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Tripped up in Beantown

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It is dawn. Mark is asleep but I have been awakened by pain. I had actually considered buying insurance for this trip.  Probably will next time. I had so much in mind for these 11 days and now it will be simply scenic drives for the foreseeable future. Yes, I have pain pills, but I take them sparingly because one very quickly builds a tolerance to codeine.  Mark is fetching and nursing - something,  I'm sorry to say, at which he has a lot of experience. At least I was still able-bodied for the MFA, one of America's truly great museums. Come for the John Singer Sargent. Be amazed by the Jamie Wyeth. Mark was gobsmacked by the latter, thus we made the exit through the gift shop and grabbed the exhibition book, adding serious pounds to the luggage.  I am blue. Mountain hikes and beach combing plans gone. Historical walks? Nope. Getting old sucks. I'm not saying I fell because I'm old. I fell because I walk fast and don't look out for obstacles. But a twenty-something w
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Yes, we are moving.

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Short version: We have no need or desire to stay in Houston but we’re not ready to be 2000 miles away from our kids. Slightly Longer Version: We have never loved Houston and in the summer, we actually hate it. But we have had friends and work we liked (I came here for a job) plus it was an easy place to live because staying is always easier than going. It could have been much worse. But now Mark is retired from the U and my work requires only that I have access to an airport. When we took our month long vacation this summer, one of my goals was return home with a plan. Instead we returned home with a tan. But it was the pits of August so we fled to the hills of Austin to seek cold springs to swim in and drive some neighborhoods and before you know it, we were closing on a house. ‘Tis a small and modest 1971 ranch-style house, a fixer- upper not far from the action, less than 5 miles SW of the Congress Street Bridge. It is a transitional home, a place to be comfortable for a couple few
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