We’ve been here nearly six months now. Six whole months. I can hardly believe it.
Our ducklings have grown. Well, technically they are not ‘our’ ducklings but we’ve adopted them as we have no other pets.
More of them later.
Yes, we’ve been busy of late. It started when friends Steve and Catherine came over for a Rush fest in May. Rush (for those who don’t know) are a Canadian prog-rock band much beloved of Mr P and so it was inevitable that on their last (hmm) US tour ever, which took in Houston, that we would have to go and see them.
Steve is a professional musician and plays with a Rush tribute band so he and his wife came over to join us at the gig in Houston. Catherine and I were Rush ‘virgins’ but soon got swept along with the true fans, wearing our t-shirts with pride and accompanying our excited husbands to the Toyota Center.
The gig did not disappoint. I am not sure I’m a complete convert – but I thoroughly enjoyed myself and loved the light show and animations that accompanied the music too.
Rush fans are a breed apart – following their idols on the tour, many seemed to have been to practically all the events. I marvelled at a) how they managed to travel so many locations and b) how they could afford this both in time off work and hard cash!
In a very, very small world moment I met someone after the gig in the hotel bar, where we all gathered afterwards, who turned out to be my sister-in-law’s nephew. Although I had spent some time talking to him and discovering acquaintances in common, we didn’t discover the main connection until he posted on my niece’s Facebook timeline to wish her Happy Birthday a few days later and I recognised the name. It really is a small world and a wonder that in a city of 2.4 million in the metro area and some 6 million including the outlying counties that I should meet an extended family member by chance, visiting for the Rush gig.
The next day we set off for New Orleans or NOLA (New Orleans, Louisiana) with Steve and Catherine. Why? To see Rush on Friday of course! And this time the boys would go alone leaving Catherine and I to shop and explore on our own. The journey down was a bit hairy as we had torrential rain en route. But by the time we got there the roads were dry and a gorgeous weekend followed with no rain at all.
Excitement was at fever pitch as Steve had won a ‘meet and greet’ with two of the three band members and so after a day of sight seeing they set off for the Smoothie King stadium like a couple of small children on their first trip to meet Santa. It nearly didn’t happen as Steve had taken special gifts for the band which were packed in a back pack. Back packs were banned. Much too-ing and fro-ing and pleading ensued and they got in eventually, meeting their heroes in a whirlwind of handshakes and photos, and then it was over. Gifts had been dispatched to an assistant – t-shirts from Steve’s charity event Rushfest in Scotland as well as other significant and personal items. They enjoyed the gig yet again, Catherine and I enjoyed our night out too, finishing with a couple of amarettos in a very nice bar.
We continued the weekend in New Orleans with a paddle steamer cruise the next day and of course a walk along Bourbon Street, although I think I will give that a miss next time! Too many stags and hens in evidence and complete drunken mayhem. I preferred perusing the Lafayette Cemetery, and exploring the mansions in the Garden District.
Our trip back to Houston was much drier than the outward journey and we arrived back in good time, tired but having had a great weekend. After a day in Galveston on the Monday, Steve and Catherine were set to leave on the Tuesday. But first we endured HHF – Houston’s Historic Flood.
Now, last post I mentioned the rain, which had been pretty bad up to a point. Well, on the Monday night our visitors were very impressed with the light show we put on for them – thunder and lightning which just did not stop. At all. For eight hours. And it rained torrentially for that entire time.
We didn’t realise the full extent of the flood till the next day when we switched on the TV. Maurice had received an email in the early hours, intimating that the office was closed so we knew things must be bad. But boy were we in for a shock. The Brays Bayou was higher than we’d ever seen, and many others had ever seen, in 30 years.
The journey to the airport with our visitors was hurried along, although their flight home was not until after 4pm we were taking no chances with what we may encounter on the roads. Thankfully we got there quickly and with little delay but not without seeing first hand the bizarre scene of cars floating along what to all intents and purposes was a river, but was in actual fact the freeway. The 288 had turned into a fast flowing deluge overnight.
What was most surprising was the rate at which things retuned to normal. The roads drained remarkably fast and the Bayou was down to reasonable levels in a matter of days. My photographs which illustrate before and after probably tell the tale better than I can in words.
There are still some tell-tale signs along the Bayou of the flood that dramatically came and went. Debris on the roof of the underpass we walk through regularly, indicating the level of flash flooding which took place well above. And a stranded fish on the bike and hike path, now decomposing and covered in flies.
Our ‘boys’, the ducklings, survived the flooding. probably pretty well really. A poor heron got stranded in our street and looked very lost on the night of the storm and there were a lot of abandoned or orphaned baby squirrels apparently.
The other night when I went to check on the ducks – twenty-one have become six since hatching – I was at the side of the pond where we usually see them when out of the bushes from the other side they emerged. Following their mother in an orderly fashion I swear they made a bee-line, or should I say duckling-line, for me. When I walked on to the small jetty to get up close, they followed me again, no doubt thinking I was going to feed them, but then just hanging out with me, dozing off and just floating along beside me. When I decided to leave, they swam off too.
Is it possible that they recognise the odd couple of duckling spotters that visit them regularly?
On JFK – you’ll need to wait until the next post for that…
Whole Other Country 
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