Beautiful and Villainous, My January 6th

 

My beloved Astrodome during Rodeo

I survived yesterday, January 6th, spending it relatively quiet, sleeping in, and keeping mostly to myself. I ventured out just long enough to say hello to my neighbors before driving to the Astrodome in order to volunteer at the 2026 Houston Rodeo. It was actually at NRG Stadium, which is next door to the vacant Eighth Wonder of the World Astrodome, one of my all time favorite buildings, so in my head, that was my destination.

January 6th isn't necessarily a difficult day for me, but it is a memorable one. Just five years ago, on the 7th day in the hospital with the trump virus, my doctor stopped by to inform me that he thought I was well enough to go home. What a relief. I call it the trump virus because he did so little to protect Americans, cum the world, from such a vicious illness. I figured if he could call COVID the China virus, I could call it the trump virus. Only seems fitting, finding out first hand what a vile illness that was. (Not sure of which I speak.)

I thought I would die in that hospital, as many around me did. I'd hear the nurses talk outside my door about who had died the night before. Twice in rooms that neighbored mine. The second time was complete with a discussion on when they could use the room for the next patient—not until the afternoon, because they were backed up downstairs, so the patient was still lying in state in room next to mine. And then her replacement moaned and cried for help all night long.

What led me to the hospital stay was my second visit to the ER. The first time I was sent home only because I didn't need to be ventilated. I could hardly breathe, my chest hurt with double pneumonia, I couldn't smell a thing when inhaling deep from the container of ground coffee next to my Keurig. As much as I enjoy coffee, I hate the smell of coffee beans. As I struggled from the examination table to my feet, I whimpered, "OK, then I'll go home to die." I later regretted saying that. It wasn't the nurse's fault, and I hope she can know that in the end, I didn't die.

Barely alive in hospital

There are many things I don't recall from the days following my first ER visit; like what I did when I got home. Probably passed out from the struggle of walking into my home. I don't recall driving myself to the hospital the second time. I do recall being turned away from the main entrance and forced to walk around the block to the ER entrance. I remember thinking I was about to pass out and wondered how long I'd lie in the grass before being discovered. I don't recall checking in, but I do remember being wheeled to my hospital room. I remember how shaky I was, how concerned everyone was about my state of health, and how kind the doctor and nurses were to me. Thinking back, it was a wonderful gift to give a patient who may not see the next day.

So on day seven, that kind doctor said he thought I was well enough to go home. He'd requested I be released with a home oxygen system, which I stayed on for at least a month. I was so excited to see my cats, thinking I'd never see them again. I remember the night before going to the ER that second time, standing in my bedroom, unable to inhale because the pain was so bad, crying, wishing to die, knees going weak, looking for the best way to fall when I passed out, and seeing all three of my cats in different corners watching me like children seeing their father go off to war.

The first thing I asked the nurse the following morning—day 8—was if she knew when I could go home. I'd see that question all day go unanswered. For the first time since I entered that room I turned on the television. The news reports from Georgia's run-off election kept getting interrupted by the crowd gathering at the capitol in DC. By the crowd growing in size and in frustration in how the counting of electoral ballots wasn't going their way. By the crowd rushing the steps and climbing the walls. By the crowd then breaking into the United States Capitol building. It was the first time I'd cried for something other than my pain in a month. Perhaps yet since Mom died that previous March.

A month later still on oxygen

So much was my anticipation in going home, I missed dinner. When hearing the dining room had closed, a nurse brought me a sandwich from Subway. "I can't eat a whole sandwich," I told her. "Please take the other half." She left me the cookie and earned a place in heart, along with the other wonderful nurses, doctors and friends who had given me encouragement since falling ill early December. She refused my attempt to pay her.

After eating half the sandwich given to me, I fell asleep. The night nurse woke me, "It's time to go home. I'm here to help gather your things." I smiled at her. "I don't have much," I said. Since I drove myself to the hospital, and had no one to pick me up, I also drove myself home. The attendant had fun wheeling me all over looking for my car. And just like getting there, I have no memory of driving home. Had it not been 11PM in a world still mostly devoid of unnecessary traffic thanks to the covid shut down, I would not have attempted it. But I was a desperate man.

Seeing my cats again gave me such joy that I nearly fell dead to the ground in my living room. Their boxes needed to be emptied and the effort it took to clean them required a break in between. When getting ready for bed I fell, grabbing my night stand and causing it to roll completely upside down. I wasn't hurt. And as my shallow breaths slowed to normal, pulling the sheets up to my chin, I thought back on the day. January 6, 2021 was one of the longest days of my life. It was nearly January 7th before I got home. And I had watched an insurrection against my beloved country by my own countrymen live on television. How could my heart rise at being home and so crushed at the same time? The body is truly amazing.

My fur babies, Cusco, Miss Ellie, and Winona

It was nearly three months before I was able to drive. The book I'd been working on before falling ill was now impossible to finish because I was unable to type. Had I been able to, my concentration was shot. The fatigue was so bad that I slept much of the time, just like my cats, who stuck by my side to help me recover.

Recovery took four years. The brain fog never left, the dizzy spells, the phantom smells, seeing things in my periphery, unable to concentrate on what was being said to me. I was ineffectual in speaking the words that came to my brain because of some weird filter just inside my mouth that had me stuttering and slurring words like an afternoon drunkard trying to find his way home.

In the months after hospital, I was still shaky, and so easily distracted that I was becoming a danger to myself at home. A doctor suggested I consider admitting myself to an after care center, but I soon found a friend who needed a place to live as much as I needed assistance. The recovery was slow, but with encouragement from friends and family and my desire to get back to the career I love so much, I fought my way back.

Back where I belong, to a career I cherish

After nearly giving up on life, unable to write or return to flying, things began to turn around in the summer of 2024. By that October I was back in the skies, happier than I've ever been in my life. I'd beat the trump virus. I'd heard people die in the hospital. I'd lost neighbors and family. I saw the entire world shut down the week my mother died. And witnessed the first insurrection that our once proud nation has endured.

Like my illness, it was but a misstep. The USA will survive just as I have. It will recover. It will be stronger and happier than ever. I lost 100 pounds in the year after January 6, 2021. The world will eventually lose the obscene weight of an ego maniacal, bigoted, misogynistic, fake, loser of president- a convicted sex offender on top of being found guilty on all 34 charges of corruption, and likely just as guilty of pedophilia. We really need to tighten up our constitution so we never see another criminal enterprise brainwash half the country into an actual political cult.

But five years later, I'm flying. I'm happy. I'm spending quality time with my sweet gato-kitties, seeing the world, drinking good wine, visiting with friends and family, riding roller coasters, and writing again. The fatigue still keeps watch over me, but I do what I can, the best I can, to curse it away. We may have seen an insurrection on January 6th, but I won an insurrection against the trump virus that same day. Maybe it's fitting that this date in history is both beautiful to me, and vile at the same time.

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Shopping on Lordag

Hot Texas skies over the IKEA parking lot

 

Such a day I had today. First was a family lunch to celebrate a 65^th wedding anniversary. Afterwards, since I was in that part of town, I went to IKEA. I’ve always thought it interesting how in the cities where there is an IKEA, there is but one. The Bay Area had two, but they were in two different worlds, because the bay seems just seems to be as such. So in Houston, now that I live far north of the loop, it’s a big deal to get there, so I took advantage, against my better judgment of doing so on a Saturday, of being inside the loop to do some shopping.

It’s been over twenty years since I lived in Houston, so when going back to those old parts of town I’ve mostly forgotten about, I now use my car’s navigation. I told my car I was wanting to go to IKEA. My car gave me the directions to IKEA, but I guess my car had no further information, which was a shame. I mean, she tells me about traffic and which roads are closed, why can’t she give me some really useful information, like “You’re about to make a big mistake...are you sure you don’t want to just go home?” I pulled into the IKEA parking lot and quickly began to wonder what it was that they were giving away for free.

Everyone was at IKEA. If you were not at IKEA, where the hell were you? Nothing was being given away for free, but as I was buying a “Malm” dresser (Malm having a definition as being an artificial mixture of chalk and clay for making into bricks, which didn’t seem to have anything to do with the product I purchased, but they do have some weird names in there) I did learn that everything in the store was 15% off because of Hurricane Harvey. Nice.

An old photo of the Astrodome and its huge parking lot.

IKEA has a very large parking lot. I think the only Houston parking lot I’ve ever seen that is larger was the one at the Astrodome. One would go to the Astrodome for an Astro’s ball game, or the Houston Rodeo, or a few times I saw big concerts there, like Pink Floyd and The Rolling Stones. It would take half an hour to walk from the car to the entrance. It was a very large parking lot.

This was IKEA on a Saturday with a 15% post hurricane sale. Every space was taken. It was to the point that I got behind a car that was slowly trailing a young man with his flat-bed cart to his car. This flat-bed cart was filled to the brim. There really was no brim, but that’s the saying that comes to mind in seeing how full this man’s cart was with boxes, crates, bags and all sorts of nifty things from Sweden, or where ever they make Turd Berglin toilets, Fartful desks, Godis Skum marshmallows, or Stenklover bedsheets. (Those are all actual product names, I’m not making them up!) I mean, I saw trucks loaded with this much stuff when I was in India a few years back, and I was always scared that they would fall over onto us as we would pass them.

So I’m behind Mr. Dood in his big black Texas branded pickup, who is trailing this poor guy who is seemingly furnishing his entire house from IKEA, and thinking, dude, it’s going to take this guy another hour to shove all this crap into his compact car. Because that’s the kind of luck I would have, that he is driving a compact car. Finally, I get around Mr. Dood and find a parking space five spaces from San Antonio! I looked back towards IKEA, now a distant blue speck wavering in the heat of the parking lot. I felt like a kid again, off to the Astrodome, but instead of bull riding and pig races, I was surrounded by what, in many ways, seemed to be the same kind of animals, just not as much riding or racing going on.

With my purchases complete, I started back to my car at the far end of the west forty. It may have been the first full day of Autumn, but no one told Houston. It was broiling outside, and the sweat was now starting to soak my shirt. I was fading fast, but soon had entertainment. In front of me was a couple looking proud of the wares they were about to take home. The husband must have been bright enough to leave the shopping to his wife, while he sat upstairs eating Kottbullar (Swedish meatballs) and Knackerbrod Rag (cookies), because he was looking over the items for the first time. She had two large boxes on the bottom of her cart and he asked why she bought two.

“They were 15% off,” she gushed, “so together, I got 30% off!”

I nearly choked, but no one seemed to notice.

He caught on pretty quickly and responded with “Well, don’t you think we should go back and get four more and get 90% off?”

She stopped dead in her tracks, “Can we do that?”

“I don’t think it works that way, dear. I’ll explain it to you later.”

They reached their car long before I did, and wouldn’t you know that they had a Trump bumper sticker!

Again, taking advantage of being in this part of town, I decided to do another stupid thing. Costco on a Saturday. I could have just as easily walked into a biker bar and made an off-hand remark about Tankwelder’s mom, for I must have been out for punishment. One of the things I love most about my job is having weekdays off for such adventures as shopping at a Costco. I learned quickly to avoid this place on weekends like a cat avoids hairballs on a hard surface and instead makes sure to aim for the carpet. But the store near me was out of the candles they had advertised on sale and I knew the one on Bunker Hill had them.

Some funny IKEA names I found on line.

If you know Costco, like IKEA, you know that parking can be troublesome. I usually just aim for the far away spots and forgo the slow search up down the rows of shiny cars. As I got closer to the entrance, I kept seeing parking spaces closer and closer to the entrance. I wound up with rock star parking, space number one. Any closer and I would have been in the handicap spaces, of which in this row, there were only two. I couldn’t believe this prime score!

The walk to the entrance was now short, which sort of made up for the long journey to and from my car at IKEA. Then my heart sank as I saw the door to the entrance had been rolled shut. It’s funny, I never before realized that the entrance doors at Costco were really garage doors that rolled up and down. There, before me, was a large sign with red letters stating that Costco, on Saturdays, closes at 6pm. I looked at my watch. It was 6:14pm. No wonder I got such a close parking space.

I could see inside the exit door. There were still quite a few checkers working down the long lines of shoppers. There were still people meandering back and forth with their oversized shopping carts of such items at twenty-pound boxes of peanuts and bags of five loaves of bread. Emboldened, I meekly approached the two employees checking receipts and gave them my most tired-looking and yet pleasing smile that I could muster.

“I know you’re closed,” I said, nearly water-eyed, “but I just drove all the way from the North Houston Costco because they were out of the LED candles you have advertised, and they sent me here because you have them in inventory on the computer system.” (I’m not above innocent white lies to Costco employees fourteen minutes after closing.) “That’s the only thing I need to buy,” I continued, “could you let me in real quick, and I promise, that’s all I’m buying.”

Underpowered, they had to call for a supervisor’s approval. I repeated my story and he gladly let me in, showing me the way to the location of the candles in the huge warehouse. I was so glad they actually had them, because it was actually three days ago that I was at the North Houston location when I learned that they had sold out. I was told that the Bunker Hill store had over one hundred of them. All right, so I fibbed twice.

Closed entrance door to a Costco (not my image).

A mocha freeze

I’d spent nearly two hours in IKEA and felt like I had walked half way across Houston to do so. I was hot, sweaty and tired and I looked up on the wall across from the register for which I was in line and saw an image. Like a most wondrous mirage to one trapped for days in the desert, was an icy mocha freeze. It was only $1.45. It looked so cold and frosty, with a hint of chocolate. I think I would have paid $5 for it! It was just what I needed to cool me down on this first day of autumn, also known as the 216th day of Texas summer. There was still a line, so they were still open. So sue me, I lied a third time and wound up buying more than just the candles, but it was one of the best iced mochas of all time.

On the drive home I was treated to a fantastic sunset, complete with silver lined clouds and orange hues. There was no traffic until I got to my exit, which made me smile that I was avoiding it by such a close margin. It was a successful shopping trip. I found some needed items for my home, got some exercise, sweat like I was in a sauna, was entertained by a dim-witted woman who thought she got 30% off because she bought two items instead of one, and talked my way into a super-sized box store after closing. I’m in a good mood right now. Just wait until I start putting together my Malm dresser! Anyone want to come lend a hand?

Adventures in Life: The Apartment

Apartment #1 on bottom left, this was the front door.

I love going back in time. It's not so hard to do when you live in your home town. Every few years I enjoy driving back through my old neighborhood and seeing how things have changed. The U-Totem convenience store is gone, along with the old washateria next to it. It's now a bright, shiny new home store. The old GM dealership on the corner is a beauty supply mega-store. The old House of Pies is still there, and then there is the apartment.

The old House of Pies on Kirby Dr., a Houston institution

The apartment I have the most memories of- some of the first and most impressionable memories of my childhood- is on the borders of the artsy Montrose and the affluent River Oaks section of Houston. This is the apartment were I went to kindergarten; I still remember Mom taking pictures of me and my friend, Dallas, on the day I started first grade. Wow, I had a friend named Dallas! In the alley behind the apartment is where I learned to ride a bike...my first bike, a Christmas gift, as was my first Lego set.

 

This is where I learned to ride a bike and I played in that very puddle of water!

This was the apartment where I lost my first pet dog in a battle with a car on nearby Kirby Dr. This is the apartment of my first pet cats, who had kittens in the living room. This is the apartment where I first noticed airplanes in the sky, where I played with Yvette in the bushes under my window, where I admired all the Halloween candy from the mansions a few blocks away, where I played in puddles after a rain and where, one day, I got in trouble for throwing rocks at passing cars. I was four...I had no idea that was bad. But I learned!

Mom was young and struggling after her divorce to a man who turned out to be a selfish, egotistical piece of work. When her struggle became too much, she would walk me onto an airplane and send me to my grandparents. This is the reason I'm so close to my family, and Mom's independence and ability to overcome her struggles was passed on to me.

For years I've driven by this apartment and watched as it got new paint jobs, new flowers in the yard, new curtains in the windows. Eventually, some of the neighboring apartments were torn down and up went shopping strips of furniture and children's toy stores. Then today, some 44 years after I lived there, as I drove back in time, my old apartment itself has been turned into a store! It's now an annex of the very store that overtook the neighboring buildings.

These door used to the our covered parking space.

I had planned to park and take some photos, afraid that one day soon, I'd drive by and it would be gone. But I guess that apartment had good bones, for there it was, just as I remembered it, except that the front yard was now paved for cars to park and people shopped for home goods in the place where all my oldest memories were formed. If they only knew! I went inside; something I'd longed to do for oh, so many years.

I walked into what used to be my living room. I could still see the Christmas tree and remember asking Mom how Santa was going to enter without our having a chimney. She told me he had magic keys and would walk in the front door, which was now blocked by a table showing off fancy plates and glassware. This was the room where I discovered Batman on TV, would first watch The Wizard of Oz and laugh at the antics of The Three Stooges before leaving for school (the Montessori school I attended is still there). This was the room my father got into an argument with a man my mother was dating. It made me cry, as it was the first time I realized that my father was flawed.

It was in this corner Mom had our Christmas tree.

As I walked to where my bedroom used to be, I could see where the window was, now blocked by a shelf full of stemware. The space between our apartment and the building next to it has been connected, so instead of the large bushes just outside are now candles and fancy candle holders. That window was home to the air conditioner, that beautiful machine. I loved the sound it made, lulling me to sleep and the cold breeze it provided on sultry Texas nights.

The window of my bedroom used to have a large bush.

Suddenly, I realized that I was standing in the place where, each night, I would lie my head and fall into dream land. The glasses on the shelves blurred through the tears forming in my eyes. I could still see the walls that were now gone, and the posters I had hanging over my bed; see the hole in the ceiling of the bathroom that fell in after the upstairs flooded. (I was able see the upstairs neighbor's tub when that happened!)

You can see where the walls were. Upper right was the corner of my bedroom; left was the kitchen.

To my right was where my Mom's room was. I could still see her teasing her hair in front of the mirror in the corner. Beyond her room was the small 1-car covered parking space. And behind me was where our kitchen used to be, the same kitchen Mom worked so hard on to paint...yellow and orange, if I remember correctly. She was such an artistic rebel!

Standing in Mom's bedroom, the kitchen was on the left and my room was behind that column.

From the living room looking to the back of the apartment.

Now, it was all a huge showroom for Kuhl-Linscomb, a top-end design and lifestyle store. The hardwood floors were now stained concrete, but one can still see where the walls used to be. So many memories from 44 years ago came flooding back as I looked around. This is where I learned to tie my shoes. This is where I watched Carol Burnett. This is where Mom cut her wrist on broken glass and I remembered how badly I felt for her while she cried as we drove to the hospital. This is where I lived when I first went to Astroworld (gone), first went ice skating at the Galleria, first ate wonderful greasy burgers at the Purple Cow down the street from Arthur Treacher's Fish and Chips (both gone). 

Where the bathroom used to be. You can see the hole in front of the column where the toilet was.

The thrill I had in riding my bike up the parking garage of the building around the block, the top from which I could see the Astrodome, was still with me. I loved that damned building with it's magical light-up scoreboard with fireworks displays, eventually removed for more seats; yet another sad change from my childhood. Some of the quirky apartment homes in the neighborhood that I loved remain, but many have been torn down and converted to townhomes. How times have changed...how many 4 and 5 year-olds ride their bikes without supervision in the busy streets of Houston today? 

Of the quirky apartment buildings still stands a block away.

So if you find yourself in building 3 of K-L looking at wine glasses, this is where a very young Penguin would attempt to make himself appear hot at night so Mom would turn on my air conditioner, allowing me to sleep better. (To this day, I still sleep with a fan at night.) Take care of my apartment Kuhl-Linscomb. I want to come back and visit again. The old apartment has changed. But so have I...and Mom, too. Just like that home to a single mother struggling to make ends meet and raise her son, now a quaint shop of high-end home décor, we've come a long way and are doing much better for ourselves. And don't worry about Santa, he's gotten in just fine before!

Where this pickup is parked used to be a large bush under which I would play with Yvette and Dallas.