalia... and brothers, though in a manner not suiting said objects' safe transport. Once or twice I bumped my head as we hit one or two of Houston's more notorious potholes in a row, which while providing for some wicked loft likewise produced traumatizing turbulence.
---Driving in my sister's truck is no less harrowing, considering the aforementioned scabrous surface of Houston's highways and byways, and the bobbing suspension on her Nissan Kingcab XE; I felt like I was riding a speed boat across a varied wave-pattern, striking some throttling crest as I hit a poorly-paved pothole and then lilting and lulling on the descending side of the swell afterward. Today I drove myself to church in trepidation, to say the least.
---I notice that I also make with the strange Jerry Lewisness while I'm alone in the car. (Silly nonsense noise-making, high-pitched singing---Re: the funniest scene in Bruce Almighty.) Perhaps it's the general tedium of driving; maybe I'm just never as alone as when I'm barreling down an expressway in a confining metal compartment on wheels connected to a series of controlled explosions... LOL. Prozac, anyone?
---I bid my Grandma good-bye this morning... She was sad to have to journey home alone; I was sorrowful to see her go. Now that airports have become so technologically oriented she's bewildered as to how to accomplish certain tasks relegated (in the name of efficiency) to the Internet and computer terminals...
---Anyway, my Dad and I have begun (unofficially) a tradition of watching westerns---usually w/ Clint Eastwood---around the holidays. My father's family spent some time working on a ranch or the like in Colorado, and he seems to recall some of those gentler years watching Clint Eastwood pop a proverbial cap in Gene Hackman's gullet (or face?). Er, ... ahem! I'm sure it has something to do with the wild country... oh, and horses.
---Oh, and I got some 3 or so Nutcrackers amongst my holiday plunder... just FYI, Liz. :)
Hahaha. Now whenever I see nutcrackers, I am going to think of you instead of the horror that has invaded my house. Thank you for that :) As long as they stay away from my piano, I have no problem with the guys in their intricate costumes with their warm beards and wide jaws. Strange how things can change like that.
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