To mark my solidarity with all recent gun-control marches (I never see any marching at these things; plenty of strolling and slogging, even some lollygagging, but no marching), rallies, protests, demonstrations, cortéges, and various uncategorized shindigs – all lead loosely by the eternal flame of youth – I bought this symbol of my support:

AR-15 chambered for 5.56 NATO, custom-made by Locked & Loaded Arms, Seabrook, TX

This was quite a sacrifice for the cause.  At $1300, it cost money I could have spent on more necessary things (“like us”, say the cats).  But who can put a price on solidarity?

I did not need or want this rifle.  I already own more powerful and useful rifles.  I don’t particularly care for the 5.56 round; I don’t need the excess of accessories (though I admit the stainless steel muzzle brake is rather nifty); I don’t need 30-round magazines. Truth be told, I’m an old-fashioned man who prefers the pleasing human/machine interaction of a lever-action rifle.

But I felt moved to help.  Having just renewed my NRA membership for three years, I can fill a role the recent gun control drama badly needs.  For that role, I understand that I need an AR-15 with a frightening appearance.  There is nobody and nothing I wish to assault, and I don’t have a clue how to go about assaulting anything anyway, but it seems I must own an “assault rifle” to properly fill my role.

After all, with my millions of other NRA brothers and sisters I’ve been called a terrorist, a child-killer, a Nazi, a redneck f***er and other fun names…well, I must do what I can to look like one, right?  Not so easy for a balding, 61-year-old man who lives a quiet peaceful life with many more cats and books than guns or evil thoughts, but I will do what I can to look as I must.  I am needed.  Without me, how can their self-righteousness sustain itself?

Just trying to do my part…

Since Friday, we in Seabrook, like most of the greater Houston area, have been subject to quite extraordinary wind, rain and flooding – all from the wandering hurricane (now tropical storm) Harvey.  In the last two days we’ve received between 27and 30 inches of rain.  Todville Road, where I live, has flooded, and some overnight squalls have been extreme.  More is expected in the days to come; indeed, more are approaching as I write.

I’ve taken videos and photos since Friday night, including an enjoyable kayak tour of old Seabrook with neighbor Steve during a rare lull in the storm early this afternoon. I’ll share a few in this and subsequent posts.

This was taken Friday evening from my front porch, when the first rains and street flooding were beginning; the lightning and thunder add a realistic touch.  The squalls continued all night, easing somewhat on Saturday, before becoming quite more violent in the last hours of Saturday and the first hours of Sunday morning.

This was taken early this morning, after a night of the fiercest weather I have experienced since going through Hurricane Gilbert (Cat 5) on a cargo ship in Jamaica many years ago (1988?).  Weather today was comparatively mild, with only a few inches of rain falling.

This is neighbor Steve, stopping to check his mailbox, at the beginning of our kayak tour early this afternoon.

As we started our paddling tour, we visited with neighbors Randy and Holly, out doing a bit of cleaning during a rare lull in the squalls.

Paddling north on Todville.  Galveston Bay is to our right, the lagoons to our left.  The water level of street, bay and lagoons was equal, and we could paddle from one to another without hindrance – and we did!

More from our tour north on Todville.

South on lower Todville Road:

In places, the water wasn’t very deep over the road.  At one point Steve and I got out and walked.  This shows the rush of flood water into the bay right next to my house (the blue one):

One wonderful surprise from the storm: a flock of frigate birds – I’ve counted 8 – blew in and have soared along the shoreline all weekend.  They are lovely birds, not commonly seen here.  I hope they choose to stay.

It is now 11 p.m. Sunday, August 27, as I finish this.  Tremendous lightning and thunder are approaching again from the southwest, from where the storms of the last two nights have approached.  I pray for the safety of friends, family and strangers everywhere.

(Video follows text)

From Glasgow (see previous post) I flew to Dublin, arriving early Sunday morning, April 23.  I dropped my bags at the hotel – on the River Liffey, in the heart of the old city – crossed the O’Connell Bridge, and joined the throngs of people walking the Temple Bar (very Irish, but crowded) and the commercial streets that spread south and west from Trinity College.  Irish kitsch achieves its gaudiest art form here, but the place is still fascinating to walk.

A most pleasant surprise – and escape from the crowds – was a tour of the Irish Whiskey Museum.  Though in the middle of rows of tacky tourist stores, the museum is surprisingly authentic and blessedly free of kitsch.  The tour was historically interesting, finishing with a leisurely lesson in the finer points of appreciating the many forms of Irish whiskey.  Though a Scotch whisky man myself, I gained an appreciation for the varieties of ‘uisce beatha,’ the Irish water of life.  An odd way for a Texas Methodist boy to spend a Sunday morning, but the stuff was perfected by monks…

I wandered on as far as St. Stephen’s Green before turning west to St. Patrick’s Cathedral and park.  Tour buses were pouring people into the cathedral, so I soon walked on to the lovely, very old and quieter Christ Church Cathedral and Dublin Castle.  In the late afternoon I returned to St. Patrick’s to attend evensong service (I’ve made a tradition of attending these on every visit to the UK).  I finished the day with a hearty meal of Irish stew and locally-brewed stout at a pub in Temple Bar, enjoying the live Irish music far into the evening.

The next morning I made the long walk along the river to Phoenix Park and the Dublin Zoo, detouring through side streets here and there.  I was eager to see the Amur (Asian) tigers (the largest cat in the world) and the snow leopard, my favorite cat and, in my opinion, the most strikingly beautiful.  The park was quiet and pretty, but the zoo disappointed: the leopard never showed itself, and the tiger pair were in a space which, though realistic enough, confined them too much.  I don’t care for zoos any more, though I know many of them do good work.

I walked back into the old city to view the Book of Kells at Trinity College.  The manuscript is astonishingly beautiful (cats were a popular illustration!).  That was worth the 30-minute wait to get in.  I finished the afternoon by visiting the Irish Rebellion museum at the General Post Office.

I left early the next morning, taking a train across the island to Galway.  I would return to Dublin on the 27^th, walking a few favorite spots before boarding a plane home.

In late April I was called for meetings with my clients in England, near Whitehaven in the far northwest of the country, bordering the famous and beautiful Lake District.  (Interesting historical note: during the American Revolutionary War, John Paul Jones sailed to Whitehaven, shelled the town and attempted to invade it; though unsuccessful, his raid was the only American attempt to attack England during the war.  On my first visit there, many years ago, my clients were tickled to treat me to dinner and drinks at the popular John Paul Jones Pub in town, which thrives to this day.)

My time there was happy, especially my reunion with dear friend John Riley and his wonderful companion Jennie Bailie.  Not only did they host me in their lovely Cockermouth home for my last night in England, but they drove me (and their two sweet dogs) through the fells of the Lake District and treated me to a lovely dinner in the delightful town of Keswick.

Early on my first morning free, John drove me to Carlisle from where I took a train to Glasgow.  I spent two wonderful days there, after which I flew to Dublin (more later on that and Galway).  With my hotel near the main train station as my base, I walked many miles, covering all of the old central city.  The video below includes a montage of photos of my excursions.  It leaves out many of the lesser but happy places I visited, people I met, and things I did (especially a memorable concert by the Scottish Chamber Orchestra) but captures something of the spirit of the city.

Though it didn’t displace Edinburgh and the highlands in my heart, I was glad to meet Glasgow.