TAKE US BACK TO TULSA

Part of the fun of attending George Strait concerts is connecting with other fans. Annette keeps up with many on the George Strait Junkie and GS Fan Club Facebook pages, but it doesn’t take social media to recognize them in person. In Pawhuska, a gaggle of gals from Texas wore matching Strait Down 66 shirts they had made up especially for the concert, complete with glitz and glitter. Day Four of Lucy and Ethyl’s Route 66 adventure began with breakfast at the Pioneer Woman’s Mercantile seated next to this lively group.

By the time we got to the Friday night concert, Annette had hooked up with several  Junkies she knew from Facebook, some wearing GS tees, others GS hats, all excited to see each other and The King. 

Like us, many of them were staying at the DoubleTree in Tulsa, about a block from the BOK Center where both concerts were held. While waiting in the hotel lobby for the shuttle to take us to Dilly’s Diner, we met a husband and wife from Hot Springs, Arkansas, who sat with us on the shuttle and during our midday breakfast. She was hoping George would sing “Cross My Heart” that night. It was played at their wedding 17 years ago and she had never heard him sing it in concert.

  Asleep At The Wheel opened for George both nights, which tickled me because I had never heard them in person. Their western swing rocks, but I fell in love with a plaintive, love-gone-wrong song by the late Guy Clark called “Dublin Blues.”

George put on a great two-hour show, singing about 30 of his hits. He did a two-song tribute to the late Merle Haggard and closed the set with “Unwound.” He didn’t disappoint the woman from Arkansas, either, and next day on Facebook she was trying to find someone who had recorded him doing her wedding song. I hope she does.

George always comes back for an encore. This time he did four more of his songs and two Bob Wills ditties, “Take Me Back to Tulsa” and “Milk Cow Blues.” He closed with a few lines of “The Cowboy Rides Away.” When he asked his audience to come back Saturday night, a woman near me said, “Who goes both nights?” Uh, we do, lady.

Saturday we had another midday breakfast at  Dilly Diner in Tulsa’s Blue Dome District. The latter is named for an old service station/garage that has a blue dome on top and resembles a mosque. It’s empty now, but the city can hardly tear it down because the arts and entertainment area is named after it.

We had purchased VIP tickets that included a concert poster and a buffet dinner with open bar for the second night. Even drinks made with Codigo 1530, the expensive tequila brand in which George has a business interest, were included in the price. Jared Tyler entertained. I had never heard him before. He was good, especially with my glass of wine, and better still with the Codigo Italian margarita. I bought his two CDs.

George’s concerts were sponsored by the Hard Rock Cafe and were the first in a series to celebrate the BOK Center’s 10th anniversary. Hard Rock had a photo booth at the VIP dinner with a blank backdrop, but when the picture came out of the printer, it appeared as if you were standing next to George onstage. They printed two copies of each photo and texted you a copy. They also handed out tee-shirts, sunglasses, ear buds and koozies. 

Annette and I had seats one in front of the other Friday night, but Saturday night we were on opposite sides of the stage. We’ve found that we can get better tickets when we buy singles. A man seated near Annette proposed to his wife while George sang, “Check Yes Or No,” handing her a piece of paper that said, “Will you marry me? Check yes or no.” She checked yes.

STILL KICKING ON ROUTE 66

After picking up Route 66 in Fenton, our first stop Wednesday (Day Two) was the Null and Crossbones Dreadful Collectibles in Pacifico, Missouri. Its huge display of metal art caught my attention, and I really wanted the giant gray steer.  It would’ve looked awesome by my pond. Getting it home would have cost more than the sculpture itself, though.

We had problems navigating the Mother Road for several miles. It took many twisting turns back and forth under the interstate, and while the Route 66 signs were plentiful, they didn’t say East or West on them. We finally figured out how to read our Route 66 map, then stopped at some brick teepees along the roadside. Before I could turn the engine off, a guy came out of one shouting that we couldn’t take photos until we went inside the museum and store. He said that would cost us $2, which would be applied toward any purchase. He showed us some  arrowheads, played a tune on a flute, tried to sell us some Indian jewelry and the flute. I bought a magnet. 

Down the road, we stopped in Cuba, another town known for its murals. We had lunch at the Missouri Hick Barbecue, which had a mosaic map of the USA embedded in its entrance patio with the entire Route 66 marked. Next door, we snapped photos of the restored Wagon Wheel Motel & Gas Station. No gas was flowing from those antique pumps, and it looked like the former motel cottages were now small apartments.

Our next stop was Springfield, via I-44, and we took pictures of two 1956 Fords displayed at the old Rail Haven Motel. Best Western now operates the place, which was built in 1938. A replica of their classic neon sign was erected a few years ago. We plan to spend a night there on our return trip.

     From Springfield we programmed Carthage, Missouri, into our GPS, because a Route 66 book described it as a special interstate-free drive with rolling wooded hills, green fields and  old roadside remnants.  At this point, we were tired of running parallel to I-44, and delighted in passing dozens of rusted tractors, dilapidated barns and ponds with cows cooling off from the 90-plus degree heat. It was tempting to join them. During this section, Route 66 was called State Highway 266. In fact, most of the route now bears local highway names.

We ignored the signs advertising the Uranus Fudge Factory of St. Robert because it sounded unappetizing. Passing through Barnsdall, we took a photo of the sign proclaiming it the home of Anita Bryant and Clark Gable. In Commerce, the birthplace of Mickey Mantle, we found Mantle’s statue at the high school baseball park. In Spencer we took pictures of the recently-restored remains of the Little Spencer gas station. Its sign still showed gas at 12 cents per gallon for regular, 14 cents for “ethyl.”

Motoring on through Albatross, Rescue, Avilla, Carthage and Joplin, we crossed the state line into Galena, Kansas. That’s where I whipped into a junk shop called Picker’s Post. I bought a vertical, wooden “Welcome” sign that features every Route 66 state and was made by an 87-year-old Galena woman. Annette found some collectible tins. But they didn’t have a Kansas Route 66 magnet. So we stopped at another shop down the road, where we dropped some more money on Route 66 license plates and magnets. Considering that Route 66 runs but 13 miles through Kansas, we figure we spent more money per mile there than in any other state along the west-bound route.

     We spent our second night in Miami, Kansas. Next day, we detoured to Pawhuska, Oklahoma. Annette wanted to see the Pioneer Woman’s Mercantile, made famous by Ree Drummond’s Pioneer Woman television cooking show. Drummond has revitalized the small town, which has several interesting shops. We decided to stay the night. Ree’s boarding house was full, but a shop owner found us a room at the restored Whiting Hotel. We stayed in the Cowboy Room, which, did not live up to its name. It didn’t come with a cowboy. Talk about false advertising.

Next morning, we were back at the Mercantile for a hot breakfast and more shopping before heading Strait to Tulsa.

Somewhere between Miami and Pawhuska

GETTING OUR KICKS ON ROUTE 66

  

       Lucy and Ethyl are off on another road trip, and this time, we’re traveling the Mother Road. Route 66 is on a lot of peoples’ bucket lists, but the entire route, from Chicago, Illinois,  to Santa Monica, California, is about 2200 miles long. We’re doing it one half at a time. 

I flew into Chicago on Memorial Day, and we headed west the next morning in Ethyl’s Toyota Corolla. We thought about renting a mini-van to haul our loot back, but decided I couldn’t get much on the plane with me anyway. That may have been a mistake. I’ve already passed up a seven-foot kiva ladder that would beautifully display my old quilts, not to mention several metal art sculptures that would look great in my succulent garden.

  We’ve been talking about driving Route 66 for a couple of years, but George Strait’s Tulsa concert gave us the impetus to start the voyage. The halfway point is a few miles west of Amarillo, Texas, and we plan to make the jaunt from Tulsa to Amarillo after George’s concerts. As usual, we have tickets to both the Friday night and Saturday night events.

In the interest of time, we have been skipping back and forth between Route 66 and the interstates to get to Tulsa. We decided to leave the Illinois portion of the route for the return trip, Besides, I did that section in 2010, on a National Federation of Press Women post-conference tour. So we plugged St. Louis, Missouri, into the GPS and hopped on I-55. Then we hopped off at Pontiac, Illinois, because Ethyl wanted a picture made with her car parked in front of the world’s largest Route 66 shield mural, and I said,”Why not now?” 

Elaine (aka Lucy) with John Weiss

  Pontiac has 23 outdoor murals, vintage scenes that depict its commercial, cultural, and political history. Eighteen of the murals were painted by a national group of artists called The Walldogs. More than 150 artists from this collection of sign painters and muralists painted all 18 murals in four days during the summer of 2009. 

A Walldog was painting a new mural on
the day we were in Pontiac.

     After driving around town a few minutes trying to find the mural that has the world’s largest Route 66 shield and “Pontiac” on it. we gave up our search and stopped at the Route 66 Hall of Fame & Museum for information. We pulled into the museum’s parking lot, and low and behold, that mural was on the side of the building. After several photo opts, and a chat with three youths from Mexico, we went inside. That’s where we ran into John Weiss, author and tour guide for the NFPW Route 66 Illinois post-conference tour in 2010. He was in town doing a  radio interview. What a coincidence.

 
  Leaving Pontiac, we got back onto I-55, took a southern bypass around St. Louis, and headed west. This time, we programmed Carthage, Missouri, into the GPS, deciding that was the point where we wanted to pick up Route 66 again. We stopped for the night in Fenton,  staying at a Motel 6. It was cheap, which explains why they still don’t have hair dryers, coffee pots in the rooms or lids on their toilets.

  Stay tuned for more misadventures of Lucy and Ethyl getting their kicks on Route 66. It gets better each day.

STRAIT TO HEAVEN

Seeing George Strait two nights in a row put me in another kind of heaven in Vegas.

George was in top form both nights (Dec. 8th & 9th). On Friday we had third-row end seats on the main floor. Due to the staggering of the rows, there were no seats in front of us. Even better, our position was next to the fenced aisle George walks to and from the stage. Ethyl managed three hand swipes, including one where HE squeezed HER hand, and I got one. It wasn’t exactly the thrill of my life — after all, I was kissed by The Cisco Kid — but it was a memory.

He sang more than 30 songs Friday, including two that paid tribute to Merle Haggard. On Friday, he did “Mama Tried” and “Are The Good Times Really Over For Good.” On Saturday he subbed “Working Man Blues” for “Mama Tried.”  He has included The Hag tribute in his concerts since Merle died last year. We were so close to the stage that we could watch his lips form every word. My personal favorite, which he sang both nights, was “We Really Shouldn’t Be Doing This.”

It was a special treat to have songwriter Dean Dillon join George on the stage both nights. They sang, “Easy Come, Easy Go,” one of the 11 Number Ones out of the 55 songs Dillon has written  for George, and “Here For A Good Time,” another Number One that Dean, George and Bubba Strait co-wrote. Strait’s Dillon hits also include “Marina del Rey,” “The Chair,” “I’ve Come to Expect It From You,” “She Let Herself Go” and “The Best Day.” Dillon joked that George’s producer talked him out of “Easy Come, Easy Go,” which he intended to record himself, by telling him George would make it a Number One. “I did the math, and the decision was easy,” Dillon said. 

Dillon and Frank Dycus originally co-wrote “Unwound” for Johnny Paycheck, but the latter was in prison. “Unwound” became the unknown Strait’s breakthrough hit, although it didn’t go to Number One. Dillon also wrote huge hits for artists other than Strait, like George Jones (“Tennessee Whiskey”) and Keith Whitley (“Homecoming ’63”), and more recently he has gotten a slew of cuts by Kenny Chesney (“A Lot of Things Different”) and Toby Keith (“A Little Too Late”).

We had tickets in the nosebleed section for Saturday night. That’s when George’s encore paid tribute to Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys with “Milk Cow Blues” and “Take Me Back to Tulsa.” A lot of George’s fans love Bob Wills and wish George would put out a western swing CD.

Half the fans at each concert must have been from Texas. Every time George mentioned the Lone Star State, in song or speech, people all over the arena whooped and hollered. A particularly obnoxious couple from San Antonio sat behind us Saturday. They yelled so loud that the woman next to me asked them to tone it down because they were in her ears. After mumbling about what a bitch the woman was, the couple finally settled a bit. 

Obnoxious boors aside, George’s concerts always take his fans Strait to heaven.

COWBOY HEAVEN

“Cowboys ain’t easy to love, and they’re harder to hold,” according to a country music song. 

Nevertheless, I’m trying my best to get my hands on one and haul him home with me. I’ll even buy his plane ticket.

Ethyl, aka Annette, and I are in Las Vegas, and this is the week of the National Finals Rodeo. This place is crawling with cowboys and lots of cowboy wannabes. The two in the photos accompanying this post are the real deal. I found both of them at Cowboy Christmas, a humongous indoor bazaar of western tack, apparel, boots and doo-dads at the Las Vegas Convention Center.

The young hottie at left is Sage Kimzey. At 23, he’s a three-time world champion bull rider. I told him people who ride bulls are just plain crazy. They have no saddle, no rope, nothing to hold onto but a silly little string. On top of that, they must  keep one hand in the air during the entire ride. He laughed and said he had always liked bulls. To each his own.

The other guy with whom I’m pictured (right) is Buck Taylor, a 79-year-old actor and western watercolor artist. I recognized him immediately as he walked by pushing a dolly loaded with some of his art work. I stopped him and told him I had one of his paintings, and regaled him with the story of how I had talked his wife, Goldie, into selling it to me without its gosh-awful cowhide frame at the Pendleton Roundup (Oregon) a few years ago. 

When I told him I was from Alabama, he said he was there recently making a movie with John Travolta. Didn’t tell me the title. Folks might remember Buck’s recurring role as Newly the gunsmith on TV’s “Gunsmoke.”  He has appeared in more than 50 movies, including “Tombstone” (1993), “The Alamo” (2004)  and the CBS mini-series, “Comanche Moon.”  His art includes portraits of some of his fellow “Gunsmoke” cast members, such as Jim Arness (Marshall Dillon) and Milburn Stone (Doc Adams ). We stopped by his booth and talked to Goldie, who said she had something she wanted to give me. It was a print of Buck’s watercolor of another character actor, Morgan Woodward, whom she said had appeared on ‘Gunsmoke” more often than any other actor besides the main cast. Woodward had signed the print for Goldie. She rolled it up and gave it to me. How sweet.

Several of the rodeo riders are showing up at Cowboy Christmas and other venues during the week to sign autographs. Tomorrow we’ll meet team roper Patrick Smith at one session, then up-and-coming country music singer Aaron Watson at another. Sunday we’ll meet rodeo champion Trevor Brazile, who has been called, “the world’s best cowboy.”

Meanwhile, tonight and Saturday night we see George Strait in concert. That’s the main reason for this trip. Sunday night we’ll see Reba McIntyre and Brooks and Dunn at Caesar’s Palace, and Monday night it’s Ronnie Milsap at the Golden Nugget. Tuesday night we go to the NFR.

I’m in cowboy heaven.

ORPHANED

Mallory and Luna

My five-month-old foal is an orphan. 

On October 25, I had to put down her mother, Mallory. She was my 15-year-old Tennessee Walking Horse. I’m still reeling from the shock. I couldn’t write about it until now.

When I went to the barn to feed the critters that Wednesday morning, Mallory was lying down in the far pasture. She didn’t get up to eat. That’s always a bad sign.

Colic was uppermost in my mind. That’s a fancy name for a stomach ache, but it has many causes. If it were a simple impaction colic, a good poop would remove it. So I found my Banamine, which relieves pain and relaxes a horse, but couldn’t find any needles. Some emergency kit, huh?

My vet couldn’t get to me, so I took Mallory to him in Oneonta. I left Luna behind, fearing Mallory might try to lie down in the trailer and fall on her. It was the last Luna saw of her mother.

After parking and checking in, I walked Mallory until Dr. Whitley could see her. He gave her a shot of Banamine and listened to her heart. Its beat was elevated, He didn’t like what he found during the internal exam, either.  He recommended taking her to Coosa Valley Equine in Pell City. That didn’t sound good.

At Coosa Valley, an ultrasound and another internal exam determined her intestines were slightly out of place, The problem could be corrected through surgery. She had a 70 percent chance of going home…in two weeks.

I watched the procedure from an upstairs office window. It wasn’t a pretty sight, seeing your treasured mare upside down, tongue hanging out, legs propped in slings, her hind ones spread like a woman on a gynecologist’s table. I had to turn aside once they started fooling with her innards.

Within a few minutes, the vet who had examined her came upstairs. It was worse than originally suspected. They found a fatty lipoma that had strangulated the far end of the small intestine.  Eight to ten feet of tissue was dead. They could cut it out and re-attach it to the cecum, but the procedure carried an 85 percent chance of failure. Barring a miracle, euthanasia was my only option.

The clinic uses a potter’s field for burial. I couldn’t stand that idea. A vet tech gave me the card of a guy who brought Mallory home and buried her. It was dark by then, so he did the deed by floodlights.

I now have four horses and a goat buried in my woods. Pet Cemetery. Didn’t Stephen King write a horror novel by that name?

Luna spent the next few days pacing the fence line, whinnying. Fortuitously, I had put the rescued gelding, Chance,  in the same pasture as Mallory and Luna a couple of weeks earlier. When her mom didn’t return, Luna attached herself to Chance. I hadn’t planned on weaning her at three and a half months, though.

These past few weeks have been rough on both of us. An affectionate foal, Luna seems to crave my attention. I brush and hug her more, take her for walks in the woods, talk soothingly to her about how much we both miss her momma. I never see her running or cavorting any more. I’m thinking of buying another foal as a playmate. I bought a pony for my grandsons, but Luna hasn’t taken to him.

Mallory was a great horse and a good mother. She was calm, crossed bridges and streams on trail rides, rarely spooked and was so gentle I could put anyone on her. I had envisioned her dying of old age about the time I moved to a nursing home.

I’ve lost two horses, a beloved dog, a barn cat, a goat and four first cousins (humans) in the past 14 months. 

I don’t know how much more death I can take.

Happy Birthday, Luna

Luna & Mallory at Auburn

Luna, my foal, turned one month old Sunday, August 13. We celebrated with a midnight emergency run to Auburn University’s Veterinary Hospital.

I noticed she wasn’t her spunky self that evening. She was listless, didn’t dive for Mallory’s grain, wasn’t interested in nursing. Something was wrong.

I called the after-hours number for my vet clinic. Dr. Whitley was on call. He told me to take her temperature and call him back. Luna was very still and patient during that process, a first for both of us. I have a hard time reading mercury thermometers, but it looked like her temp was near 104 degrees. Anything over 102 is high, so I asked him to come out and examine her.

His thermometer read 102.8, still higher than it should be. He listened to her breathing, heard something he didn’t like. He pulled and pushed on her skin. She was dehydrated.

“It could be rhodococcus,” he said. “It’s a bacterial infection common in young foals. It can be serious, even fatal. “

I swallowed the lump in my throat and asked what our next step was. 

“How much money do you want to spend?” was his reply. I couldn’t believe the question. “Whatever it takes,” I replied. The Oneonta clinic doesn’t keep the meds to treat the disease. He called Coosa Valley Equine Center in Pell City. They don’t keep them, either. I would have to take her to Auburn.

“Let me change clothes,” I told him.

“I wouldn’t take the time,” he said. That was scary.

I threw some clothes and toiletry kit into my overnight bag and some snacks into my truck. Dr. Whitley helped me hitch up my horse trailer and load mare and foal. By then, it was after 9 p.m. I couldn’t see well. I scraped the side of my trailer against my gate as I left the barn area. When I got to Auburn, I had a shredded tire. 

My thoughts swirled during the drive down. I was so sleepy I could hardly hold my eyes open. I felt the same anxiety I had last summer when I rushed home from the beach knowing I’d find my dog, Moses, dead. 

I prayed. I told God how attached I had grown to Luna. I pointed out that my grandsons would be devastated if we lost her. I asked Him to spare her and keep my wheels between the white lines. God gave me peace. 

The clinic’s night staff was ready when we arrived. They helped me unload. The resident in charge, Dr. Rebecca Legere, did an ultrasound. She had a student pull some blood. She listened to Luna’s breathing. 

Her temp had gone down, she was only 5 percent dehydrated because she had nursed in the trailer, and her breathing was better. The situation wasn’t critical, so Dr. Legere decided to save me some money by waiting until regular clinic hours to do the major blood work. I dropped my trailer in the designated parking area. It was 2 a.m. when I got to a motel.

Monday morning, Luna’s temp was down to normal. The blood work indicated some inflammation, but they couldn’t determine what was causing it. With rhodococcus, the temp would have stayed high, Dr. Legere said. 

She said I could take the pair home if I wanted, or leave them 24 hours for further observation. I elected to leave them. Monday afternoon Dr. Legere texted me three photos of Luna and Mallory, with the message, “Much brighter, curious, and spunkier!”

The Auburn vet clinic teams fell in love with Luna. They couldn’t believe how easy she was to handle. As I was opening my trailer to load her, I overheard one student tell another, “I’m gonna miss her. She’s so sweet.” 

Another commented, “You must have handled her a lot.” 

“Since she was one hour old,” I responded. “It shows,” she came back. My chest puffed up like a proud grandmother.

She has been fine since we got home Tuesday (August 15) afternoon I’m checking her temp twice a day and Mallory’s once a day. We still don’t know what happened. Dr. Legere says she may have gotten a bug that her immune system fought off.

Praise God for Auburn University’s vet clinic, U.S. Rider Equestrian Roadside Assistance, and 

the power of prayer.