I don’t know what’s happening there. I only know that I don’t know.
I only know that the wall-to-wall plastering of suffering there is torture.
My son? The leftover strands of my cousins?
I have no idea.
I only know that what is entertainment for most right now – in some form or another, like it or not – is the first thing that has scared me in years.
So in my helplessness, since I must do something, I will just post a picture of the street we lived on in Houston; first, on the left, my aunt, uncle, and cousins’ house. On the right was “mine.” Although I basically lived at Aunt Mary’s.
and this is how far I had to walk to find laughter, love, kindness, and the best food in Texas: