Cowtown In Our Rear-View Mirror

Horseback riding on the old Chisholm Trail was supposed to be a highlight of the Texas Road Trip 2016, but it just wasn’t meant to be. Even when it wasn’t raining, the ground was too soggy for safety, so the Fort Worth Stockyards didn’t get the horses out.

Annette and I left Fort Worth and resumed our road trip Wednesday, March 9. We headed for Boerne and the George Strait Team Roping Classic, ready for the back roads. Surprised at the speed limit of 70- and 75-mph on some of those two-lane roads, we were content to keep the speedometer a little under par.

Annette photographs "blue bonnets."

We took the interstate a short distance to Benbrook, then Texas 337 down to Granbury. We almost missed The Cowboy Marketplace there, which led to a false encounter with blue bonnets. Annette quickly spotted a beautiful blanket of the Texas state flower, and we both got out to shoot photos. After picking a sample or two, we headed next door to the Marketplace. I was disappointed at not finding any cowboys for sale, but consoled myself with a set of western-themed stoneware and matching flatware. 

A Granbury building reminded me of rocky-road fudge.

When we got back in the car, the light dawned for Annette. “Those aren’t blue bonnets,” she exclaimed, as she examined the samples we had picked. “They’re grape hyacinths. I should have listened to that little bell that was going off in my head when I first spotted that field of blue.” 

We laughed hysterically, then headed toward downtown Granbury to see its courthouse, per the advice of the Marketplace’s owner. This quaint little town, named after a Confederate general, has many interesting historic buildings that house shops and restaurants. One in particular was faced with stones in various shades of chocolate. It made me hungry.

We picked up Highway 144 and headed south from Granbury, which took us to Highway 67. That took us to 220, which led to Hico. A shop owner in Forth Worth had told us to stop there for pie. I prefer cakes and cookies, but the Koffee Kup is known far and wide for its pies, so we made it a point to find it. Once inside, we saw a sign hanging over the pie counter proclaiming, “Pie fixes everything.” Chocolate, wine and a George Strait CD would be my fix for everything, but that wouldn’t sell any pies, now would it?  

The family-style restaurant boasts 15 flavors of pie, when strawberries are in season. I tried the Black Forest, consisting of two layers of rich chocolate filling, with whipped topping, pecans, shaved chocolate and cherries. When I mentioned to the waitress that more than two cherry halves would have been nice, she brought me a dozen more. Annette had the Coconut Meringue, and the topping was as tall as the pie. You know you’re in a small town when the waitress tells you, “M’am, we don’t take cards, only cash and checks. If you don’t have either one, you can mail us a check.” 

Yummy pie!

Exiting the building, we noticed a Victorian-style house on the corner across the street called the Wiseman House of Chocolates. Had I not been full of pie, I would have ducked in for a nip. We missed the “ghost signs,” those faded remainders of WPA-era advertisements painted on the sides of old buildings. We passed up the Billy the Kid Museum, too. Our informative waitress said Billy the Kid was killed in Hico, according to local legend, but added that several towns claim the same.

Drive right up and buy a bottle in Hamilton.

Highway 281 took us from Hico to Hamilton, where we encountered a drive-through liquor store. We took pictures, then drove through and made a purchase, purely for research reasons, of course. We continued on 281 through a hiccup in the road called Evant, and made it to Lampasas after dark. 

The pickings for motels there were slim. Our first encounter was a sketchy-looking place that had seen better days. The rate was good — $75 per night — but we wanted to inspect a room. The desk clerk was about to accommodate us when Annette asked, “Do you have hair dryers?” It was an inquiry based upon our experience with a Motel 6 last year. Turns out this place didn’t have any, either, so we said never mind and went up the road to the Inn at Lampasas. Even at $90 per night, with the newer rooms and breakfast included, it was a much better deal. And yes, it had hairdryers.

Next week, if not sooner, I’ll continue this travelogue as we meander through Marble Falls, Johnson City, Fredericksburg and Kerrville, and finally arrive in Boerne.

Does Fort Worth Ever Cross Your Mind?

Texas welcomes Ethel (Annette) & Lucy (Elaine)

Other than my leading Annette into the men's restroom at the Mississippi Welcome Center, the first day of our 2016 Texas Road Trip was uneventful. Both of us find interstates boring, but we wanted to get to Fort Worth as soon as possible. So we took I-20, stopping in Longview, TX, for the first night. Monday, we took I-30 through Dallas because Annette wanted to take some photos of the Big D skyline.

We arrived in Cowtown via I-820, checked into our hotel early, then hitched a ride in the shuttle to the Stockyards Historical District. After lunch, we did the official Stockyards Tour, then lined up with other tourists along Exchange Avenue to watch the 4 p.m. cattle drive. Twice daily cowboys who work for the stockyards (what a job!) push The Herd, as the resident longhorns are called, down the main drag a few short blocks. We felt like we had stepped back into the frontier days when cowboys drove thousands of cattle into Cowtown to be shipped to the meat-packing plants.

That nostalgic feeling returned Tuesday when we got a private tour of two rooms at the Stockyards Hotel. Since 1907 it has welcomed cowboys and cattle barons, kings and queens of country music, even Bonnie & Clyde. The rooms are decorated in a variety of period styles that provide turn-of-the century flavor. With its red leather sofa in the lobby and chair cushions upholstered in western-themed fabrics, it has a lot of cowboy ambiance. We half expected a cattle baron to stroll through the lobby, tip his hat, and say, “Howdy, m’am.” We’re contemplating spending a night or two there next year.

We had lunch at the H3 Ranch, a restaurant named after the Hunter Brothers Ranch. It's famous for its live hickory-wood grill, where your food is cooked before your eyes. For the life of me I cannot recall what I ate. I was too focused on the mounted buffalo and steer heads, the whole mounted wild boar and the antler chandeliers.

I remember the wine, probably because I felt so decadent drinking wine in the middle of the day. Our waitress tried to convince me that the H3 house Cab was better than the cheaper Salmon Creek, so I asked for samples. I liked the cheaper stuff best. It had more body.

Booger Red's Saloon is next door to the H3 in an adjoining room. A mounted buffalo butt protrudes from the wall above the saloon’s bar, as if the poor creature had tried to run right through it and got stuck. The butt is there because the saloon serves Buffalo Butt Beer. Some of the bar stools are saddles, so I had to mount one for a photo opt. Considering the difficulty I had  dismounting before drinking any wine, I cannot imagine how a drunken cattleman or cowboy would get off of one.

Tuesday night we came back to the Stockyards to have dinner at Billy Bob’s. The chicken-fried steak was okay, but people don’t go there for the food. It’s the live country music, large dance floor and mechanical bull that draw folks in. A handful of women were line dancing, but we just watched. Handprints of famous musicians who have played there are preserved in plaster casts mounted along the walls. Particularly interesting to us were Loretta Lynn, Jerry Lee Lewis and his cousin, Mickey Gilley, Ringo Starr, Patty Loveless and the late Johnny Paycheck, Conway Twitty and Ray Price.

Of course, we had to get our photos made on the mechanical bull. I took more than 500 photos on this trip, but this is my favorite. 

In a few days, I’ll post the next installment of my Texas Travelogue, which takes place on the backroads  through several quaint little towns and shopping sprees. It lead us into Boerne for the George Strait Team Roping Classic. Again, stay tuned, please.

On The Road Again

Ethel & Lucy (aka Annette & Elaine)
on their 2015 Texas Road Trip

Friday, March 4, should have been a sad day for me, because it marked the 20th anniversary of the death of my husband. I can't believe it has been that long. But I'm not going to write another tear-jerker. I'm in good spirits, because I'm packing for a journey. I do love to travel.

My friend Annette is here from Chicago, and we're about to embark on our second annual Texas Road Trip. We have tickets to the George Strait Team Roping Classic, but while that’s our main focus, getting there and back will produce at least half the fun. This year, we're headed first to Fort Worth, where we'll tour the Stockyards, visit Billy Bob's and take a horseback ride on the old Chisholm Trail…if we don’t get rained out. Then we'll head south to Boerne, near San Antonio, where the GSTRC is held.

We'll probably go back to Gruene Hall, a rustic beer hall where Strait sang when he first started in the country music business. So did many other country artists, for that matter. It’s in New Braunfels. We may take in some of the sights around Fredericksburg that we missed last year, maybe visit the wildlife at Lady Bird Johnson Park, or hike to the summit at the Enchanted Rock State Park. I do hope the Blue Bonnets are in bloom.

Lord knows what back roads we’ll take going home, but we'll have an adventure, a la Thelma and Louise but without Brad Pitt, being chased by the law or the tragic ending. Or maybe we’re more like Lucy and Ethel. 

Annette and I always have a good time together, regardless of what we do. We talk each other's heads off and laugh so much our jaw muscles get sore. 

During this trip, we'll also be planning what to see on our Las Vegas adventure next month. We'll be flying instead of driving for that one, so our sight-seeing will be from tour buses. We have seventh-row tickets to see George Strait in concert at the T-Mobile Arena. Do you see a pattern here?

So, I'm keeping this post brief because I have a lot more to do. There’s a reunion today (Saturday the 5th) of the youth who attended Ninth Avenue Baptist Church in the 1960s. Stay tuned over the next few weeks for some road stories.

Country Music Buddies

Anita, Sibyl, Jay Lee Webb & Elaine at the
Ernest Tubb Record Shop, Nashville, December 1967

A few weeks ago, I visited an old friend in a rehab facility. By old, I mean in terms of the longevity of our relationship, because Sibyl and I have been friends since high school. We’re the same age. But her health is declining, mentally and physically, and it’s breaking my heart. 

Sibyl and I were country music buddies. As teenagers, we listened to the same radio station, followed the same stars, frequented the same record shop — Rumore’s Record Rack in downtown Birmingham. We started going to concerts together. Back then, it was fairly easy to get backstage at the Boutwell Auditorium, and one day the manager of Rumore’s introduced us to our heroes, the Wilburn Brothers. We were in heaven.

I have so many memories of our travels and concert-going over multiple decades, many of them captured in photo albums. We visited Nashville and the Grand Ole Opry several times, and followed our favorite singers to other cities as well. We were Alabama representatives for the Loretta Lynn Fan Club, and hosted Loretta and fellow members for a barbecue in my back yard. We started a fan club for one of Loretta’s brothers, Jay Lee Webb, and attended his funeral together a few months after my husband died in 1996.

As if in honor of our friendship, my youngest daughter was born on Sibyl’s birthday.

We had so many good times together.

Neither she nor her younger sister, Anita, ever married. They lived at home with their parents until the parents died, and now maintain the home themselves. A few months ago, Anita emailed to say Sibyl had fallen during the night while trying to get from her bed to the bathroom. Anita had to call the paramedics. Sibyl was always overweight, so there is no way Anita could pick her up. After two more falls, Sibyl wound up in the hospital, and from there, she went to rehab.

I could tell she was slipping mentally when I spoke with her by phone after one of her falls. Then I visited her twice in rehab. The most recent time, I took some of the many photo albums of our trips and concerts and we laughed over not remembering who some of the folks in the photos were. During that visit, she asked me how Jack liked our log home. “Jack died almost 20 years ago,” I reminded her. “Oh, I didn’t know,” she said. “Yes you did, you just forgot,” I replied, as gently as possible.

Sibyl was always neatly dressed and well-coifed, so it hurt to see her in a wheelchair in sloppy sweats and stringy hair. No need to have her hair set, Anita says, because she lies in bed most of the time.

She has been taking what she calls her “memory pills” for a couple of years, but Anita didn’t realize until recently exactly what that meant. Sibyl is in the early stages of dementia. She is incontinent, and she isn’t getting any better. She wants to go home, but Anita can’t take care of her. Anita is overwhelmed with decisions about where to put her and how to pay for it. 

About all I can do is call Anita from time to time and listen, maybe gather some eldercare resources for her, take her to dinner, and visit Sibyl.

It seems so little for a friend who means so much.

Valentine's Day: Bah, humbug!

I hate Valentine’s Day.

I used to really love it. That was back when my husband was alive. Now, it just reminds me that my sweetheart is gone.

Especially annoying was watching elderly couples dancing on the Today show this morning. It’s difficult enough to see folks at church who have been married 30-plus years holding hands. But to have 30 couples who have been married more than 50 years hugging, smooching, renewing vows and saying stuff like, “He still makes me laugh,” and “She’s the love of my life,” made me sick…with envy, that is.

Next month, Jack will have been dead 20 years. Even if I had remarried 19 years ago, I wouldn’t live long enough to reach the half-century mark.

He died about two weeks before our 26th wedding anniversary, which is March 21. Some really close college chums married on the 28th of March. Their 46th anniversary is coming up soon, and I’m really proud and happy for them and all the other couples who have made it that far. Like one of the Today hosts said, these couples know that when something within a marriage is broken, you don’t give up on the marriage. You fix it.

It’s not that I don’t have a good life. I have a handful of BFFs and lots of friends and acquaintances, a family that gets along well with each other, two adorable grandsons, horses to ride, llamas to look at and dogs that dance with delight when I return from a trip to the grocery store. My house is paid for, I have a decent income that allows me to buy stuff for my grands, help a few missionaries and travel. 

Still, I get sad around Valentine’s Day. I turn aside when I see all the red, lacy hearts and embossed cards in the stores, and the constant ads about making dinner reservations early and which piece of jewelry to buy her. Funny, not many ads talk about what to buy HIM, do they?

I just wish I had a HIM to buy for.

WHAT A NIGHT

It was a dark and stormy night.

No, really, it was.

My SAFE-T-Net app began sending weather alerts on Saturday before the storm broke Tuesday evening. My daughter suggested I leave earlier than usual to avoid the wind, rain and lightning. I was hesitant to leave at all, because I worry about my animals when tornadoes are a possibility. One of my dogs is afraid of thunder and always makes her way to my side when she hears it. But by this time, I was packed and dressed, So off I went.

The wind started howling and the rains started pouring before I reached Amanda's house, which is an hour from mine. But the worst part came after bedtime.

Batman could have protected us!

Amanda has a two-story home with a basement. Bedrooms are on the uppermost floor, and Gabriel wanted to sleep in the basement playroom. It has a futon and a daybed at one end. We should have heeded his pleas. Around 1:30 A.m. the winds really picked up and the lightening made his bedroom look like a fireworks display on the Fourth of July. We heard Amanda and Daniel moving around, and all met in the hallway. We decided to head on down.

Gabriel and I grabbed blankets and pillows, I picked up my purse and iPad, and Daniel carried the still-asleep three-year-old. Amanda grabbed a sleeping bag, or maybe it was already downstairs. Recalling college fire drills, I kept saying, "We need hard-soled shoes," and spent precious minutes looking for mine.

Just as we were drifting off to sleep, my cell phone rang. It was 2:10 A.M. A phone call at that time is always scary, more so with a storm raging. I almost swallowed my tongue when I realized it Tamburello Protection, my security company. The night dispatcher said the company had received a break signal from my front door. (Yes, they can pinpoint the spot.) Was anyone home or supposed to be going in? No, I replied. So they said they would dispatch the sheriff's office. If there was a problem, such as a break-in, I would hear back in 45-minutes to an hour. If there was no problem, I would hear nothing. "Surely a burglar wouldn't try a home invasion on a night like this," I kept repeating to myself.

I warned the dispatscher to tell the sheriff's department about my aggressive dog, who had tried to bite the last deputy who checked on a false alarm when I wasn't home. I  tossed and turned as I waited for the dreaded call. Had someone actually broken in, or had the winds pushed the door open? Were my animals okay? My house? Would I have to drive home to check on the situation in the middle of this storm? Needless to say, none of us slept much that night.

The next night, when I returned home, I drove to the barn to make sure my critters hadn't been felled by a tree or struck by lighting. The were okay, so I fed them and drove to the house. When I pulled up, my dogs came out to meet me, indicating they were fine. Whew! Once inside, I heard my alarm panel beeping. It was flashing an FD reading, meaning, "front door."  When I checked, I was relieved to find it wasn't wide open. I remembered having locked it, but apparently hadn't bothered to actually push it completely closed. I wouldn't say it was ajar, but it was what you might call, "loose." I remedied that. 

I slept much better that night.

ONE BROKEN THING AFTER ANOTHER

Mishaps, like other forms of bad luck, always come in threes, according to traditional wisdom. I’m living proof that they often comes in fours, fives and sixes.

I’ve made no secret of the fact that I’m hell on wheels when it comes to trucks, tractors and trailers. I especially have problems turning right into my driveway while towing my 22-foot long horse trailer. I just don’t swing wide enough. Twice I’ve knocked stones out of one of my stacked-stone pillars.

This is how my gates are supposed to look.

I thought I was being extra careful a few weeks ago. “I can do this,” I told myself. There was no other traffic on the road, so I moved over into the left lane and made what I thought was a nice, wide turn. I thought I had cleared the pillars when I heard a scraping noise. “Uh-oh, there goes another stone,” I thought. I backed up a little, swung again and got through the gate. When I got out to look, there were no loose stones. “Yay!” I said to myself. I spoke too soon, because I had dented my right rear fender on the trailer. Bummer.

Before I could get it fixed, I ran into a pasture gate with the bucket of my tractor. I had no excuse about right or left turns or not being able to see well. I just wasn’t paying attention. The bucket bent the gate pretty bad, and I couldn’t close it. Bummer No. 2.

One day when my handyman, Floyd Plummer, and his grandson, Scott, were here working on some other projects, I got him to fix the gate. Then I asked him to bend the trailer fender back into place, so it wouldn’t rub the tire. While he was working on that, I headed to the hardware store for some part he needed. I didn’t open my front gates all the way, trying to shave a few seconds off my time. I’ve done it before with no problem. However, going through partially-opened gates in a Prius is quite different than in a one-ton dually, as I discovered much too late. I knocked one of the gates completely off its hinges and into my pond. I also broke the front mount that holds the mechanical gate arm to the gate. Bummer No. 3.

Floyd and Scott wrestled the heavy gate back onto its hinges while I was running my errand. They also hammered out the huge dent I had put in it. But they were unable to unscrew the old front mount, leaving us to believe I would have to invest into a new gate arm. As if that weren’t enough, wrenching the gate off apparently drove the post that holds it down into the grown so much that the bent gate hung a foot lower than the other one. Bummer No. 4.

Floyd and Scott spent several hours yesterday working on that blasted gate. They had to pull the pole out of the ground with tractor and chain, break up the old cement and reset the pole. I couldn’t get out of my driveway while the cement was drying.  Floyd came up this morning and put the new front mount in place and hooked the arms back to the gates. Guess what? They don’t work! The power is still on at the gate and the fuses are good. But even the ever-true doorbells that open the gates from house and driveway aren’t working. I must have fried something in the control board. Bummer No. 5! I called my “gate man,’ who will come up this afternoon and check it out.

One more mishap will make six. Or does accidentally activating the child lock on my washing machine and having to call LG count? Either way, I believe I’ve met my quota for the year.