A fun book tour to San Antonio and Houston and Katy (which is a suburb of Houston, although Houston’s suburbs have now spread beyond imagination). My escort, the charming and helpful Mary Ann Knoweth said ‘I tell people that this out here was once all farmland and they look at me as if I were crazy or I were 200 years old’.  The cities spread and spread and spread.

It was farmland — ricelands, grazing lands. Now all subdivisions and big-box stores, corporate headquarters for BP and Exxon etc. etc. Far away on the shores of the Gulf of Mexico, there are one or two lighthouses.

The also kind and also helpful publicity guy at Harper-Collins, Ben Bruton, booked me into places that would take pets so Rita got to come with me. She was in pet heaven.

This is one of the classics of post-apocalypse novels, published in 1952 and despite the truly horrible cover art, it is a great read. It has an unsympathetic main character, and that is also unusual for the time and also because it works. Unsympathetic in terms of ‘hardbitten’ and looking out for Number One first last and always. It’s an action narrative, and speeds along without a pause for internal dialogue or flashbacks. You never even find out where the guy is from.

Many of the old post-apocalypse novels are also fascinating because they describe contemporary life (from the 50’s, 60’s, 70’s) in detail. Amazing how things have changed. None of them anticipate cell phones or the Internet. Exception being Jack Vance.

Okay so I have one of these little guys visiting me, a Ringtailed Cat, totally charming, (the above photo is off the Internet) and I went to YouTube to see if there was a video on them (habits, gustatory preferences etc.) and there was  one; some people in a small office in Arizona had one dropping through the ceiling tiles every night to feast on what they had left out for it, and somebody got a little amateur video of the creature sitting on a computer devouring cat food and oranges.

So far so good.

Then some wierdo posts filthy-mouth posts on the video. Speculating on the people’s sex lives, using the foulest language he/she could come up with. How did this crazy even find this obscure video?

I’ve noticed this on other You Tube toobs. It’s a kind of Tourette’s syndrome, I suppose. Others were on a video of a cruise ship in trouble, another on Bulgarian folk dancing (to which I am addicted). some YouTube videos are posted with warnings for the filth-mouth people to stay off. Does YouTube ever ban these people?

Interesting. No wonder my editor warned me not to allow comments. It’s a whole new human activity. Meanwhile the ringtail visits every night and goes on its language-less life, snacking on bird seed and the cat food I leave out for it. They are the last word in animal charm.

A tail of two kitties.

And so this is where I was on 9/11. Jim and I were reconstructing an 1899 stone house in San Antonio and I took every opportunity to get away. This was a weekend retreat loaned to me for several days by friends, outside San Antonio, Pipe Creek. I was working on Enemy Women; peace and silence. I turned on the radio that morning to find some classical music station before starting work on the manuscript, and ABC radio news was on and they stayed on. The first plane had just hit the tower and they were speculating that it was an accident.

And so the morning went on. I never got a yard away from the radio. Finally packed up and returned to San Antonio. Everyone in the house was sitting in front of the TV and completely silent. They were silent all day. I found that strange. No one said a word.

A photo from Caroline Woodward and Jeff George, lighthouse keepers on Lennard, a rare sunny day and a great photo of Woody up on the catwalk of the light tower. She e-mails they have had the gloomiest and drowningest summer on record. I wish I could lift off this ironclad high that is pinning us down here in Texas and send it wholesale to Vancouver Island but alas.

Antihistamines, antibiotics, so boring to be down with sinus and creeping around, head somerwhat like the old 19th century diver’s helmet. At any rate I get in 3 hours a day writing no matter what…neighbors just got their American citizenship and I was at least able to go down and help decorate their house with flags, bunting, red-white-and-blue bouquet, for when they came home from the swearing-in ceremony in San Antonio. I insist on being well. BTW this illustration by Sergio Membrillo, from blog Nautilus.

So many trees are dying — flat-out falling over. Driving to uvalde to do my shopping I pass a small deserted ranch/farm house with three very tall pecan trees, one of which is dead and the others getting that way. Somebody owns that land, couldn’t they just water those wonderful tall trees once in a while? It’s infuriating.

But —- in the photo of my blue cattle-tank swimming pool you can see beyond it the trunk of one of my Spanish oaks that fell over. Actually it split in half. This was while the leaves were all green. I had watered it enough, or so I thought. Who knows.

Working on the sequel to Lighthouse Island and loving it. Haven’t ridden for a month almost except just here around the house, none of the girls are riding, too hot,maybe in a couple of weeks.

This is The Slot, the narrow channel between Lennard Island and its tiny apprendage island. I was going to use this more in Lighthouse Island, an early draft had somebody falling into it, but then decided that didn’t work. But it’s interesting; the tide charges through twice a day at full rip, one way and then the other way.

Working on the sequel to LI, have been looking up train-hopping videos on YouTube. There is quite a little society of train-hoppers.

Drought still very bad, today it will hit 102, the Indigo was on my back porch this morning. Chased him away. Don’t want to go out and step on a five-foot black snake with a cup of coffee in my hand.

Once a day I turn on the spray for the birds, even though we are supposed to be conserving water. The birds absolutely love it. They fly through it, stand in it and fluff their feathers, sing; sparrows, painted buntings, redbirds, the oriole, the bright blue scrub jays. I turn it on about 4, when it’s hottest.

Some roadside flowers blooming even in July and even in this drought. HC publicity people are lining me up for a few readings around Texas. My problem with readings and appearances is that I have animals — two horses, a donkey (anybody want a donkey? I’ll bring him to you, free of charge) and Rita the Whippet and two twin tabby-fellow cats. who, even as I speak are out murdering birds. Despite collars with bells on them.

And so I have to hire people to come and feed, take cats to cat-boarding-place. Friends would do it but you can impose on friends just so much. So there’s a lot of preparation and arranging and so on. Actually I love appearances, readings. It’s an ego-enhancer, a time to play dressup, excuses for new clothes, luxurious nights in places where they serve you food and clean your room. Not bad, not bad.

If they put me up in a Drury Inn I can bring Rita The Whippet.