Tag Archives: Houston

Life Without You

Daily Prompt: Pride and Joy
What’s your most prized possession? Go!

At the moment, it’s my drawing pen with which I draw. I don’t know, without it, how I would have drawn anything.

The last six days have been chaotic. I went to Boston to meet my daughter. I got back yesterday evening. Back to hometown Houston. After I emptied my bags, and put everything away, I looked at the daily prompt. By that time, it was already 6p.m. I wanted to draw a face for yesterday’s prompt, the pen was nowhere to be seen.

For a moment, I was going to have a heart attack. Don’t worry, it wasn’t real. I get panic attacks over every worry, which comes my way. I was relieved, when I finally found it. It lay hidden in the folds of my bag.

Oh! My sweetheart, what would I have done without you.

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http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/pride-and-joy/
Life Without You

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If I Was A Mayor

Daily Prompt: We Built this City
What do you love most about the city/town/place that you live in? What do you like the least about it? If you were mayor, what would be the most important problem you’d tackle? How would you tackle it?
Show CIVILIZATION.

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I live in the city of Houston. It’s a large city, too large for my taste. I am a small town person where everyone knows everyone else. The most pressing problems are good schools and too congested roads.

Houston is a warm city. You don’t have to face snow storms like other cities in the North. It’s good for my arthritis. Although the children were excited when they learned there was going to be snow. They waited but alas their expectations came to naught. We are having cold weather but that’s it. But the weather is fickle, fluctuating from 77 degrees to 42.

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City of Houston. Photo Credit: Google.

If I was a mayor, what would I have done
Tackling the problems, one by one
Better environment, roads and schools
Finding solutions, I would have won

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/03/09/prompt-built-city/
If I Was A Mayor

Back To Houston

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Photo taken from the cabin

Yesterday I came back to Houston. Reaching home I saw my grand son IB still sitting at the dinning table, trying to finish his breakfast. A solitary figure, watching cartoons at the same time.It was past eleven. I made my own and sat down next to him. I was hungry. I had got up at three in the morning to come via shuttle to the airport. My son in law carried my one piece of luggage. He saw to everything and waited patiently till I got out of his sight in the waiting line to security check up.

I finished my tea. IB was still sitting trying……. I asked him,”Why don’t you finish your breakfast?” He gave me a smile and went on lethargically picking at things. I told him he was getting reduced in size by not eating. He got up from the table. He pulled his tee shirt up, bunched his flat stomach in his hands and said, “See, I am having baby fat here, I don’t feel like eating.”

Only God knows who put the crap in his head.

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Facing Trouble

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Picture taken from the cabin onward to Newark.

Yesterday I came from Houston to Newark. Nowadays in Ramadan I get up at 4.30am to have breakfast because of fasting. Yesterday I got up at 2.30 am to have it as the flight was at six. I didn’t feel like eating but forced myself. Left home at three in the morning. My son drove me. He checked in my one piece of luggage. Poor thing he had to get up early because of me.

Onward from there the trouble started. As I got to the screening I had no sense of impending doom. I loaded my handbag and sandals onto the tray and headed towards my own screening. Hands held over the head, I faced the camera. As I stepped out of the cubicle, I was held. Told to wait as other passengers breezed through. Again, I was lead through another screening. Another one, a period of waiting, and then another one. The alarm bells over my predicament now were in full swing in my head. My face you can imagine was beet red in color. All the things in my handbag were searched. Still barefoot, I was lead to another cubicle for body search.

My body was searched as to what they call a Pat Down. It was humiliating. God knows what they were trying to find. My bare feet went through swabs of cotton. By now my anger knew no bounds. I wanted to bite the two women’s heads off. I took off my scarf and then my abaya and asked sarcastically, ” Want me to take off my clothes so that you can have another go at me?” Perplexedly they shook their heads. As one of the women held the abaya in her hands, I found out the buttons in the abaya caused me all this grief. It dawned on those women too at this point. Stupid camera machine! It doesn’t know buttons. I hope the inventors and the installers face the same music which I went through.

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