We ate at the Humble City Cafe twice on this trip, once en route to Pat’s remembrance and again today on the way back to the airport. Although I wouldn’t want to be caught there in an emergency, we were able to secure a fix of grits, biscuits, gravy, chicken-fried steak, and gravy. It was all good, and cheap, and plentiful, and friendly, and I would eat there a lot if I was close by. Until my heart blew up.

Humble, TX, close to the airport, a gateway to the vast sparseness between Houston and civilization. The city name struck me as probably funnier than it actually is. The Cafe had an old schedule from the Humble High football team: imagine the quiet cheerleaders, eyes lowered, cardigans buttoned up, and the linebackers standing close together, hoping no one gets hurt. I feel bad that I didn’t even try to order Humble Pie. And where do their angst-ridden teens go for comfort and fellowship… Humblr?

Humble Oil was a well-known brand back in the day, but humility wasn’t what Standard Oil was selling. So, they retired the name and became Exxon. Maybe the Humble Chamber of Commerce, who might feel bad about forcing their own ideas on the world, should take a page from that book.