Do Not Swim in Ditches, Lakes, or Bayous

Due to Hurricane Ike, many of the waterways in our community have become increasingly contaminated with bacteria and toxins.   Health risks that could occur from exposure to these waters include diarrhea, gastrointestinal infections and various bacterial infections, including potentially deadly bacterial infections such as tetanus (lockjaw).

Harris County Public Health & Environmental Services strongly advises residents not to swim, bathe or play in ditches, bayous, creeks or lakes because of these health risks.   In addition, residents are reminded that they should never enter waters that you cannot see through, that may have a swift undercurrent or may contain debris.

As always, never leave children unattended around water, including swimming pools, even if they know how to swim.

Protect your family and your community from injuries and drowning.    

If you have any questions, call 713-439-6270.

Do Not Swim in Ditches, Lakes, or Bayous

Due to Hurricane Ike, many of the waterways in our community have become increasingly contaminated with bacteria and toxins.   Health risks that could occur from exposure to these waters include diarrhea, gastrointestinal infections and various bacterial infections, including potentially deadly bacterial infections such as tetanus (lockjaw).

Harris County Public Health & Environmental Services strongly advises residents not to swim, bathe or play in ditches, bayous, creeks or lakes because of these health risks.   In addition, residents are reminded that they should never enter waters that you cannot see through, that may have a swift undercurrent or may contain debris.

As always, never leave children unattended around water, including swimming pools, even if they know how to swim.

Protect your family and your community from injuries and drowning.    

If you have any questions, call 713-439-6270.

FEMA POD Site Closed at Friendswood’s Centennial Park

 On Friday afternoon, the FEMA Point of Distribution site at Friendswood’s Centennial Park, 2200 S. Friendswood Drive, shut down operations.     

For days, I looked for assistance from anyone in putting a roof tarp up on the damaged section of the roof, and to somehow raise Dad’s Tree back up off the fence, that it came to rest on.  Well today, after 6 days, I am very glad to say that help finally arrived in the form of Mr. Dale Jones, a good friend of of a good friend of mine, Jim Gerland, also of Friendswood. 

Earlier today, I was updating Gerland about my predicament, and as well about his home here in Friendswood.  He and his wife, Melody and family evacuated in front of Ike’s landfall, faster than the decision-makers on the evacuation situation could yell “GIT!”.  In no time they had checked in at my favorite hotel in Austin.  Ah, The Driskill Hotel, which was built in 1886 as the showplace of cattle baron Jesse Driskill, The Driskill still remains a landmark of Texas hospitality. As a member of The Historic Hotels of America and Associated Luxury Hotels International, The Driskill is among the world’s finest hotels, offering an elite level of luxury and service. 

So anyway, while Jimbo and his fab wife, Mel were enjoying themselves in such luxury, with a wonderful roof over Jim’s head, here I sat, under a roof that threatened to turn into a shower-head with the next cloud-burst.  Ok, I kinda drifted off the story-line…

Well I guess maybe he was pondering my desperate situation, (between bob-bons, & ice cream, yum, ice cold ice cream, hmm I can almost remember what that taste and felt like), and finally he said, ”Hey, give my old buddy Dale Jones a call…”  ”I bet he can fix you right up on that roof problem”, so thats what I did, I gave Dale a call and he said something like, Sure thing, “I can fix you up this afternoon”.  He then inquired about Jim and his family, and when they were expected back in town.  I then found out that Dale had, “borrowed” his old buddy Jimbo’s super-dupper generator and needed to return it before the Gerland’s returned home.

Well, what do you know, but right when Dale said he and his crew would show up, there was a knock on the door and sure enough, there was that tall Texan, Dale Jones and his Calvary to save my day, well my roof at least.  I tell ya what, in no time… in fact, faster than I could find my checkbook to write the payment, the Crew were through. 

Oh… and that’s not all… as we were looking at the roof before the crew got started, I happened to mention that my Dad’s Tree had fallen down on a fence, just in a matter of fact way…

As soon as the crew climbed down from my roof, I started to finally write the check, but when I looked up to say thanks to Dale and his crew, they were no where to be seen out in front.  Finally, I heard some voices in the back yard, and that was exactly where they had dissapeared to.  I walked through my side fence into the back, and there they all were… they had all gathered around the tree, all working together to raise the Live Oak off the fence and back in the hole its root ball had pulled out of. 

It was that fast, that quick, and they were all laughing the whole time!  I was impressed by the men on the crew, their skill and their smiles as I just couldn’t stop thanking them enough.

I handed over the check for the roof, and started to write another for the tree work, and Dale said, “no thanks, that was on us… “  All I could do, was say thanks to everyone that had just helped me and my wife start healing from the minor wounds that Hurricane Ike had done to us. 

Yes we were blessed with just minor damage, which in no way compares with so many here in SE Texas, yes indeed, we were blessed by our friends and neighbors that helped us in the aftermath.  People like Rod, Joan, Charles, John, Amy and her husband, Ben, Pete and his wife Paula, Margie, Tom, and his wife Cindy and now Dale Jones and his roofing crew, yes truely blessed.

All my wife and I can say is, “Thanks so much for all of you that helped us”, and I do hope y’all know that we mean that, from the bottom of our hearts.

*Chuck, who works with Dale, just dropped off their estimate for a new roof, and it doesn’t look bad at all.  Now I gotta run down to the Friendswood Hardware Store and get a few stakes and wire to secure Dad’s Tree a bit tighter and return the rope back to Dale.

As I finish up this Log, I feel a great load has lifted off my shoulders, thanks to my friends and neighbors, Thanks Y’all, and God Bless…

Stay Safe,

Cane

I have to admit there must be a bit of the salt in me as I am a sailor and the son of one as well.  To tell the truth, both of my brothers, Jim and Mike have the salt within as well.  It’s in our blood! 

This day in September seems to bring that salt up as if it were from a hurricane’s storm surge roaring through my veins.  It’s not much unlike that those thunderous waves and rising seas that rush ashore with a ‘Cane, along an island, or perhaps a port.  Hmm, well maybe not that bad… but any ways…

This day of the 19^th of September marks for me, the start of my birthday celebration in a way which officially ends at midnight high when the bells ring in the new day of the 26^th.  Ok, well any way, read on here and learn about this day of fun

Arrr!  We be the pirate guys, matey.

Or, in another vernacular, we are guys, John Baur and Mark Summers.  And that really should be all you need to know about the origins of Talk Like a Pirate Day. 

We’re guys.  Not men, with responsibility, suits, and power ties.  We’re guys, with all that that implies.  But here are the details.Once upon a time — on June 6, 1995, to be precise — we were playing racquetball, not well but gamely.  It wasn’t our intention to become “the pirate guys.”  Truth to tell, it wasn’t really our intention to become anything, except perhaps a tad thinner and healthier, and if you could see our photos, you’d know how THAT turned out. 

As we flailed away, we called out friendly encouragement to each other -”Damn, you bastard!” and “Oh, jeez, my hamstring!” for instance - as shots caromed away, unimpeded by our wildly swung rackets. On this day, for reasons we still don’t quite understand, we started giving our encouragement in pirate slang.  Mark suspects one of us might have been reaching for a low shot that, by pure chance, might have come off the wall at an unusually high rate of speed, and strained something best left unstrained.  “Arrr!” he might have said. Who knows?  It might have happened exactly that way. Anyway, whoever let out the first “Arrr!” started something.  One thing led to another.  “That be a fine cannonade,” one said, to be followed by “Now watch as I fire a broadside straight into your yardarm!” and other such helpful phrases.By the time our hour on the court was over, we realized that lapsing into pirate lingo had made the game more fun and the time pass more quickly.  We decided then and there that what the world really needed was a new national holiday, Talk Like A Pirate Day. First, we needed a date for the holiday.  As any guy can tell you, June 6 is the anniversary of World War II’s D-Day.  Guys hold dates like that in reverence and awe so there was no way we could use June 6. Mark came up with September 19.  That was and is his ex-wife’s birthday, and the only date he could readily recall that wasn’t taken up with something like Christmas or the Super Bowl or something.  We also decided — right then and there on the court on June 6, 1995 — that the perfect spokesman for our new holiday was none other than Dave Barry himself, nationally syndicated humor columnist and winner of the Pulitzer by-God Prize.  So, naturally, we forgot all about it. For seven years we celebrated International Talk Like a Pirate Day pretty much on our own, with our friend Brian Rhodes actually reminding us that the event was coming up.  Frankly, we usually forgot exactly when Talk Like a Pirate Day was supposed to be or even that there was such a thing.  Brian is one of those guys who programs every important event into his computer so that a reminder pops up the day before.  John and Mark may be the founders of Talk Like a Pirate Day, but Brian is certainly the midwife, or godfather or something.  (Have a cigar, Brian!)Things would probably have continued indefinitely on that low-key note until John, Mark, and Brian were little old pirates in the Home for Retired Sea Dogs.  We had a national holiday that almost nobody knew about, and we were content with that. Except for one happy accident.  One day in early 2002, John chanced upon Dave Barry’s e-mail address.  As the entire universe knows, Dave Barry is a syndicated columnist and the author of somewhere between four and 6,000 books and the second funniest man in the universe.  We were two guys (three if you count Brian, and that seems only fair,) but Dave (we call him Dave now, though he probably doesn’t know it.  Mr. Barry would probably be more appropriate, but, well, you know.)  anyway, Dave is like a whole parade with brass bands and elephants.  We reasoned that Dave would be able to bring attention to Talk Like A Pirate Day in a way that Mark and John (and Brian) wouldn’t be able to if we lived to be 200.  Ambition suddenly burned bright, and sending e-mails is a very easy thing to do.  Which is why we finally got around to contacting him.The first e-mail introduced us, and told him about our great idea — Talk Like a Pirate Day.  We knew he wouldn’t be able to resist.  Then we offered him the only thing we had, the chance to be official national spokesman for the event. We clicked the send button, casting our bread upon the water, if we may wax Biblical.Surprisingly, we had an answer in a matter of days.  We had assumed a famous guy like Dave Barry would have more important things to do than read the e-mail of a couple of louts with a hare-brained idea.  It turns out; louts like us are where he gets a lot of his column material.It’s a great idea, he said, (actually “very excellent” were his exact words, in case you’re keeping score.)  But then he asked the fatal question. “Have you guys actually DONE anything about this?  Or are you counting on me to carry the ball here?”Very perceptive of him.  The way we answered would be crucial in bringing Barry aboard.  We decided on the truth, with a lot of ass kissing thrown in. “Well, we’ve talked like pirates every Sept. 19, and we’ve encouraged our several friends to,” John wrote in reply.  And Mark put it in perspective when he wrote, “We are dinghy-sized-talk-like-a-pirate kinda guys, but you, Dave … you are like a frigate-huge-sized-talk-like-a-pirate kinda guy.” In early September, John got a phone call from the feature editor at the local paper, someone he had worked with for several years before leaving the newspaper business (But that’s a different story.)  She sounded confused.“John, I was editing this week’s Dave Barry column and it’s about … Is this you?” It was.  The nationally syndicated columnist and Pulitzer Prize winning writer of “distinguished commentary” (the Pulitzer committee’s description, not his own) became convinced of the great potential of such a holiday.  Or maybe he had run out of fresh column ideas and didn’t want to do another one on toilet training his infant daughter.  Either way, he had written the column.  And hell broke loose.