  I hate feeling angry, it takes me over and burns my insides with rage. I don't think anger achieves any purpose, and I know the universe doesn't need me to add bad energy. I always hear Christians say even Jesus got angry, they point to the story of Jesus on the steps of the temple when he turned the money changers' tables over. I answer, even Jesus was human, and thus made mistakes, experienced failure. I bet, sitting in Heaven, he still cringes when he remembers that day, because everyone uses it as their excuse to go off in righteous anger.
In my years so far on this planet, I've at least learned that I'm typically never so wrong as when I claim my rectitude in righteous anger. I respect people that can see horror and wrongs against humanity and respond in wisdom and hurt rather than anger. I am jealous of people that can bare witness to gross abuses of strongly held ideals, and respond in calm, cool proaction.
And so I respect John for responding to Stupid Fucking Bastard Who Kills Trees (I'm working on it, ok? ) by saying to me as I tried to will him home over the cellphone so he could stand up to SFBWKT for me, "honey we'll have a funeral tonight for the tree, we'll honor its life. That's the best we can do. " And I really respect John for negotiating a compromise with SFBWKT. Upon John's arrival at home, the tree was already seriously wounded. SFBWKT was pulling with all of his 180 pounds on a rope tied to the upper tree, and the two certainly knowledgeable homeless people he had hired by the hour to help him sawed at lower tree parts. As if 180 pounds pulling away from my house could at all affect the 400 pound tree parts from swinging into the roof!
SFBWKT clearly never took physics. Neither did I, but I get this. John negotiated a solution whereby the trunk itself and the one branch that points directly up would be saved, because clearly without the *dangerous* limbs, this trunk is going nowhere. SFBWKT somehow agreed. So we've saved the tree's life. For now. But our lovely sideyard is a wreck. It looks ugly and bare devoid of the organic green canopy it had up until a few hours ago. I hate it.
In an effort to cleanse us all of the hating anger, John and I agreed the family should take a long walk. We aimed toward the city, brushed the edge of the skyscrapers' territory, and headed south. We walked by the Fonde Rec Center, which was packed with cars, at least a few of which were Marcedes and Hummers. Every now and then, NBA stars come back to this homecourt of sorts, just for scrimmages or practice and the local African American community hails their homecoming with huge attendance. I'm happy to see the color barrier among the fans faltering, as the other night some *gasp* Republican neighbors invited me to walk over to a game with them. We didn't stop to watch a game tonight, instead we pressed on toward the big park by the Bayou. In the sky, a fascinating span of moonstone blue and bright pink clouds overlapped each other as if only some clouds got the memo that the sunset had arrived. In reality, some clouds were thousands of feet above the others, but it looked like they were all together, just differently splashed with colored light.
In the park, I think it's called the Eleanor Tinsley Park, we pushed the kids on swings, I swang myself with abandon, appreciating all the trees that have somehow survived the axes and saws of humans. Aidan began to chatter away to a kid who came to swing next to us. Three-year-olds can really take off at the mouth. "Hi, my name's Aidan, and I'm three years old because I'm three and a half. No I'm four because I can ride a bike by myself and tomorrow we're going to the far away park and I'm going bike riding with Austin and his mom and I can ride all by myself because I'm three and a half. What's your name? " The kid said he was Louis and it quickly came out that Louis and his family were visiting Houston on vacation from Mexico.
We found out they live very near a town we're going to visit next year. Louis and his sisters were great, and soon we met his dad, too, who arrived on a mountain bike, drinking deep from his CamelBac. Everyone had a love of soccer in common and we mentioned that we like to play at Herman Park when the kids tire of the opera, ballet, or Shakespeare, and we all made plans to see each other soon at Herman Park.
We're bringing the soccer ball. We headed back toward home, passing an amazing number of walkers, joggers, and bicycles. Everyone wanted out today. We barely beat the rain. The evil scar of the tortured tree remains, but the Earth is soothing its wounds with sweet raindrops. In years, long after we've left here, assuming some developer doesn't finish SFBWKT's job, the tree might even be stronger for its experience. 
