It’s lonesome in this old town.   Everybody puts me down.   I’m a face without a name, just a -walking in the rain.   Going back to Houston, Houston, Houston…dum diddy dum.   Maestro, please.

Ok, so I’m not really lonesome or put down or any of that song stuff, and it hasn’t rained a drop since we’ve been in Texas.   But I DID hear that song on the radio station Slow listens to every day.   Country favorites from yesterday or some bullshit like that.   Pardon my French.   I’ve had a long day because I did, indeed, go with Slow to Houston this a.m.   We just got back from that trip to the Twilight Zone.

Here’s how it all got started. I saw Slow was going somewhere important early this morning.   She walked back and forth down the long hall several times gathering up bags of things like Lubriderm, glue, toilet paper and even some new clothes from Dillard’s.   The clothes still had the tags on them and were in the Dillard’s wrappers.   New.   Then, she took these little sandwich bags out of the kitchen cabinet and started separating coins she brought in from the truck, the ones she keeps in the little brown and white cowhide change purse.   She counted quarters, dimes and nickels and put a certain amount in each sandwich bag.   Then, she gathered these little sandwich bags up with all the other bags and started loading them in the truck.   What in the world was she going to do with all these little bags of money?    That old woman would be the death of me yet.

  I was about to think I’d end up staying in the laundry room all day while she made her mystery trip, but then I saw her reach for the green plastic water bowl for moi.   If you looked for Red today, he was in a truck bound for the Big City.   Yee haw.   I’m blowing this popsicle stand in Montgomery and headed for greener pastures!!

It was a perfect day for our trip – the weather here has been clear and sunny with no clouds to worry Slow, the ever-vigilant fearful driver.   We took some back roads for a while before we made it onto a big wide-open six-lane highway.   Evidently quite a few Peeps liked the idea of going to Houston because those highways were packed, let me tell you.   I had to help Slow keep track of all the cars and trucks.   I jumped back and forth from the front seat to the back and barked whenever I thought we were too close to another vehicle that was bigger than ours.   I have to say Slow showed no signs of appreciation for my help.   Oh, contrare.   Some Peeps that I know need to practice their inside voice in their truck.   No matter, we kept on going.

We drove up to this thing called a toll plaza, and the money mystery was solved.   Slow reached for one of her little sandwich bags of money and, when she stopped in her lane, she threw a sack of coins into this basket and waited a few seconds until they clattered down a hole and a small gate flew open, and we drove on through.   So, in Texas, you pay to ride on the roads, and you have to have just the right amount of coins to throw every time you come to a toll plaza.   Poor old Slow had planned for all this in advance, and I’d tried to accuse her falsely of eccentric behavior.   Oh, well.

By the time we got to where we were going, I was worn out from all the highway activities, but I was very interested in the buildings, billboards, businesses and bustle that was Houston!   But, where were we going with our assortment of bags?   That was the second mystery solved for the day.   We pulled into this place called the Atria Westchase.   It was a pretty place and looked kind of like an apartment building with three stories on the right and only one on the left.   The one on the left had a beautiful courtyard enclosed with a jail fence.   Seriously, no one was getting out of that courtyard unless they bribed the jailers.

Slow took all of the bags inside and told me to wait for a few minutes and that she’d be back to get me.   She put the windows down for me so I could have plenty of fresh air.   I watched her ’til she disappeared into the building, and then I settled down for a little nap while I waited.   In a few minutes, though, she was back and we walked around the place while I took care of some necessities.   Thank you for grass and flowers, Atria Westchase.

We went in through this pretty lobby and saw a bunch of Old Peeps eating lunch in a large dining area.   Hey, what’s up with this?  Where are all the Moderately Old Peeps?   These are Ancient Peeps, and we’re not staying to eat with them.   Nope.   We take a hard left and walk down a hall to the side of the building that’s one story.   Ho hum.   It’s pretty good, I guess.   Carpeted so I don’t even make a clicking noise when I walk.   Slow stops at some kind of alarm and punches some numbers in to make the door open.   Oh, I see.   We’re going to the jail side.   It’s called the Memory Care Unit.   Swell.  

These Ancient Peeps are also looney tunes.   Just what the doctor ordered.   We go into Apt 141, and I’m pleasantly surprised.   No bars on the windows, and a pretty good room with a bed, recliner, desk with a chair and a tv set that’s seen better days.   Don’t bother looking for HD on this tv.   Some pictures on the walls and several on the desk, too.   Some of them look familiar.   Hey, here’s a good one of Slow and Pretty with New Year’s Eve hats on.   The woman behind them is someone I think I know, but, then, all Peeps look so much alike to me.   Who lives here?

I’ve just settled in on the floor for a short nap, and the door opens.   It’s an Old Woman pushing a walking contraption.   I jump up to go see who it is, and guess who it turns out to be?   Grandmother Selma!!!   My own grandmother is an inmate in the Memory Care Jail.   Sigh.   It’s a world gone mad.

More later.   Turns out we have unexpected company tonight.