At least it’s cooled off

I’m en route to Dallas for a week of standards development. That allows me a quick stopover in Houston to see the in-laws, including the bun in the oven that is very close to popping out and turning into my grand-nephew.

The flight was fine, and the Customs and baggage claim experience was amazingly fast. In fact the longest delay of the whole arrival was the 90 seconds or so that Mr. Customs Man spent staring intently at screens with my passport in hand. As far as I know, there are few people with less to worry about coming into the United States than me. So what was he looking at so carefully? No idea… At the end of this surprisingly nerve-wracking time, he just said thank you and waved his hand for the next person.

And so out to the curb while my ride navigates the traffic. It’s gray and the humidity softly slaps you like a sauna towel. There was a guy on the flight with a black cowboy hat and camouflage luggage, 6’4” and heavy, with a big bushy beard. I expected more like that, but here as we wait for our families and Ubers it’s mostly the same mix you’d see in Auckland, except with more Black people.