Hurricanes, conspiracies and memories for a Friday

Short takes from a journey through a disorganized mind:

Houston, June 2010

The last time I visited Houston was a little more than seven years ago. It was my Texas Summer, when I spent 11 weeks enjoying the Hill Country.

If you're wondering what got me all the way over to Houston, it was the chance to add another ballpark to my list of ones where I saw a baseball game.

I never saw a game in the Astrodome, and I didn't get to the new park when it was called Enron Field. But Minute Maid Park was very nice, and Roy Oswalt pitched the Astros past the then-still-cursed Cubs.

Once I was on I-10 heading west after the game, I saw this sign. It was windy in Houston, but not raining. I'm not even sure there was a hurricane anywhere at the time.

But I'd never seen that particular sign anywhere else, and I wanted to remember it.

Houston, August 2017

I assume Houstonians never forget.

Times like this all you can do is pray and hope for the best. Apparently a lot of Texans will be getting nasty surprises from their insurance companies. Something like 80 percent of homeowners policies that cover hurricanes provide funds for wind damage ... but not for flooding.

Oops.

***

Occasionally there are nice surprises that come completely out of nowhere.

1986

I got an email from my daughter yesterday. Attached was a short video clip from 1986, a clip of my wife -- at the time a year younger than Pauline is now -- talking about the Voyager mission. At the time, Nicole still worked at the CNRS in Toulouse, France.

Unless it was late fall, I was still in St. Louis, with jobs in Colorado, Nevada and California ahead of me before I would meet her in September 1992.

She looks so young.

***

I have a friend who has never seen a conspiracy theory he didn't like.

Whether it was Roswell, JFK, 9/11 or why Dick Sargent replaced Dick York as Darren on "Bewitched," my friend is quick to see plotting and planning even where none exists.

That's why it was such a joy for me in 1999 to discover David Icke's "The Biggest Secret," which pretty much explains everything.

It's from the school of aliens being behind everything, and this one involves shape-shifting lizards. They are among us, and some of the more important ones are Queen Elizabeth and Poppy Bush.

Icke quotes people who say they have seen the Queen switch from lizard to human, but fewer people have seen Poppy.

There are so many of these people who just cannot seem to accept the world for what it is. The way I look at it, if there really were some massive conspiracy behind things, they would have to have come up with someone better than Trump.

***

Late 1950s, Laura, Grandma and me

Yesterday would have been my grandmother's 122nd birthday. Since the last one she actually celebrated was No. 94, she has been gone a long time. The reason i mention it is that I remembered the Indiana woman who died around Thanksgiving 2008. She lived to be 115, and all her children and grandchildren had predeceased her.

If my grandmother were alive today, she would still have one of her two children -- my mother -- alive and all nine of her grandchildren as well. In fact her other child, my mother's older brother, lived until 2010 and died a few months before what would have been her 115th birthday.

If there is one thing that will eventually make dying and crossing over bearable, it will be seeing lost loved ones again.

My grandmother is first on the list.

***

Another departed friend would have been celebrating his 66th birthday today. I had been friends with Tom Kensler since the summer of 1965, when his family lived a little more than a block south of mine in Fairfax, Va. Of all my childhood friends, he was the only other one to make a career of journalism, and he was much more successful than I was.

Tom Kensler

Ironically, we wound up working for the same scummy conglomerate. I got shoved out the door of the Inland Valley Daily Bulletin with nothing in 2008, and Tom accepted a severance package from the Denver Post that included a year's pay in 2015.

The last time I saw Tom alive was April 9, 2013, when we had lunch together in Atlanta. It was the day after Louisville had beaten Michigan in the Georgia Dome to win the NCAA men's basketball championship.

He was flying back to Denver later in the day, and we agreed to meet in the lobby of his hotel at a certain time.

Well, we were both there. We looked around. And amazingly, for nearly five minutes we didn't recognize each other. When we finally identified ourselves, sort of the same way Americans speak other languages (with a question mark at the end of every sentence), we had a good laugh.

We had lunch and talked for about an hour. He told me that he was really. His job was good, his golf game was good and most of all, he had the love of his life in his marriage with Pam. I said I had to meet her some day, and I did -- 3 1/2 years later at his funeral.

He was a couple of months shy of 65 when a brain aneurysm killed him. I made the trip there and back for the funeral in about 24 hours, and I found myself sitting in a nearly deserted terminal in Denver waiting for my red-eye flight home and crying at the thought of never seeing my friend again.

At least not in this world.