Tag: Texas

Quirky Places

 
I dig quirky places. If Studly Doright ever gets to retire I’m going to insist on a leisurely tour of offbeat destinations.

On our way home from Texas early this month we stopped at a gem of a place just this side of Pensacola. It wasn’t my first stop there, but Studly had never experienced the Oasis Travel Center before. It’s part convenience store, part gift shop, part fast food kiosks, and part diner.

The VW bus pictured above serves as the establishment’s front entryway. Then once inside one’s senses are assailed by all manner of funky fun: yard art, a pirate ship, unique tshirts, and college fan gear.

  
   
The diner, though, is the grooviest.   

  
Dubbed the “Derailed Diner,” it’s designed to look as if a train has come barreling through the side of the building, complete with the resulting rubble.

This entrance opens directly into the diner, and every now and again the signal crossing activates with light and sound.

  
The inside of the diner is an eclectic mix of kooky memorabilia.

One can dine at the Derailed Diner lunch counter:

  
Some of the stools are a bit on the wild side. There’s a John Deere tractor seat and a saddle,

  
a pair of airplane seats, 

  
and a motorcycle passenger’s seat, complete with fender and saddlebags.

 Away from the counter are regular tables, but there were also tailgates with small TV sets in the spirit of drive-in movies.   
 The train motif continued inside, as well,
  
Many tables are decorated to represent various states. We sat at the Kansas table where Dorothy’s ruby red slippers served as salt and pepper shakers, while a Wizard of Oz game under glass added to the theme.

 Everywhere one looked there was something to spark the imagination. 
I was curious about the origin of this certifiably quirky place, and one of the waitresses directed me to this sign:

  
If you ever find yourself on Interstate 10 between Pensacola and Tallahassee, look for the Oasis Travel Center. The restrooms are clean, the food is good, and the people are friendly.

Peace, people!

The Fabric of My Life

  
My first pair of blue jeans, begged for and purchased in my 14th year of life, came with a double pronged tongue lashing from my mom: 

1) Those #%*!@ jeans will have to be ironed, and 

2) She wouldn’t be doing the #%*!@ ironing.

Apparently Mom had been traumatized after being forced to iron her elder brother’s jeans during their own teenaged years.

I didn’t care. Never mind that in 1969 the only jeans I could find that fit me were made for boys. Although Levi’s for women were marketed as early as the 1940’s, the handful of stores in my little town didn’t seem to carry them in string bean size–I was all legs, no hips, and so out of luck unless I shopped in the young men’s department.

But the moment I broke in that first pair of jeans–sitting in a bathtub filled with icy cold water while the pants shrunk to fit me–I fell in love. There was simply no going back. 

For the very first time in my young life I was making a statement about who I was and what I wanted to wear, rather than what my mother thought about such things. Jeans equalled independence and freedom, well as much freedom as a 14-year-old girl in a one horse town could have.

And I never ironed the darned things, having found that an extra tumble in the dryer with a wet towel smoothed out the worst of the wrinkles. That made me feel immeasurably better at solving problems than my teenaged mother had been. You see, I didn’t realize that the clothes dryer of her youth was a line strung between two poles.

Now in the last year of my fifties I find myself still in a mad love affair with denim. I own three nearly identical pairs of  cropped denim pants from Chico’s and my only clothing dilemma is which tshirt to pair with them on any given day. 

Thanks to modern fabric blends, these jeans don’t even need an extra tumble in the dryer, or if they do, I have a steam setting to de-wrinkle them. We have come a mighty long way since then, and most of it was in jeans.

Ode to Blue Jeans

Faded blue or indigo

Cuffed or frayed or pressed

Even with a rip or two

My jeans remain the best.

At break of day I slip them on

To wander hither and yon

I’ve napped in them and swum

In them in someone’s backyard pond.

Take away my beer and wine

Confiscate my magazines

But keep your damned hands off

My ever-loving jeans.

  

Joy In Hereford

Random photos from our week in Hereford, Texas.   
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
   

Saint Helen’s Birthday Bash

Studly Doright, the love of my life, was raised by an extraordinary woman who I’ve dubbed Saint Helen. Last week Studly and I traveled to the Texas panhandle to join in the celebration of Saint Helen’s 80th birthday.

The event, held at the Senior Citizen’s Center in Hereford, Texas, on Sunday afternoon was grand, with well over a hundred people in attendance. I turned to one of my children as I observed Helen greeting yet another guest and said, “You’re going to need to hire folks to come to my 80th.” 

I believe said child muttered something about there being no way I’d make it to 80 before dutifully responding, “Sure, Mom!”

Eighty is only two decades away for me, so I better start being nicer to people. Dammit. 

Back to Saint Helen, though…I took a great many photos and while most of my followers are not among her friends I hope you’ll indulge me. She really is a terrific person and the very best mother-in-law imaginable. 

 

This wonderful cake was made of cupcakes with a layer of icing covering them to make it appear like a regular sheet cake.
 
 
Helen, on the right, with her childhood friend Billy Tobe and his wife, Louise
 
My daughter, her middle daughter, and I arranged all of the flowers for the event. Not bad for three novices. 
Daughter Ashley created this arrangement for a memory table.
  
This creation on the reception table was mine.
   

My lovely 11-year-old granddaughter, McKayla took charge of the flowers on the refreshment table.

There was much laughter, tons of hugs, and general merriment all afternoon.   
Saint Helen’s friend, Leona
    
Father Tony bearing gifts of homemade sauerkraut and store bought water guns.
  
Monsignor Bloom with Saint Helen
  
    
Friend Annette.
  
Cousin Leighton.
 
 
Saint Helen with Studly Doright

 
Studly and I with Saint Helen and our children and grandchildren.
 

Two of the great grandkids kung fu fighting. No one was injured in this battle.
  
All of the great grandkids who could be present. Two had to leave early and one missed the celebration due to circumstances beyond his 3-year-old control.

 
My five grandbabies. Nothing makes me happier than having them all in one place.
I can’t imagine a better way to celebrate than with this bunch. 

Peace, people!  

 

  
 

Texas Panhandle Haiku

  

Wander treeless plain

Skirting cactus carefully

Prairie grasses wave

  

Broad blue Texas sky

Wrangling clouds into corrals

Get along, dogies!

  
Guardian windmill

Lighthouse without a beacon

Welcoming landmark.


Window Tripping

I’ve been vacationing in Texas this week and haven’t had an opportunity to do any writing. On a portion of our drive across the state of my birth I began snapping pictures of random sights. 

Carnival rides move from town to town during the summer months. At least I hope that’s what these are.

 Cows. No trees.
 
A working pump jack.

  
Note the trees–a rarity here.

This building was painted like a Holstein cow.    
Quanah, Texas, was named for the great chief Quanah Parker to whom we might or might not be related through Studly Doright’s mother Saint Helen.

Studly’s arm with the American and Texas flags in the background.
   
Railroad ties.


A pair of Harleys. 

Abandoned homes like this dot the panhandle of Texas.  

I liked the name of this business: Faux Pants. I believe this was in Memphis, TX.  

A truck was hauling these unknown objects.     
Small town water tower.

 

The colorful tarp below is most likely a deflated bouncy house.
   
My feet. 
   
This motel was out in the middle of nowhere.

 
A grain elevator.  
  

Prairie with wind turbines in the distance.

  
A close up of a turbine.

  And its antique counterpart:

  
The loop to bypass Amarillo–a sure sign we’ve neared our destination.


 

Note the dried mud on the tailgate of the pickup truck. Clean cars are as rare as trees out here.

Dumas, Arkansas

  
Studly Doright and I are traveling a new route through Arkansas on our way home from Hereford, Texas. We passed a Piggly Wiggly grocery store in Dumas, Arkansas, and I snapped a quick photo. Our romance began in a Piggly Wiggly store in Dumas, Texas, over 42 years ago. 

Harva’s Place

Prairie sky resplendent in ozone scented spring

Promises made by rainbow’s arch spatter way out yonder

Concerned eyes watch storm’s progression stringing out hope for moisture

In a land that’s always thirsty, cumulonimbus delivers mixed blessings.

Distant rumbles echo over endless grassy acres, singing the clouds home.

My friend Ann (a.k.a. Harva) shot this picture on her land Monday afternoon. There is nothing like a prairie storm.

New Addition to the Family

We’ve been blessed by the arrival of a new family member–a beautiful 2010 Honda Goldwing:

  

The red bike in the background is my Yamaha Majesty. For the past couple of years it has led a sad life, sitting for months on end without any meaningful trips outside of our garage. Oh, Studly starts it up periodically and takes it for spins around the neighborhood, but the poor dear was languishing for lack of attention.

It’s not that I don’t still adore the bike. She’s taken me on some epic journeys, including a solo trip from Illinois to Texas and back the year I turned 50. But ten years later I’ve noticed that my reflexes aren’t as sharp as they once were, and while I’ve never been a fearless rider, I now find myself a jumpy one. That’s not a good characteristic for a motorcyclist to have.

It seems we’ve come full circle, having had a Goldwing many years ago and selling it when I declared I wanted to be in the driver’s seat on my own ride. It really is all about me. 

Studly is going to sell one of his bikes, and I’m going to sell my Majesty. We’ll still have a small stable of dirt bikes and his beloved Ole ’93.

 

Ole ’93 is Studly’s project bike. He’d part with me before he’d part with it.
  
A couple of our dirt bikes.
  
Studly’s VStrom will also be going to a new home.
 
I’m typing this while drinking a beer and watching Studly check over and polish the Goldwing.  

 I can hardly wait for our first adventure.

Peace, people.

You Say Tomatoes…

Apparently some say “Tomotoes”–taken in Corpus Christi, TX. 

 
Of course it might be a new food, full of vitamins and minerals and the key to eternal youth. Perhaps I should’ve stopped for a sample. 

Peace, people!