LV: On the Side of the Angels

Jim drew Angelic Host duty this year. Better him than me.

Who's on the side of the angels now, hmm?

(And also on the side of dinosaurs, giant crabs, robots, and someone visiting from the Starship Enterprise, apparently.)

A few others came late to this party:

Note the addition of Iron Man and some pirates.
No, John, it is not ham night. I'm not even sure what that means . . . Though I did hear they're planning on ham for Christmas dinner. What do you mean, 'That explains the pirates'?

And she had to use pins to hold on the halo and wings because nonstick foil won't take tape. Ha! The very idea makes my Christmas quite merry.

Happy Holidays.



LIII: We Has a Chair

She says it's hers, an early birthday gift. We say otherwise.

LII: Fairyland

No, really. She took us to a place called Fairyland. These were just outside the gates:

Let me state for the record (should it not be clear) that I only attended this outing under extreme duress. I cannot speak for John—

(What's that? What do you mean I normally do? Never mind.)

but while I'd say he does normally enjoy being roughly handled by fetching young ladies, I suspect even he had moments of concern for his wellbeing.

We were riding on some kind of trolley.

And this one is a tad too pleased
to have his hands on me here.
Fairyland provided questionable accommodations, but luckily we were not required to make use of them.

There was a maze as well, wherein we visited with the Duchess of Wonderland (not a country I'm familiar with; I'll have to quiz Mycroft about it later as he tends to know all the major international players).

Once we'd escaped all that, The American took to climbing trees for no good reason. Which is very like her and therefore not at all surprising. (John and I, meanwhile, are in her bag.)

We were allowed out to do some climbing of our own on a nearby park structure.

But of course she was not to be outdone and climbed right up with us.

Captive again.
Then we came home to this:

No, Jim, we do not want to see what you're hiding under the wrapping.


LI: Giving Thanks (& a Movie)

John and I skipped out on the traditional American Thanksgiving dinner bit and chose to hide in the bedroom while a large crowd of people assembled downstairs. I had thought (hoped) that would be the end of it, but was forcibly rousted from my sanctuary this evening for dinner out and a movie.

Already the restaurant (Zephyr Bar & Grill) had added a festive touch to its menu:

She had butternut squash bisque and a Caesar salad. I had bread.

It was good. Very filling. And there were three kinds of spread.

I also felt it might not be a bad idea to get a start on the holiday spirits.

I get the sense I might need a lot of this
to get through the coming weeks.

After dinner we went next door to the cinema. It's a nice little independent showplace. If we hadn't just eaten, we could have ordered a meal for the movie. As it was, we opted for the traditional popcorn and soda.

The movie was Argo. I liked it. She did too. I suppose if I must come out of hiding over a long holiday weekend, this is as good a way to do it as any.


L: Here Come Horses

I'll confess when John told me he'd seen some brightly colored ponies in the house I thought he might have begun dipping into whatever supplies he keeps stored in his old medical kit. But then I saw one myself.

And a couple more after that.

And one with somewhat queenly raiment.

And finally some that might have been juveniles.

Deciding this merited further investigation, I eventually discovered the ponies belonged to The American's daughter. She keeps them as part of some kind of bizarre collection. (No, John, I don't think we're part of any kind of bizarre . . . Wait . . .)

In any case, of course John wanted to pet them. So:

Yes, John, I do think the horsies are pretty. Sigh.


XLIX: While You Were Out

It seems that while we were away in Texas last month, Jim made use of his freedom. He had thus far been confined to the house, but like a cat with a window screen . . .

He taunted us by sending these images to The American's mobile phone. But who was taking the photos?

If only this had been the end of it.

No, John, I'm not "affected" by this except to wish we either had higher windows or harder pavement.

And that was the last anyone had seen of him for a good while, until . . .

Yes, John, I do have a pretty good idea of who sent it. And so should you.

Early Christmas. If Christmas were, in fact, all about getting things you don't want . . . Yes, John, I realize I'm terrible at gifting. But this proves Mycroft is worse.

Better wrapping.

There now. Cozy at home.

For now at least.


XLVIII: Messing with Texas

She took us with her for a week-long trip to Texas. We stayed first with some of her family in Houston, then moved on to a hotel in Austin.

Our exceedingly purple accommodations in Houston.

In Houston, there were fauna . . .

Yes, just as dumb as she looks as it turns out.

Alas, the laser eyes did not work as I'd hoped.
Useless feline.

It seems the primary reason for the visit was for The American to go through many boxes of old things and select a few worth keeping. These certainly were:

They have games about me!

Though I feel less certain about the quality of this:

Where Mycroft got the "information" he fobbed off on Jim?

And she evidently got credit for this at some point in her life:

Proof the U.S. educational system is rot.

Meanwhile, I suspect this may come in handy at some point:

And this book is called The Sherlock Holmes Scrapbook. Didn't even know I had one.

This is only a very few of the items we ended up cataloguing and shipping off. God, what a bore. Although I did find her old diaries quite amusing. (What, John? If she can read my scrapbook, I can read her diaries.)

The hotel in Austin was a marked contrast to the family home in Houston.

Room 422 of the Driskill Hotel.

I found a comfy chair . . .

. . . and John found the minibar.

I wasn't the one daft enough to let him have the key.
John also enjoyed the faux fur bed coverings. The less said about that the better.

Where are your hands, John?
Just because I'm not saying anything more, John, doesn't mean I won't show them a picture. It's worth a thousand words, after all.

We were actually there for some kind of conference. She even cleaned herself up for it.

I suppose we'll keep her. For now.

See! Learning stuff!
However, we didn't allow a petty film festival interfere with our fun. We ate a lot. Well, she and John and their friends ate a lot and I watched. A man at Chuy's came to the table three times, he was so excited to meet John and me. Every time he brought someone new along with him for us to meet. We were honestly concerned he might begin dragging strangers in off the street. But it turned out he had somewhere to go or be or something.

And of course John was chatting up girls again.

We also walked along the shops on S. Congress and stopped to have a picture taken at an art installation.

No idea what it's supposed to be.

And we visited the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center. Because John just can't get enough of flowers.

Not much by way of flowers here, mind.

Or here.

Ah, here. Asters.

And more asters.
We started and ended with purple. Interesting.

As it turns out, Jim got into quite a bit of trouble while we were away. But that's another story for another post.