Ben and George and Me

I have this thing going with two of our country’s Founding Fathers. 

It began when I met Ben Franklin at his gravesite in the Christ Church Burial Ground in Philadelphia last week.That in itself was rather disconcerting.Then he started getting personal.

“Are you married, madam?” he asked politely. 

“No, I’m a widow,” I replied, still reeling from the shock of seeing him hovering around his own grave.

“I am a widower. I have asked two (or was it three?) women in Paris to marry me, but they turned me down.”

While that wasn’t exactly a proposal, it was the closest I’ve come to in many a year.

He graciously agreed to pose for a photo with me. I must say he’s rather photogenic for a ghost.

Next day, we (Carol Stern and I) moseyed over to the National Constitution Center. We found the “Headed to the White House” exhibit about presidential campaigns too noisy and too busy. We did enjoy pretending to sign legislation in the Oval Office mock-up. 

The most fascinating exhibit, however, was Signers Hall. That’s where I again encountered old Ben, who stiffly agreed to let me sit on his lap for another photo.

George Washington was hovering nearby. I didn’t realize how tall that man was! He posed with me, too. But I read somewhere that he has wooden teeth, so I refused his kiss for fear of splinters.

The foregoing exhibit features 42 life-size bronze models of our Founding Fathers that are amazingly, well, life-like. They are in various poses, some sitting, some standing, many talking together in small groups. The artist(s) who cast them used portraits and descriptions to get their heights, features and clothes as accurate as possible. It was great fun wandering among these guys.

We learned how the term “gerrymandering” came about. Being a wordsmith, I always enjoy learning the origins of words and phrases. While serving as governor of Massachusetts, Eldridge Gerry (a signer of our Declaration of Independence) approved a salamander-shaped district to help his party win seats in the 1812 state senate election. Mapping electoral districts to favor one political part over another quickly came to be known as “gerrymandering.”

I’m not a history buff, but my Philadelphia experience in general, and Signers Hall in particular, piqued my interest to the point that I ordered a book called, Signing Their Lives Away: The Fame and Misfortune of the Men Who Signed The Declaration of Independence. There were 56 of them, by the way.

Can’t wait to read about these "new" men in my life.

The Cowgirls Rode Away

I love to travel. I love visiting new places, experiencing new adventures and making new friends along the way. 

That’s what made my trip to Las Vegas last month so special. Annette and I went to see and hear George Strait in concert, and that was, hands down, the best part of the trip. But way up there in a tight race for second place was horseback riding in Red Rock Canyon and making new friends from Texas, Illinois and Ireland.

Diana Hood, Annette Greaves, Elaine Miller
 gather around Barbara Garza.

Annette was already Facebook friends with Barbara Garza. She and her husband, Joe, live in Bloomington, Illinois, about three hours from where Annette lives in Streamwood (near Chicago). We had tried to hook up with the Garzas when we were in Texas for the GSTRC last year. They were headed to Del Rio and stopped for the night in San Antonio, but we left for Bandera before we could meet.

In Vegas, we had brunch with Barbara and Joe, along with Diana Hood of Austin, Texas, at the MGM Hotel Sunday after the two weekend concerts. Diana has followed George since his honky-tonk and dance hall days at the very beginning of his career. We enjoyed listening to her stories about some of the nice things he has done for some of his loyal, long-time fans.

The horses were saddled and waiting.

That afternoon, a van picked us up at the hotel for our Sunset Trail Ride in Red Rock Canyon. It was just half an hour from the Strip, but in that short time we made three new friends among our fellow adventurers. Sam and Irene Marshall and Sam’s sister, Gwen Tener, were from Ireland, I love an Irish accent, but had a little trouble understanding what Sam was calling his wife. It sounded like “Iron,” but it was spelled, “I-r-e-n-e.” We had a wee laugh about that.

The five of us exchanged Facebook monikers, email and snail-mail addresses. Sam and Irene are planning to come back to the States next year for a three-month motorcycle tour of the South. Naturally, I extended Southern hospitality by inviting them to stay with me when they come through Alabama. They reciprocated with an invitation to Annette and I to stay with them should we get to Belfast or Bangor, County Down, in Northern Ireland. I was sincere in my invitation, and so were they. 

The trail ride was supposed to last an hour and 45 minutes, followed by a cowboy dinner. We had such a good time, just moseying along at a gentle pace and looking at the spectacular scenery, that it didn’t seem that long. Perhaps the greenhorns thought differently, but I could have ridden another two hours. 

Red Rock Canyon was named a National Conservation Area in 1990 and is run by the Bureau of Land Management. Known for its rock formations and their vivid colors, it would be worth exploring by car, foot or a longer horseback ride. The color of some of the outcrops in those Aztec Sandstone cliffs is due to the presence of iron oxide or hermatite. Exposure to the elements caused iron minerals to oxidize or “rust,” resulting in vivid red, orange and brown-colored rocks. 

Spiky cacti lined our trail as we wound through the Mojave Desert. We saw lots of Joshua Trees, which are just as interesting dead as they are alive. Oh, and a desert bunny hopped along with us for a while.

Of the eight people who paid for the ride, plus the three trail guides, I’d say only two of us weren’t eating steak. “What kind of cowgirl eats fish?” someone asked me, in a good-natured chide. But man, that salmon was good. It was cooked with a special seasoning that the trail boss makes and sells online. I think he’s missing a grand opportunity by not selling it on site. The salmon had lemon slices on top and was wrapped in aluminum foil and cooked on the huge outdoor gas range where the steaks, corn-on-the-cob, potatoes with onions and cowboy beans were cooked. I’m drooling all over my keyboard as I write. We finished by roasting marshmallows over a fire pit and pressing them between two chocolate-chip cookies for a variation on S’mores.

Compadres on and off the trail

When Annette and I discovered that our new Irish friends were staying at the same hotel we were in, we invited them to one of its bars for a drink and a chat. Sam went up to his room, leaving us women to ourselves. Annette drank water, but I introduced Irene and Gwen to an Italian margarita. During the hour we were perched on those bar stools, the three of us bought a round each! Irene decided it was her new drink, and later posted a picture of herself in her red-white-and-blue cowboy hat drinking one in the Vegas airport.

It was a great ending to a great day.

He Came, He Sang, He Conquered

The headline pretty well sums up George Strait’s triumphant return to the concert stage in Las Vegas April 22 and 23. The King of Country Music ascended his throne at the center of the T-Mobile Arena and wowed two audiences of nearly 20,000 each. Even though it had been almost two years since his last public concert, he was in top form.

Opening both nights with, “Here For A Good Time,”  he performed 28 of his greatest hits, plus an encore of four Friday and five Saturday. That fifth number was a throaty rendition of Bob Wills’s, “Milk Cow Blues.” I thought Ethel, aka Annette, was going to melt into a puddle and I’d have to mop her up and wring her out into a bucket to get her back to the hotel. Of course, she was already pretty darn drippy from having touched his hand four times as he walked to the arena stage Friday. That was the night we had floor seats on the seventh row.

Ethel wasn’t the only woman melting. Women of all ages, wearing flip flops, tank tops, tee-shirts and fancy boots, screamed, “I love you, George,” and swooned over every note he sang and every gesture he made. By the time he ended each set with, “That Woman I Had Wrapped Around My Finger Just Came Unwound,” almost every woman there had done the same.

It wasn’t just the women who came unwound. Men were singing along with The King, too. Saturday we had cheaper seats in an upper tier. A man in front of me, probably in his mid-forties, turned to his date right after they sat down and mouthed, “I’m the Fireman,” pointing to his own chest. At the end of several songs he performed a ceremonial bow by standing, bending forward at the waist and waving his arms up and down. When George sang, “Check Yes or No,”  he and his girlfriend sang along while looking into each other’s eyes. I thought I was gonna barf.

The woman sitting to my left Saturday said her about-to-turn-20 daughter told her, “I don’t care how old he is, I’d marry him (George) in a minute.” That same night, I showed some 40-something women behind me a few photos I had taken Friday, and they nearly fainted over my “butt shots.” George has that effect on women of all ages.

The stage was square, with a microphone at each corner. Floor seats were angled in such a way that not everyone got to see him full in the face, even though he sang several songs at each mike. But he did turn aside often, and there really isn’t a bad view of The King, so that was okay with Lucy and Ethel.

A highlight both nights was George doing a three-song tribute to the late Merle Haggard, who died about two weeks before these concerts. While George sang, “Mama Tried,” “Fightin’ Side of Me” and “My Life’s Been Grand,” scenes from The Hag’s life flashed on the giant overhead screens. The audience went wild.

He didn’t do my favorite song, one that he wrote and recorded two versions of,  “I Can’t Go On Dying Like This.” But “Unwound” is another favorite, so I was a happy camper. Of course, he did “Cheyenne," “How ‘Bout Them Cowgirls,” “Blame It On Mexico,” “Blue Clear Sky,” “The Chair,” “Amarillo By Morning,” “All My Exes Live in Texas” and several others. When he performed “Troubadour,” scenes from one of his few music videos flashed on the screens. It was poignant to see him with his daughter, Jenifer, who died in a car wreck in1986 at 13. When he walked away after each performance, thousands of cell phones were waving in the air on flashlight mode, like candles flickering in the dark.

Some fans we met Sunday said they thought George was more relaxed Saturday night, suggesting he might have been a tad nervous Friday about getting back on stage. That’s hard to fathom, given his experience, but it might explain why I thought his voice had a higher timbre Friday than Saturday. I had attributed the difference to hearing him in person versus on a CD. Didn’t matter, though, because he sounded GREAT both nights, damn strait!

I guess I need to say something about the warm-up act, Kacey Musgraves. Wearing what came across as a majorette costume, she walked toward the stage each night leading a miniature horse. I had never heard of her, but a quick internet search after I got home revealed that she has two critically acclaimed CDs to her credit on the Mercury label, “Same Trailer, Different Park” and “Pageant Material.” She is a very talented singer and songwriter, but she did an hour show, and half that would have been plenty. George’s fans didn’t need warming up. We were already pretty hot just knowing The King was about to appear.

Saturday’s show would have been much more enjoyable if two women behind us had not screamed in our ears during the entire concert. They often drowned out George’s voice. One in particular almost blew the batteries out of Ethel’s hearing aids. I turned around and told her that if she didn’t confine her screaming to the applause times, I was going to break her legs. She grabbed my hand with her free one (the other held a plastic cup of beer that was as tipsy as she was), laughed and continued making Lucy, Ethel and the woman to my left cover our ears.

All in all, though, it was a great experience. It was the first time Lucy and Ethel had seen The King in concert. It won’t be the last. 

Long live the King!

On Our Last Leg

San Jacinto Monument

Everything that came after the George Strait Team Roping Classic seemed anticlimactic. But Lucy and Ethel still managed a few adventures on the return trip to Alabama.

We visited the San Jacinto Battleground and monument near Houston, where we learned a lot about Texas's fight for independence from Mexico. We barely made it across the Texas-Louisiana border before flooding forced the closing of I-10. Against our better judgment, we stopped for the night at a Motel 6 in Jennings, Louisiana.

There was an unusual development in this Motel 6 experience. The buildings had previously housed another motel chain, but when Motel 6 bought them out, they removed the existing hair dryers. “I asked that we keep them, because I had just bought new ones,” said the manager. “But they insisted that I remove them to be consistent with other motels in the chain.” He had kept them and stashed them away. He offered us one. “Do I leave it in the room tomorrow, or return it to you?” I asked.  “It’s complimentary,” he said. “Keep it.” (Note: I didn’t, because the cord was frayed.)

Lucy & Ethel show off their new
road trip tees.

We couldn’t find any place to eat in Jennings except for fast food, Mexican and a Waffle House. We settled on the Waffle House. It proved to be an interesting culinary experience. I found a salad on the menu that was supposed to have apples and walnuts on it. “We got any apples?” the tired-looking waitress called out to the cook. They did, but they were the dried kind, in a cellophane baggy with the nuts. Still, it wasn’t a bad choice. Annette and I almost doubled over in laughter when a waitress-in-training called out an order to the cook: “Plain omelet with egg,” she said. Is there any other way to make an omelet?

Moby almost got Lucy's arm!

The next day we stopped at one of the best tourist information centers we’ve ever encountered. It was in the Louisiana parish of West Baton Rouge, which bills itself as “the kite capital of Louisiana.” Tourism Center Manager Kayla Denova obligingly took our pictures with Moby, the largest alligator ever caught in the parish, shot on September 14, 2013. He was stuffed, of course. West Baton Rouge holds an annual kite festival, and has a kite-making station for children visiting the tourism center. “Can we take a kite kit home to our grandchildren?” we asked Denova. “Sure,” she replied cheerily, and put some kits together for us. Then she gave each of us a slightly larger kit for ourselves.

Tyler is proud of mini martinis.

Our next stop was Baton Rouge, where we had lunch with another National Federation of Press Women buddy, Marsha Shuler. A former NFPW president, Marsha was state government reporter for The Advocate newspaper for many years. She left that position in January to become policy manager for the commissioner of administration Jay Dardenee in the Division of Administration for the State of Louisiana. (Whew! What a title.) We lunched on pineapple-glazed shrimp with rice and steamed broccoli at the Capitol Grill. The joint features $2 lunch-sized martinis that are to die-for. I had the French Kiss: vodka and pineapple juice shaken and poured into a small martini glass, then topped with Chambord raspberry liqueur. The drink is layered, or you can stir it for a blended flavor. Dessert was bread pudding with orange sauce for me, carrot cake for Annette. “Our carrot cake is made in heaven and delivered here,” claimed our young waiter, Tyler. 

LSU's Tiger Stadium

After lunch, we spent an hour visiting the old state capitol, and were especially intrigued by its Huey P. Long exhibit. Then we stopped by LSU so Annette could add another football stadium to her photo collection. Tiger Stadium was our last major stop for this trip. By this time, we were eager to get home. 

Now, we’re packing for our next adventure, a trip to Las Vegas to see George Strait in concert. We have tickets for Friday and Saturday nights, April 22 and 23. Can you guess what my next blog will be about?

The nearly submerged building across the levee from
Tiger Stadium gives you an idea of the flooding there.

Let the Ropin' Begin!

Waiting in line.

Dozens of horse trailers lined the muddy shoulders of Boerne Stage Road near the San Antonio Rose Palace that foggy Friday morning. Dozens more occupied the grounds behind the fence. Most of those trailers contained living quarters, all belonging to the 583 teams registered for the 34th annual George Strait Team Roping Classic (GSTRC).

By the time Lucy and Ethel arrived at 6:40 a.m. on March 11, at least a dozen vehicles were already ahead of us. The gates open at 8 a.m., and there are no reserved seats, so folks line up early to get a good one.

An early sighting of The King.

Inside, a sea of middle-aged and older women was sprinkled with some younger ones, their male companions and a few children. The women kept their eyes peeled on the glass-fronted announcer’s booth, hoping for

a sighting of The King of Country Music. When he stepped out onto the balcony, it was difficult to say which was loudest: the clicking of telephoto lenses or the swooning of the women behind them.

Joyce Morris of Georgia is a FB friend of Annette
and a long-time GS fan.

                       

Elaine & Annette

       There was great camaraderie among those women. Many had “known” each other for months or years via various George Strait fan pages on Facebook, so when they met each other, it was like running into old friends. With Strait’s music playing in the background, they compared digital photos, swapped email addresses with the few who didn’t bring cameras, and talked about their love for George. The old-timers, i.e., those who had attended the event before, tipped off the newbies as to when The King would be making his rounds via horseback and where to stand at the rail to touch his hand. It’s a wonder Facebook access wasn’t jammed, with all the postings going on. Ethel, a.k.a. Annette, posted a few shots for a Facebook buddy in Germany, who hopes to attend the roping next year. 

Once the calves started bolting out of the chutes, the guys watched the roping while the gals continued watching George and his family in the announcer’s booth. I did find one woman actually filling in her day sheet with scores, but she was the exception. With so many husbands accompanying their wives, I wondered how they felt about their spouses’ obsession with George. So I asked one or two.

"I don't care," said Clarence Cranford of Pontotoc, MS. His wife, Norma, chimed in, "He says I have more pictures on my phone and Facebook of George than I do of him."

Bill Arlitt first said his wife's life-size George Strait cutout in their Poteet, TX, kitchen does not bother him. Then he admitted, "I do get tired of it sometimes."

The first day’s roping went on until after midnight, with the teams who garnered a score on their first round qualifying for a second go at another calf. Lucy and Ethel left about 4:50 p.m. and went next door for a meal at the Scenic Loop Cafe. Each of us selected a “mini meal” so we’d have room for dessert and the Cafe’s famous Snake Bite Margarita. The latter consists of Jose Cuervo Silver, Grand Gala, lime juice and “snake venom,” (prickly pear juice). We shared a serving of Banana Enchiladas for dessert. They reminded me of a cannoli: chocolate-flavored “tortillas” wrapped around a cream-cheese filling, topped with slices of banana and drizzled with chocolate syrup. For someone who wasn’t very hungry, I ate well.

I must admit to my irreverence during the opening ceremonies Saturday morning. I wanted to get a shot of George without his hat. He took it off for the prayer and the singing of the national anthem, so instead of bowing my head like a good Southern Baptist, I trained my eyes on him. I wasn’t alone, though, because once again, the sound of clicking camera shutters was almost deafening. 

By the time he rode around the arena high-fiving everyone, many of us had been standing at the rail for an hour. Most folks wanted to touch his hand. Honestly, all I wanted was a photo of him touching Annette’s hand. What I got for my effort was her hand in the foreground and a blurry George Strait in the background.

Dustin Egusquiza (left) and Kyle Lawrence
made up the winning team.

Second-day rounds went much faster than the first, because only the top 50 teams qualified. By 2 p.m., it was all over but the shouting. The winners were Dustin Egusquiza of Florida and Kyle Lawrence of Andalusia Alabama, on a three-head average time of 13.99 seconds. Each received  $115,500, plus a 2016 Chevy Silverado dually truck and a trailer. The latter were painted up one side and down the other with George Strait photos and logos. George personally congratulated the winners and presented the awards, autographed the dash of each truck, and posed for photos with the team. For many present that weekend, that alone was prize enough.

The last three days of our Texas Road Trip was anti-climactic. But I’ll tell you a little about it next week. That’s assuming I have time to write while packing for Las Vegas, where Lucy & Ethel are going to see The King in concert — twice. Don’t expect me to write much about that adventure. Remember, what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas!

BACK ROADS TO BOERNE

The rainy weather leaving Lampasas, Texas, may have slowed down Lucy & Ethel’s car speed, but it didn’t dampen our shopping spirits. We were eager to get to Boerne and the George Strait Team Roping Classic, but we couldn’t resist distributing a few more greenbacks along the Texas back roads.

Following Highway 281, our first stop that Thursday (March 10) was The Pottery Ranch in Marble Falls (www.potteryranch281.com), where Annette bought a small metal bluebonnet and had it shipped home. Continuing to Johnson City, we picked up 290 toward Fredericksburg. We had spent considerable time and money there last year, so we figured we’d just drive straight through. But we went at it from a different direction this trip, so saw some things we missed in 2015.

A model Sunday House

We stopped at a Sunday House model home, where a sign proclaimed that you could have this “historical handcrafted” home built on your own site. The original Sunday Houses were built by early settlers who lived on remote farms and ranches and needed a place to stay when they came to town for Saturday marketing and Sunday church. Some originals are open for occasional tours and others serve as bed-and-breakfasts. I’m guessing that the new versions are being marketed toward the tiny homes movement. (For more info go to http://www.tshaonline.org/handbook/online/articles/cfs01.)

Our next stop was the Messina Hof Winery in Fredericksburg (messinahof.com), where I did a wine tasting. I bought their Paulo Texas limited-edition red blend, their Papa Paulo Port, and a box of dark chocolate truffles infused with port and molded into the shape of a tiny cluster of grapes. Note to self and other wine aficionados: Don’t buy wine and chocolates until the end of your road trip. The wine and port barely survived, and the chocolates melted into unrecognizable blobs.

A few blocks down the road we stopped at Wildseed Farms (www.wildseedfarms.com), a garden center that specializes in bluebonnets.  It’s the largest working wildflower farm in the nation, and includes walking trails through the production fields and gardens, a nursery, Biergarten, wine tasting and gift shop. We ate a light lunch, then wandered through the indoor shop, buying bluebonnet seeds and some small garden trinkets. It was still raining, so we couldn’t really peruse the trails or get good photos.

We took Highway 16 from Fredericksburg to Kerrville, arriving mid-afternoon. I was in the mood for a pastry, so we popped into the Hippie Chicks Bakery off Main Street. After our snack, we visited Creations, a quilt shop Annette had discovered via the internet (creations-online.com). She bought four quilt patterns and wads of fabric, while I purchased gray socks with horses on them and a book called “Texas Curiosities,” by John Kelso, updated and revised by Sharry Buckner. It features quirky characters, roadside oddities and other off-beat stuff. I read a few paragraphs in the shop and found Kelso, a longtime humor columnist for the Austin American-Statesman, to be a witty writer. I think it would be fun to do an Alabama version.

Creations has been owned by sisters Kathy Thompson and Julie Milam for 38 years. In addition to their shop, they have a building next door called The Main House, where they hold classes and three-day quilting retreats. It has an upstairs lodging area with 24 beds in six bedrooms, nine full baths, plus the downstairs sewing studio.

It will look even better framed and hanging on my wall.

My greatest find of the trip was at the River’s Edge Art Gallery (www.riversedgegallery.net) in Kerrville. Annette had purchased a colorful print of two longhorns in a field of bluebonnets at the Wildseed Farm. Imagine my delight upon discovering several originals by the same artist, Katherine McElwaine, who painted the original of Annette’s print. I bought an unframed one, and inquired about commissioning a larger piece to go over my fireplace. I’m waiting until I’ve recuperated from travel expenses before proceeding.

While in Kerrville I looked up a fellow member of the National Federation of Press Women. Bonnie Arnold, a staff writer for the Hill Country Community Journal, took a few minutes between assignments to meet us for a Coke and conversation. After Bonnie left, Annette and I had dinner at the H-E-B, a San Antonio-based grocery store chain with locations throughout Texas. Then we headed to Boerne via I-10 East and checked into our hotel.

Annette likes the GSTRC grand prize.

My next installment of Texas Road Trip 2016 will be a yippie-ki-yay from the George Strait Team Roping Classic in Boerne. Lucy and Ethel had too many adventures, big and small, to put this trip into one or two blogs. Meanwhile, here’s a little photo tease for you Strait fans.