Category: Travel

I’m too Fat for my Ukulele (and Other Stories from the Road)

No bull! 

At the Houston rodeo. I’d have won my event, except that my bull wasn’t real.
 
Apart from the skirt pulled up way too high–Erkel style under my boobs and the dainty sandals on my pretty feet I look like a real life bull rider. Right? Right? Why do I hear crickets?

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I own a ukulele now, purchased from a shop in Amarillo. So far, I know two notes, but the ukulele is small and my body is bulky. Together we look odd, like the instrument is being absorbed into my flesh. Like Jabba the Hut swallowing a little invertebrate whole. Gulp.

I’m not going to let appearances prevent me from learning to play the ukulele. Nossirree. But I might need to purchase a muumu just to complete the whole vibe.

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 Each day, the tattoo my nephew Russell bestowed upon me becomes prettier. I’ve tried to explain my feelings about it which go above and beyond anything I expected. 

Having never been a particularly attractive woman, it pleases me more than I can say to have such a beautiful piece of art adorning my body. It makes me feel happy. And just a little bit special. I only regret not having it done sooner. 

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One friend asked what I’d listened to during my adventure. If I were to try and list my choices in some kind of order, it might look like this:

Howard Stern on Sirius 100

  

John Fugelsang on INSIGHT Sirius/XM 121

 
Diane Rehm on NPR

 
An audiobook by John Scalzi
 
 
A V.I. Warshawski novel by Sara Paretsky
      
I also listened and sang along to the Classic Vinyl station, as well as the 60’s and 70’s stations on Sirius/XM. The comedy stations helped me cover many miles as well.

And then there were great distances without any sound other than that of my tires on pavement. Driving through the cities of Nashville, Kansas City, Dallas, and Houston required a great deal of concentration, and radio silence was a balm for my soul and a boost for my driving skills.

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Being home feels good. Today is a day for tackling mountains of laundry and snuggling cats, and for reading blog posts. I’ve been a terrible follower these past two weeks, clicking through blogs with nary a comment.

Thanks for all your positive vibes and support during my journey. Here’s a little Simon and Garfunkel to tie things up.

Peace, people!

http://youtu.be/7z9wd9bS1FM

The Adventure Continues

(Note: If you’ve happened upon my blog this evening for the first time, I’m chronicling an epic (for me) road trip that began on February 17, and will hopefully conclude on March 6, when I’m reunited with my husband, Studly Doright, and my two kitties, Patches and Scout.) 

Somehow I survived the rodeo and related events on Thursday night. With a heavy heart–at least a nine pounder, I left my brother’s home in Houston and headed three and a half hours south to see Studly Doright’s eldest sibling, the beauteous Lyn, who lives near Corpus Christie with her husband, Mike.

Mike is dealing with some serious health issues right now, but he’s tough as an old Texas boot, and I have every confidence he’ll recover fully. I just needed to go and give him a kick in the rear to facilitate his healing. He’ll thank me later.

I stayed the night with Lyn and made her buy me breakfast at Hester’s, a great bakery in Corpus Christie, before I dropped her off at the hospital where Mike is a reluctant guest. It was hard to leave her there. My heart gained an extra pound.

From the hospital I drove the overwhelming distance of 35 miles where I met my cousin Diane for coffee in Rockport. Diane and her husband have relocated to this Texas coastal town from California, and we hadn’t seen each other in years. 

  
We didn’t get to visit long, but it did my heart good to see her. Our first comments to each other were exclamations of how much we looked like our respective mothers. Again I said a sad goodbye and resumed my trip. My heart weighs at least 15 pounds at this point.

Finally I set my GPS to take me home. Of course I needed to stop for lunch–heavy hearts need extra calories–and came across a little barbecue place in the middle of nowhere.  

  

The pig statue at Auntie Jo’s Barbecue beckoned to me and soon I was enjoying a pulled pork sandwich.

  
This kitty kept me company as I ate. I might’ve snuck her a few bites from my sandwich. We bonded.

With lunch over I became serious about finding my way back to Doright Manor. The GPS informed me that I had 13 hours of driving ahead of me. With that in mind I set a goal to get at least half that distance behind me before stopping for the night. 

I almost made it, too! Unfortunately I ran out of daylight around the city of Lafayette, Louisiana. My night vision has never been great, but lately it is awful. 

Tomorrow I still have roughly seven hours to go before I get to see Studly and the cats. Tonight I’m tucked into a hotel bed, watching The People v. OJ Simpson on TV after having dined sumptuously on Taco Bell fare. Ah, the glamorous life! 

Good thoughts for Mike’s recovery and for safe travels will be greatly appreciated.

Peace, people!

Rodeo

As a native Texan I’d heard tales of the mythical Houston Rodeo–an epic 20 day extravaganza featuring competition between the top cowboys and cowgirls in their respective events. Now at the age of 59 I finally got to savor the experience first hand. And what an amazing experience it was!

My brother, Kelly, works with a man who has volunteered at the rodeo in various capacities for more than two decades. This man has two sets of season tickets that he offers to friends during the event. We were fortunate to get incredible seats close to the action so there wasn’t a calf roping or bull riding that we missed. 

The pageantry was “over the top Texas” with fireworks and wagon races, mutton busting and a host of other events.

   
   
Once the rodeo events were completed for the night country singer Jason Aldean took the stage and rocked the house from a rotating stage. There were no bad seats for the concert.

   
   
We drank copious amounts of beer, consumed peanuts, nachos, fried Snickers and fried pecan pie. 

And smiled.

 

My brother Kelly and sister-in-law, Susan
  
My goofy self and brother Kelly
  
My handsome son, Jason who came from Dallas for the rodeo, and me.
 
What a great evening! And I didn’t even relate my bull riding experience. That’s coming in another post.

Peace, people!

Woman About Houston

I spent the first night of a two-night stay with my brother and his wife in Houston. It’s not my first trip to the country’s fourth largest city, but it is the first time I’ve been armed with GPS and felt brave enough to wander about on my own. 

So what did I do with my morning? Well, first I spent some quality time having a mani-pedi at Footopia. 

  
These are my happy little piggies.

Then, I thought to myself, “Friend, you’re in Texas, the home of big hair. Go and have it styled for the rodeo. So I did just that at a salon that specializes in blow outs, The Blow Out Bar. 

  
Apparently my hair is too short to become really big, but I liked the results.

After that I had a bit of time to kill, but little money, so I just rambled about looking for something interesting. My reward was a place called Wabash Feed. 

  
Not only did Wabash Feed have food for animals of all persuasions, but they had plants and fertilizer, pottery and funky  objets d’art. Best of all, they had live animals: Bunnies and chickens and pigeons and a one-eyed turtle.

   
    
    
 
I wandered around Wabash Feed for an hour or so, and wondered if Studly Doright needed a pet chicken to assist him in his shop. In the end I decided a chicken might not be able to handle a wrench or a screwdriver rendering them lousy shop assistants. 

Finally it was time for a snack. And where better than a place called Luke’s Icehouse?

  
I had an ice cold Shiner Bock and a chicken quesadilla with terrific salsa before returning to Kelly and Susan’s home. 

Now I have a couple of hours to relax before we head to the rodeo grounds where  I was told that one can enjoy a fried Oreo, among other things. I’d better go ponder that.

  
Yeehaw!

Peace, people!

Travels

life on the road
long miles broken
up by convenience
store stops and
fast food meals
mile after mile
of asphalt and
cellophane wrappers
bottled water
and countless
bathroom breaks
every wendy’s
looks the same
silly little
pigtailed girl.

  

Born a Ramblin’ (Wo)man

After a week watching over our Illinois grandchildren I’m back on the road. The three children, ages 13, 11, and three, were fun to look after while their parents enjoyed a much-needed second honeymoon.  

 

A wintery view of the Mississippi River from the Illinois side.
 
 But Studly Doright and I live an intensely laid back life–no rush or bustle, and going from that to getting three active kids ready for school in the mornings and into their respective beds at an appropriate time each night was a shock to my delicate system. I’m exhausted. 

I’m headed now to Hereford, Texas, where my lovely mother-in-law, Saint Helen, resides. This evening I’m staying in Emporia, Kansas, having fallen short of the halfway point between Rapids City, Illinois, and Hereford. I had to stop and take a nap at a rest stop this afternoon and that put me behind schedule. I HATE being behind schedule! 

Plus, I’ve come down with a head cold, so I’m sitting on my hotel bed, watching American Idol and struggling to breathe. In a few minutes I’m going to take a large dose of Tylenol extra strength liquid nighttime cold medicine and hope that my friend, Insomnia, doesn’t purloin my sleep. 

 Hopefully tomorrow will be a better travel day. In the meantime, here’s a little Allman Brothers’ tune to inspire us all.

http://youtu.be/68X8o0S7vJc
Peace and quiet, people!

Musical Oasis 

After driving over 1100 miles I reached our daughter’s home in Rapids City, IL, a small town situated on the banks of the mighty Mississippi. I always think I’ll come up with a better adjective for this father of American rivers, but nothing suits it quite as well.

I guess we could say HUGE, but thanks to the current presidential elections the H word is so overworked. And it fails the alliteration test, so there’s that.

Last night I stayed at a dump of an inn in Nashville, Tennessee. I might’ve slept for three hours. But earlier in the evening I did get to go visit with my cousin, singer/songwriter Effron White who hosted a songwriter’s round at the Millennium Maxwell House. It was the first time in a decade that we were able to hang out.

The evening’s company and entertainment more than made up for a poor night’s rest. In fact, since I couldn’t sleep I just played all the songs back in my head. 

 

Effron and me and some groovy catsup.
 
 
I’m not even going to try and tag these guys. They were a talented bunch.
 

More photos from the evening. I was blown away by the level of talent in the room.

  
    
    

  
 Check out one of Effron’s songs as performed by Phil Lancaster. I just love the French introduction! 

http://youtu.be/A1YVPWqsJc0
Peace, people!

On The Road My Friends

At some point this morning I will have departed from Doright Manor to take a trip of epic, dare I say Odyssean, proportions. Having packed my bags with everything from winter boots and a parka to capris pants and flip flops I should surely be prepared for any eventuality.

My first destination is a point north of Nashville, Tennessee, for an overnight stay. From there I’m bound for our daughter’s home in Rapids City, Illinois, where I will be baby sitter-in-chief for my daughter’s three children while the parents go to cavort in the bright sun of a Mexican beach.

  
  
After a week in Illinois I’ll head south to the Texas panhandle, the place that no matter where on earth I roam will always be home. I’ll stay with the lovely Saint Helen who gave birth to Studly Doright and hopefully get to commune with the rest of the panhandle-dwelling Noyes bunch. 

  
Once they’ve chased me out of town with torches and pitchforks I’m off to Dallas to spend a night with our son if we can get our schedules to sync. Then it’s on to Houston, that most intimidating city, for a couple of nights with the oldest of my two younger brothers and his wife. They’re taking me and Studly’s eldest (she’d say prettiest) sister to a big event. I’m sure I’ll blog about it afterwards. If I’m still capable, that is. 

  
  
I have another event in mind for the Houston stay, but I’ll save that for another post, as well. 

When my brother finally kicks me out of his home I’ll begin working my way back to Doright Manor. Somewhere on that stretch of road is a wonderful little outlet mall that’s been calling my name for awhile now.

  
I’ve been writing like a mad woman to stock my blog with pieces to post daily during my trip. I’m sure there will be times I can post something from the road, but just in case I can’t, the blog must, and will, go on! 

Any prayers, blessings, positive thoughts, etc., offered up for my safe travels will be greatly appreciated. And as always, peace, people.

Taking a Stand

Written in response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Not Lemonade. When life hands you lemons…make something else. Tell us about a time you used an object or resolved an issue in an unorthodox way.

Weekly travel was once the norm for me as a consultant for a non-profit educational foundation. One week I’d be in Devil’s Lake, North Dakota, and the next week I’d be in Detroit, Michigan, or Albuquerque, New Mexico, or some point in between. As a result of all this travel, I’ve stayed in more than my share of hotels. Some have been luxurious. Others have been dumps.

  
 

Detroit
 
One thing they all have in common, besides the requisite bed, is a notable lack of a plunger for the toilet. On more than one occasion I’ve managed to clog a hotel bathroom toilet. Blame it on faulty plumbing setups or questionable Mexican food, but a clogged hotel john is a lemon of the worst kind. 

Typically the clog occurs in the middle of the night, and even if one could face the embarrassment of calling the front desk for assistance, seldom would anyone answer the call. I don’t know what the main desk clerks do at night, but fixing toilets apparently isn’t a priority.

I quickly learned that I had to be my own best plumber. (If you’re squeamish, just stop reading now and imagine fuzzy bunnies and pink flowers.) the first time I was faced with the clogged toilet predicament my initial instinct was to use a pair of my own underwear to cover my hand for a foray into the bowl. But that was an indescribably icky thought, and I don’t buy cheap undies.

Casting around for anything to keep my hand dry I spotted the small trash bin with the ubiquitous clear plastic liner. Channeling my inner Archimedes, I shouted, “Eureka!” while inserting my right hand into the liner and then quickly into the bowels of the bowl. 

My idea went swimmingly! The clog came free. A flush took all of the waste away, and no one but yours truly knew there’d ever been an issue. Well, I did have to swish the liner around in the clean toilet to remove any evidence of my activity, but that was a minor task in the scheme of things. After one’s arm has been in poop up to one’s elbow, everything else is, well, lemonade.

  
Peace, people!

Bucket List

In response to the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt

Kick it: What’s the 11th Item on your bucket list?

There’s a hole in my bucket,
Or so I believe,
The older I get
The bigger the peeve.
I cross one item off,
And up crops another,
You’d think by my age
I’d not even bother.
Yet if I were counting
From top to the bottom,
Item eleven would be
Seeing Paris in Autumn.

Peace, people