Disappearing Fast

They appeared suddenly in the morning hours of Christmas Day, but they are disappearing from local scenes at an alarming rate. Some were hastily constructed, while others were carefully thought out and erected. The one in my yard was an afterthought that didn’t come into fruition until forty-eight hours after the first ones appeared.

My youngest granddaughter and my great, great niece had rolled three snowballs to the size of beach balls and were unable to complete job. I was unaware of their efforts at the time, else I could have helped them.

Monday morning, I stacked the three large balls of snow and created my version of Frosty The Snowman. I fashioned a top hat for him using a cement trowel to carve through the topmost snowball. Charcoal briquettes were used for eyes and mouth, but there was no corncob pipe as ours is a no-smoking facility. A baby carrot became his nose; arms were left to one’s imagination.

I think the girls would have been proud of the snowman. My great, great niece was over again on Tuesday and was pleased with the final results. My granddaughter will have to settle for pictures as “Frosty” may have completely disappeared before she is back in Pontotoc.

While some may blame the disappearance of snowmen around town on Global Warming, I think it’s due to normal weather patterns over which man has little control. See for yourself, the changes over the past few days.

Patriotic Remembrance

Shortly after what we now know as 9/11, SUPERVALU distributed to its employees and retailers some patriotic memorabilia. I chose a magnetic flag and placed it on the left rear fender of my company car, where the red, white and blue looked good against the auto’s black background. As I recall, I vowed to keep the flag on my car until Osama bin Laden was captured or killed.

The flag decal would be there still, if it had held up as well as Bin Laden has held out in mountains of Pakistan and Afghanistan or wherever it is he’s hidden. But, the ravages of time and exposure to sunlight faded Old Glory, so I transferred it to my blue pickup, back when Jason was driving it.

Over time it became too shopworn to proudly display on the side of the truck, so Jason placed it on an inside wall of the bed of the pickup.

Recently, I noticed it was almost unrecognizable and removed it from the truck. I took a picture of it before tossing the faded flag decal into the garbage can.
Eleven years have passed since I obtained the decal and ObL is still on the lam. Now that my decal is shot, perhaps Osama bin Laden will soon meet a similar fate.

Unexpected Find

Among the first things I did in the way of yard work after returning from our trip out West, was to trim the hedges around our guesthouse. When neatly trimmed, they resemble large green snowballs approximately two feet in diameter. But, our extremely hot summer was sufficient cause for me to delay what should have been a mid-summer’s trim for these little beauties that simply grew and grew in spite of the heat.

They grew to the point where their limbs were interlocking, and it would have been far easier to treat the row of seven shrubs as one unit, but because they provide a nice contrast to the boxy run of hedges across the front of the main house, I determined to maintain them as orbs in hope that others might find the differences as aesthetically pleasing as I do.

I stood before the first of them, gas-powered hedge trimmer in hand, much as an Army barber might prepare to shear the flowing locks of a new recruit in boot camp; it’s all got to go, so it doesn’t really matter where one starts. I started by taking about ten inches off the top, and then I clipped another ten inches off the sides making the shrub appear barrel shaped. The rest of the job was simply to shape the limbs as spherically as possible.

There may be shrubs one can kill by severe pruning at the wrong time of the year, but I’ve not been privileged to have them in my yard. My hedges are like my crepe myrtles in that though they be hewn down, they’ll sprout from the roots and continue living. My wife thought I had killed the shrubs because they remained bare of leaves for weeks. However, last week green leaves returned to the shorn shrubbery.

By the time I set the trimmers into the thick greenery of the seventh shrub, I was close to overheating. As I brushed aside the clipped limbs from the top of the shrub, I spotted what looked like a strip of translucent plastic intertwined in the shrub. On closer inspection, I could see it was the skin of a snake. It was impossible to remove the skin to measure it, but I’d guess the length was perhaps thirty inches.

Since Barbara was home, I couldn’t resist showing her the find. She’s deathly afraid of snakes. Just knowing one had been near one of our houses sent a shiver down her spine.

In the history of our living in Dogwood Circle, I have not seen a snake on our property, save for the one that made it into our computer room a few years ago, though I’ve often been leery of them when toiling in the kudzu patch around back or the thick ground cover on the north end of the house.

It was already dark, last Friday night, as we were about to leave our house to eat supper at The Red Rooster. I clicked the remote entry device for my company car to help illuminate the area as we walked toward the car parked directly in front of the shrub, where I had found the snake skin.

I offered a word of caution, “You know that bush on your side of the car is where I showed you that snake skin.”

Well, that’s all it took for Barbara to stop her forward progress and wait for me to back the car out from in front of the shrub, so she wouldn’t have to step onto the grass.

Sometimes my evil nature gets the best of me.

Out West ~ Week 2 Day 14, Going Home

What a wonderful two weeks this has been. But, the days flew by. To see all that we saw required long hours of driving and meant we didn’t look at any place for long. We saw the West like some people read a book, by skimming it. Do we have any regrets, only that our resources would not allow us to have extended our trip to three weeks or more? As of today we view our trip as a once in a lifetime opportunity. Surely, it may be possible for us to do something similar at a later date, but then it may not, so we’re glad we can say, “been there, done that.”

Of the thirteen nights we dined out, six of these were spent with friends or family. And, in my case, four of these nights were spent with friends I had not met previously. One and his wife were Facebook friends, another and her husband was someone Barbara had met a few years ago, one I had corresponded with for a number of years, and we dined with a father and daughter in a pizza restaurant. In every instance, there was in instant connection, where it was as though I had known that person or persons all of my life. And, it was surprises like the people we engaged that rewarded us as much or more so than the natural wonders of the West.

Having spent the night with the Hunters in Cape Girardeau on Saturday night, the four of us enjoyed breakfasting at a local Cracker Barrel Restaurant. Joyce and Wayne Hunter were wonderful hosts. and it was hard to say goodbye to them after breakfast. But, Barbara and I expect to see them next April when we return to Cape to attend another Story Telling Festival.

The drive back to Pontotoc from Cape Girardeau, MO, is about five hours. It’s also along roads I’ve traveled numerous times, so the familiarity of my surroundings helped me relax more so than the thirteen prior days. Why, I was almost singing as we crossed the Mississippi River on the old bridge at Memphis, and at the sight of the Mississippi State Line near Olive Branch, my heart leaped for joy. Well, maybe not, but when I drove into Dogwood Circle and saw our home, it did. Though the lawn had two week’s growth, I was not worried about cutting it. I knew I’d have plenty of time to do that sort of thing.

To quote Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, “There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home…”

A few pictures and comments are at: http://rrnews.org/Week2Day14

Out West ~ Day 13, Missouri

Rick Vise is a friend, who for several years brought a group of teens to Pontotoc to work on a house for Habitat for Humanity. As Barbara and I were in Missouri, we determined to visit him and his family, if our timing was convenient. Our problem was contacting Rick.

Knowing Rick uses Facebook, I posted a message for him a day or so earlier but did not hear from him until the morning of our intended visit. We, finally, were able to exchange phone numbers and eventually speak to each other. Rick and his youngest daughter were in town; his wife and other two children were out of town. Barbara and I would meet them at a restaurant in Waynesville, MO, for lunch.

Rick had told me it was a two-hour drive from Columbia to Waynesville, and it took me every bit of two hours to make the back-country trek over mostly curvy, two-lane roads. The restaurant was a part of the regional chain supermarket, Price Cutter. It was more than a supermarket deli eating area, it was a full-blown restaurant.
We met Rick and his daughter, Jamie, and were seated and playing catch-up before 11:00 a.m. I was surprised the large restaurant was so crowded, but apparently a lot of folks show up for the breakfast buffet, which was still out when we ordered.

We were glad Rick agreed to see us on short notice, and we were careful not to overstay our welcome as we knew we were already interrupting his plans for the day. So after about an hour and a half of visiting, we said our goodbyes and set our GPS for Cape Girardeau, MO. It was only after we departed that I realized we didn’t get a picture of Rick and Jamie to document the occasion.

Neither of us were getting homesick, but we both noted how the rural areas we saw in Missouri looked similar to parts of north Mississippi. As much as I enjoyed the sights along the two-lane roads in Missouri, I was glad to get back on the Interstate about an hour north of Cape Girardeau.

Barbara and I had friends in Cape, who, knowing we would be returning to Pontotoc via Cape Girardeau, invited us to spend a night with them. Joyce and Wayne Hunter have a beautiful home with several acres and two nice fish ponds, all within ten minutes of downtown. And, their guest bathroom would be a wonderful master bathroom for most of us, with a modern glass shower and separate Jacuzzi-style tub, all in about a twelve foot by fifteen foot (or more) room.

Since the Hunters were saving us a motel bill, we treated them to dinner at the restaurant of their choice, which was Ray’s in nearby Scott City, MO. Wayne, in turn, treated us to a tour of Scott City, and too us to the facility that once housed the Wetterau warehouse where he worked, before SUPERVALU purchased Wetterau and closed the Scott City Distribution Center.

After a wonderful meal, we returned to Cape to have desserts at My Daddy’s Cheesecake. The cheesecake eatery has become a traditional place for me to go with the Hunters when I’m there visiting them on business trips, and while this wasn’t a business trip, we didn’t want to spoil a tradition.

I surprised Joyce by ordering Key Lime Cheesecake. Heretofore, I had ordered plain, unadulterated cheesecake on each visit. Joyce is careful about what she eats as she hopes to maintain her youthful figure forever, so she always selects a cookie or muffin. Wayne, on the other hand, would eat some of everything in the house if she let him.

I could not resist getting a picture of one of their pie displays clearly showing a Lemon Meringue Pie like the ones with which I’m most familiar. Rick Vise once asked me, when he was in Pontotoc on a Habitat trip, if the pie on the table was a Lemon Meringue Pie. I went to great lengths to explain it was a Lemon Ice Box pie and the difference between Lemon Meringue and Lemon Ice Box. Shortly afterwards, somebody produced an empty container showing it was a Mrs. Edwards’ brand, Lemon Meringue Pie. On subsequent trips, Rick has gleefully shared my apparent mistake. So, I made a picture of the pie display to exonerate myself. Just because Mrs. Edwards has it wrong, it doesn’t mean I’m wrong.

All in all, Day 13 was a great day.

Additional pictures with comments are at http://rrnews.org/Week2Day13/

Out West ~ Day 12, Travel

With few exceptions, our Out West adventure was plagued with road work. I’m not complaining for without the Interstate system, it would not have been possible for us to covered as much ground in our two-weeks of travel.

We departed Sioux Falls, South Dakota on Friday, August 20th, a date that marked our 43rd wedding anniversary. Our trip was planned as a celebration of three events, my retirement, my birthday and our wedding anniversary. As it worked out our anniversary and my birthday were travel days with no places of significance to visit.
Our goal for the day was to reach Columbia, Missouri and there spend the night.

Our route would take us south through Iowa and into Kansas City, MO and from there we drove east toward Columbia. We chose to stay in Columbia for no particular reason other than convenience. It would be about the greatest distance we cared to drive and it was relatively close to Waynesville, MO, the home of a friend of ours who for several years brought a youth group to Pontotoc each summer to work on a Habitat for Humanity house.

It became our practice to visit a welcome center in each state, though we missed a few, either because there was not one on the road we were traveling or else it was off the beaten path. And, of the several welcome centers we found, Barbara and I agreed the one in Iowa was the best. It was by no means the largest, but it was the most inviting. We particularly liked the floral landscapes that greeted us and the bench seating set in a canoe-shaped metal housing.

The welcome center’s theme was the Lewis and Clark expedition. Plaques with a copper appearance were hung on walls outside the building and near the entrance to commemorate the expedition. Large murals, on the order of 8’ by 12’ were housed inside at entrances to both restrooms. A beautiful tile mosaic of the Missouri River ran along the floor in the main section of the welcome center. And, were that not enough, the folks staffing the visitor center were perhaps the most cordial of all the welcome centers we visited. And, yes, if you’re wondering, we expressed our admiration of the facility to the staff and logged a comment on the guests’ register.

Other than the occasional construction delay, the day of driving went rather smoothly until we neared our destination of Columbia. Apparently a lot of folks work outside the city, perhaps in Kansas City, I really don’t know, but I know we crept along the last thirty or so miles of the day. To make matters worse, it was raining, and it was the heaviest rainstorm we drove through the entire trip.

I was pretty drained from all the driving and the rain. Thankfully the motel accommodations we better than expected. But, a friend had suggested a must-try pizza place named Shakespeare’s Pizza. It was about five minute drive from our motel, so we decided to celebrate our anniversary with a pizza.

As Columbia is a college town, I should have known better than to eat at a pizzeria. Was it ever noisy? I told somebody it was so noisy that if I wanted to say something to my wife I had to send a text message. Yes, it was that bad.
The college crowd was loud, but children ripping and romping through the dining area were equally as nerve-wracking. Things started to quiet down about the time we finished our meal at the same time the crowds were starting to thin out. With the pizza roughly average, as pizza goes, I can’t recommend this eatery to anyone over the age of fifty. But, if you like it loud, it’s the go-to place, in Columbia, Missouri.

The upside to the evening was it was our first wedding anniversary to have pizza!

Additional pics and comments at http://rrnews.org/Week2Day12

Out West ~ Day 11, Mt. Rushmore

While four days remain for us to enjoy our Out West vacation, this would be the last day for us to visit scenic sites on our list. We began by driving from Rapid City, South Dakota to nearby Mt. Rushmore. To say the images of the presidential faces of George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln, and Theodore Roosevelt loom larger than life is an understatement. The scale is such that a full sized statue of any one man would stand 465 feet tall.

Visually, Mt. Rushmore looks exactly like all the pictures I’ve seen of it, but having visited the site, I was able to see some of the less photographed beauty of this national treasure. There is a visitor center and gift shop, as well as a columned entrance to funnel visitors into a courtyard for prime viewing of the faces on the mountainside. The granite columns are square and contain the name of each state and the date that state joined the Union.

It doesn’t take a long time to see all one wants to see of Mt. Rushmore, at least it didn’t for us, and we were soon on our way to visit the Chief Crazy Horse Memorial, the world’s largest mountain carving. It’s a long, long way from being completed, but the sheer size of it is impressive. There was a scheduled blast* around noon the day we were there but we didn’t stay to see it. Instead, we left to drive toward the Badlands of South Dakota.

On the Interstate we saw sign after sign along the way promoting Wall Drug Store. Barbara mentioned that someone had told her we should stop to see it, too. The sites folks suggested we see are too numerous to mention here, and too numerous to see them all in a two-week tour, but Wall Drug Store was on our way to the Badlands, so we took the appropriate exit and soon found the Wall Drug Store in downtown Wall, SD.
I’m not sure there would still be a Wall, SD, were there no Wall Drug Store, and from what I could see Wall Drug Store comprised a city block. It had “tourist trap” written all over it, but the best way for me to describe it to others is to say, “Think of Gatlinburg, Tennessee compressed into one block.”

It was lunchtime when we arrived, and we soon found the restaurant, which adjoins an old-fashioned ice cream parlor. Now, that was a hard decision, but the restaurant won out.

We were settled into eating our sandwiches when the already full restaurant got a lot fuller. Two busloads of “old people” lined up in two, single-file lines. I spoke briefly to a woman in charge of the tour and learned they had departed South Georgia a few days prior on a thirty-one day trip that would take them to Alaska. Suddenly, our two-week adventure paled in comparison theirs.

Barbara want to check the souvenir shops, afterwards, and while perusing them we saw four Native-Americans in traditional bead and buckskin apparel enter a jewelry store and soon emerge. As most of the folks in town, were tourist, the Indians drew a crowd of the curious, including us. One mother asked if they would pose for a picture with their daughter. They obliged her, and thus afforded the rest of us the opportunity to photograph them as well.

Refreshed, we hit the road once more and were soon entering the Badlands National Park. Barbara had little prior knowledge as to what the Badlands looked like, while I had seen the Badlands vicariously via various media, I was unable to offer her much of a perspective. In some respects the Badlands look like a smaller version of The Grand Canyon, but there are many areas where rock formations rise above the plains.

The beauty of the Badlands is a quiet one. Like the Grand Canyon, it too was breathtaking, but I didn’t feel as though it would pull me into its depths, were I to get too close. I felt ill at ease walking along a ramp to a viewing area, but I wasn’t frozen with fear. Though signs warned visitors to beware or rattlesnakes, I saw numerous individuals pay no heed to the message and with children in tow were walking on narrow ledges to more scenic point. I could imagine one or more of them sliding down a steep slope into one of the ravines, knowing I would be powerless to help them.

Like so many of the natural wonders we had already visited on our vacation, we didn’t stay long at the Badlands, either, but it’s a place we’d love to visit once more.

Our pics and comments can be viewed at http://rrnews.org/Week2Day11

*The following video is not mine, but it was filmed the same day we were at the Crazy Horse Memorial. http://vimeo.com/14274844

Out West ~ Day 10, Buffalo Bill

Start a conversation about real-life characters of the Old West and the name Buffalo Bill is sure to come up. Born as William F. Cody, Cody would soon become a cowboy, Pony Express rider, hunter, Army scout, and, by the age of twenty-six, a showman. Cody, Wyoming houses the Buffalo Bill Historical Center which consists of four museums, a research center, as well as exhibits and events.

As we talked to friends prior to making our Out West trip, we heard many suggestions of places to visit and things to do. Had Jim Hess of Vicksburg, Mississippi not mentioned Cody, Wyoming, we might have driven right through it and not toured the Buffalo Bill Historical Center.

“If you’re going through Cody,” Jim had stated, “you really should stop by the Buffalo Bill Historical Center. The firearms museum is worth stopping to see. It’s probably the largest collection of guns to be found anywhere. I think you’ll also enjoy the Western Art Museum.”

Our visit to the BBHC was more than I expected. We took a quick walk-through three of the museums. The one devoted to Buffalo Bill was most impressive. There were many items of the western era, including a stagecoach, wagons, and team harnesses. I briefly viewed a map of the United States dating from around 1842, which charted vast regions out west as Indian Territory as most land west of the Mississippi had not yet become states. I found it remarkable that a U.S. map, of that era, listed Pontotoc, as one of the few towns in Mississippi shown.

Among Buffalo Bill’s personal possessions were several leather and/or fur coats as well as his rifles and pistols. I remember seeing two ornate saddles, heavily laden with silver inlay, one of which was a gift from the king of a European country, but I don’t recall which.

The museum of firearms was as remarkable as Jim Hess had stated. It was interesting to see the many variations of personal weaponry and how firearms in America have changed through the years. In the same area were a number of stuffed animals, some such as bears and big horn sheep were displayed in their entirety, while elk and moose were largely head and shoulder mounts.

We also walked through the museum containing western art, but due to time restraints, spent less time there than at the two other museums mentioned above.

I should also mention that I registered, bought a raffle ticket if you prefer, for a chance to win a fully restored 1977 Corvette. Twice since deciding to retire, I’ve felt the Lord’s prompting regarding a purchase. In June, I was watching QVC on television, something rare for me, and was intrigued by a laptop computer being shown. Knowing I would have to “give up” my company laptop in the coming months, I really believe it was God who suggested the purchase. Then, as I casually looked at the Corvette, the realization that the time I had left to enjoy a company car was now being measured in weeks, I clearly understood, “There’s your retirement car,” come from somewhere. So, uncharacteristically for me, I purchased a chance on the car, which I considered a “sure thing,” as I had been divinely (or otherwise) inspired to do so. I will know for sure by noon on September 25, 2010.

Leaving Cody, we drove leisurely towards Rapid City, South Dakota, stopping along the way for lunch at a place named Dirty Annie’s, a combination restaurant and souvenir shop.

It would be the drive across the mountains east of Cody that I believe were the most harrowing for me. I had felt great unease driving through Mt. Lassen National Park where the roads had no guardrails to prevent an errant driver from plunging down steep inclines, and there were parts of the Yellowstone experience that had my palms sweating, but the prize goes to the road across the mountains east of Cody, Wyoming.

This road had it all, steep ascents, hairpin turns, long downhill grades with 20 mph curves, plus big-rig, highway traffic. Minutes seemed like hours, and it did take an hour or two for the crossing. Near Granite Pass, we drove several miles across a high plains area, which helped calm my fears, until the plain area reverted to a mountainous descent.

The average person has little idea the anxiety a person with a phobia experiences whenever conditions trigger said person’s phobia. It may be reasonable to assume there’s little likelihood of anyone’s automobile crashing down the side of a mountain, but when it comes to phobias, phobia trumps reason. I drove for many a mile repeating to myself the admonition “Keep your eyes on the road…watch the highway…don’t look to either side.”

I was glad to see the plains of eastern Wyoming and those of South Dakota, knowing the worst of the mountain drives were behind me.

Pics and comments at http://rrnews.org/Week2Day10

Out West ~ Day 9, Yellowstone

Since our “cheap” motel didn’t have a continental breakfast, we checked out and drove to nearby Teton Village for breakfast at The Mangy Moose. In one of the gift shops in the village, Barbara picked up a brochure describing an iPhone application that provided a virtual tour of Yellowstone National Park. It seemed to be just what we needed, but I needed to download the “app,” and needed a Wi-Fi source.

Had I kept my ID-card for the Wi-Fi I had purchased at the “cheap” motel, I could have used it, but I remembered that McDonalds restaurants all have Wi-Fi. It didn’t take long to locate the nearest McDonalds and obtain the password to access their network. After my online purchase, I discovered the download to my iPhone was too large and that I needed to first download the “app” to my computer. I became rather frustrated with the whole process, as I had only had the iPhone about ten days and was still learning the basics, but after thirty minutes or so I managed to get everything working.

As we were leaving, Barbara asked if the man seated at a bistro table outside wasn’t the same man from Massachusetts she had seen me talking to at our motel. It was, so Barbara and I introduced ourselves to his wife. They had been visiting Yellowstone for the past three weeks and had lodged or camped in the park for most of their visit. Of course, they had seen much more of the park than we could possibly see in the half-day we planned to be there, but they did tell us to watch for cars stopped on the roadside and groups of people standing or walking, as this normally signaled wildlife sightings.

Our drive of two hours plus, to Yellowstone would take us through the Grand Teton National Park, also. The iPhone “app” was wonderful. The feature we used the most was called, Follow Me, which used GPS technology, so that as we neared a point of interest, the iPhone would began playing a recording by an expert on the history of the particular point of interest.

We entered the south gate of Yellowstone National Park and made our way to the visitors center at the geyser, Old Faithful. Naturally, we got there just in time to see Old Faithful bubbling down to rest for another seventy or so minutes before erupting again. But, it was largely Old Faithful we came to Yellowstone to see, so we didn’t mind the wait.

Though it was lunch time, we were not particularly hungry, so we treated ourselves to some of the yogurt we had on ice in a cooler in our car. We also perused the gift shops and picked up souvenirs for certain family members.

The weather was picture-perfect, no clouds, very low humidity, and temperatures in the eighties, a welcome change from the hundred-degree heat we had left behind in Mississippi barely a week prior. We sat in full sun waiting on Old Faithful to erupt for the millionth or so time, but we were not uncomfortable at all.

A woman to my right struck up a conversation with me and asked me all sorts of questions about geysers. I did my best to answer them, though the one about what makes Old Faithful erupt with such precise regularity left me struggling to explain. Still our conversations helped pass the time.

Old Faithful did not disappoint us and at full eruption spouted water more than one hundred feet into the air. Barbara captured the eruption on our digital camera as I recorded it on my iPhone.

There were other active geysers in the same basin as Old Faithful and there was an observation point on the side of a mountain opposite our seating area, but we were content seeing Old Faithful and seeing it perhaps fifty yards from us.

We enjoyed our iPhone “tour guide” as we headed toward the East Gate entrance to Yellowstone, though I found it unnerving that Yellowstone Lake is upwards of 400 feet deep, and we drove alongside it for miles and miles. We, also, saw areas of Yellowstone that had been destroyed by wildfires a few years ago.

Upon leaving Yellowstone National Park our destination was Cody, Wyoming. Each night, I programmed our destination for the next day into our GPS, so finding our motel in Cody was a snap. Since a Pizza Inn was adjacent to our motel, we walked over to eat there. The place was packed, due to a Tuesday night buffet special, and noisy. However, about midway through our meal, the crowd started thinning out and we were able to enjoy our own conversation.

Additional pictures and comments at http://rrnews.org/Week2Day9

The video we made of Old Faithful is at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cGbcegYX2LA

Out West ~ Week 2 Day 8, To Jackson, WY

I failed to get a picture of the father/ daughter pair we had met Monday night at the Pizza Barn, but when I was beginning to load our car, I noticed a car with Massachusetts plates was in the parking lot and had a hunch it belonged to the Sheaffers. Sure enough, they were having breakfast in the motel and agreed to let me photograph them.

Though I gave them my email address and website, I’ve not heard from either of them, and perhaps I never shall. In fact, I don’t know if they are real people or not. Sometimes God puts persons in our lives to accomplish his will and sometimes we entertain angels unaware. I met them on the night before my birthday, and I had a wonderful time talking to them and getting to know them. I think our encounter was more than happenstance. I think meeting them was perhaps a birthday “happy” sent from God.

We left Elko, NV, driving toward Jackson, WY, by way of Twin Falls, Idaho. There may be regions in Nevada, less desolate than those parts we saw, but neither of us ever wants to spend much time in the Nevada deserts. And, as we drove further east and north, the landscapes had more green about them and we could appreciate the beauty more so than the arid look of the dessert landscapes.

The Snake River was one of the more beautiful of the unexpected sights we found on our trip. I forget the exact spot, but I believe we were in Utah when we drove across a great chasm with the Snake River flowing a few hundred feet below us. We would follow alongside this magnificent river many more times this August day and its beauty was striking whether in a gentle bend along a smooth plain or beside a rugged mountain.

Nearing Jackson, Wyoming, we ran into a light rain, which made the mountain drive seem even more treacherous, and the “Slippery When Wet” road signs offered no comfort. But, we made it to our motel without incident.

Of all the motels we stayed in during our two-week road trip, the Motel 6 in Jackson, WY was the most expensive and had the least amenities. Wireless Internet was an additional charge of $3.17 per day. We were unable to secure a downstairs room, and the motel offered no elevator service to the second floor. The room itself was recently remodeled, though somewhat cramped and had no bathtub, only a shower. The only personal provisions were soap, face cloths and towels, and did not include shampoo or conditioner. If there were facial tissues we never found them. Neither did we have a small refrigerator, microwave or coffeemaker.

Oh, we could have stayed in a nearby Comfort Inn for $211.00, but the Motel 6 and all it didn’t offer was half the price.

In my career with SUPERVALU, I have stayed in some no-frills motels that offered no more than coffee and doughnuts for the “continental breakfast,” but this one offered only coffee, in the lobby.

After huffing and puffing up and down the stairs while unloading our luggage from the car and getting it to our room, I was ready for my birthday dinner.

The first restaurant we decided to eat at had a waiting list of forty-five minutes to an hour, so we drove a short distance up the highway to The Gun Barrel Restaurant and Lounge. We were seated almost immediately, and they were packed with customers.
Given a choice, I seldom order prime rib. I’ve eaten it lots of times at banquets, but I’m somewhat old-fashioned in that I like my rib eyes grilled not roasted. However, I didn’t want lamb or buffalo (other menu options) and the New York Strip was a much larger portion than I could consume, so I ordered the smallest cut of prime rib on the menu (8 oz. or 10 oz., unsure which it was). Barbara had pork medallions, and had I been able to see a plate of them before I ordered the prime rib, I might have chosen differently. However, both our dinners were delicious.

My sixty-eighth birthday will be remembered not for the meal itself, though it was good, and not for one of the ones enjoyed alone with my wife, but for being the one celebrated the greatest distance from home.

Pics and comments can be found at http://rrnews.org/Week2Day8

Out West ~ Day 7, Mt. Lassen

After two nights in Redding, CA, we were rested from several long days of driving and were mentally prepared for another long day on the road, two more to be exact if we were to make a stop at Yellowstone National Park.

Our Shingletown friends told us that no visit to their neck of the woods would be complete without seeing nearby Mt. Lassen National Park, whose questionable distinction is that of the least visited of all the national parks. But, considering snow and ice on the roads within the park prevented it from opening until July 4th this summer, one can understand the relatively short time frame in which the park can be visited. And, as it only added a few more miles to our trip we decided to take the highway tour of Mt. Lassen.

The scenery was wonderful, and we actually drove alongside large patches of ice, which we could almost reach out and touch. My fear of heights was intensified by the lack of guardrails throughout the park (we only saw one). There were many pullouts along the roadway that I utilized to let faster motorists pass me, and Barbara made photos at the more scenic of the pullouts. With respect to driving, this drive through Mt. Lassen National Park would be my most nerve-wracking adventure, thus far, and I was glad to exit the park for less treacherous conditions.

We stopped in Susanville, CA, and lunched at the Black Bear Diner, one of a small chain of regional diners. Afterwards, we traveled to Reno, NV and then headed across the northern area of Nevada to spend a night in Elko, NV, before continuing to Jackson, WY, which is set in a valley midst the Grand Teton Mountains, and not too far from Yellowstone.

We were tired by the time we reached our motel in Elko and didn’t want to hunt for a restaurant, so we chose to eat at a Pizza Barn adjacent to our motel. I don’t know how long the Pizza Barn has been in business, but it looked rather dated. This particular business was set up so one placed an order before being seated. Barbara and I made small talk with the child or grandchild of one of the workers, asking her if she where the state of Mississippi was and if she knew anything about Mississippi.
Afterwards, as we selected a table and were seating ourselves, a gentleman in a nearby booth, who had apparently overheard our conversation with the child, had a few questions for us. Well, pretty soon, I was explaining “The Ridge Rider News,” both the California and the Mississippi version.

Since we’d gotten into a full-blown conversation, it was suggested we dine together and continue our discussion. Mr. Sheaffer had flown to Boston to meet his daughter who wanted him to accompany her on a cross-country trip back to California. She had quit her corporate job to pursue other interest and was moving back home.
Barbara and I had a great time talking to the Sheaffers and learned the route they had taken from Boston to Elko was one that we would take toward Iowa before we headed south to Mississippi. They had spent the previous night at a lodge in Yellowstone.

“We got lucky and got a room in the park,” he stated. “My daughter wanted to see Old Faithful and it was getting dark at the time.”

They warned us that we would see a lot of road construction, and they were right.
Mr. Sheaffer and I were about the same age. His daughter expressed a desire to travel as she sorted out what she wanted to do with her life and indicated she would soon be going to Israel. I told her if she was looking for a mate, I had a son in Pontotoc, that I could fix her up with, and while I made the offer more tempting by throwing a house in the deal, she was non-committal.

By this time we had consumed our respective pizza, among the best we’d ever eaten, or so we agreed. But, it may have been the combination of good conversation and good food that made us think so. We said goodbye to our new-found friends and offered them a ride back to our motel, where they were also staying, but they chose to walk the 100-yard distance, instead.

Pics and comments at http://rrnews.org/Out_West_Day7

Out West ~ Day 6, Shingletown

Having talked to Karyn Lamb on the phone Friday afternoon, we knew we would meet her at her realtor’s office in Shingletown on Saturday morning with plans to attend the Fun Day event, a fund raising effort for the local volunteer fire department. But, beyond that, we had no particular plans other than to act like tourists.

We met Karyn shortly before 10:00 a.m. and rode in her vehicle a mile up the mountain to the site of the festivities. Fun Day looked a lot like a host of other festivals in rural America with booths of vendors (both crafts and commercial items), the obligatory “car show,” live music, and craft demonstrations. There was even a clown in a wheel chair, who entertained children and adults, alike.

We saw a number of items crafted from pine needles but were told they were part of the demonstration and not for sale until a later date. The three of us had our fingers pricked by a perky lass who tested us our blood for the presence of lead; Karyn’s reading was higher than Barbara’s which was a 3.5 and mine was too low to register a numeric value on the electronic meter.

I found a Pampered Chef sauté pan I really wanted but didn’t want to part with any cash in my wallet. I was told I could purchase it online; now if I can just find the business card of the rep, so she can get credit for the sale.

As noon approached, Karyn shared the possibilities included burgers at Fun Day, a choice of two local restaurants or a place that is awesome.

“I like awesome,” I responded, as did Barbara.

We rode about ten miles down the mountain, as Karyn described the wonder that is Anselmo’s.

“A few years ago,” she stated, “a billionaire, not a millionaire, moved here and started a vineyard. Now, he’s got a winery and a restaurant out there. He’s spared no expense with his endeavors. They raise their own beef, as well. It’s something to see and experience.”

Soon, I was awed by the beautifully landscaped entrance from the county road, the strategic placement of flowerbeds and waterfalls to complement the buildings of Anselmo’s Restaurant and Winery.

The sunny day was gorgeous; the low humidity of the mountain air made patio dining under large fig trees all the more appealing, so it was there we lunched and talked of things old and new, catching up and updating one another on the happenings in our respective lives.

In such idyllic surroundings, one could easily lose himself or herself for a whole afternoon, but such would have to wait for another time, as we would soon return to Redding so that Karyn might make preparations for entertaining other friends and us Saturday evening.

On our way back to Redding, we stopped to peruse the showroom of a craftsman’s works of steel. “The Steel Man” creates realistic looking animals from metal, none of which seemed suitable for my home, but they were nonetheless interesting to see.

Back in Redding, Barbara and I drove a short distance from our motel to see the Sundial Bridge. The bridge is an artistic one spanning the Sacramento River near the Turtle Bay Museum. While it can support vehicular traffic, its beauty is best enjoyed afoot. A single spire rises above the bridge at a sharp angle, reminiscent of that of a sundial, and this spire anchors the suspension cables that support the steel and glass walkway. We were told the bridge is even more beautiful when lit at night.

The base of a mountain is always warmer than its summit. Redding is in the valley of Mt. Lassen, while Shingletown lies a few miles from the top of the mountain. Thus, we found the evening temperatures more pleasant in Shingletown, where we were treated to dinner at the home of Karyn Lamb.

Karyn’s house is set in a wooded area, and her property includes considerable footage along a lake. When I asked about her shingled roof in an area subject to wildfires, she explained her shingles were concrete. Also, the floor of the expansive deck that runs the entire length of the back of her house is fire resistant composite, save for the railings.

Sitting on the deck, looking through the trees and watching the reflection of the setting sun glimmering on the mildly placid waters of the lake, munching hard bread and cheeses, and getting to know the friends Karyn had invited to join us for dinner made for a most pleasant evening.

By now, they’ve probably forgotten the occasion that brought us together and probably don’t remember much of the love of Mississippi we shared with them, but for Barbara and me, our Saturday in Shingletown will be remembered as the best day of our trip, in part for the varied and beautiful sights we experienced during the day, but mostly for the warm and caring spirits of the people we met on August 14, 2010.

Pics and comments at http://rrnews.org/Out_West_Day_6

Out West ~ August 13 ♫ Cal-i-forn-ia Here I come ♫

A day of driving in the dessert had left us spent, but we felt refreshed after a night in Fallon, “The Oasis of Nevada.” After resupplying at Wal-Mart, we pointed our car to the west toward Reno, about thirty miles away. We had a little trouble syncing road signs with our windshield mounted GPS and soon found ourselves off course in Reno, but after a few corrections, we were back on track and on our way to Susanville, CA to hit Hwy 44 to Shingletown and Redding.

Ah, the sight of green trees in the mountains thrilled us, as we entered the foothills of the Rockies in northern California. Near noon we found a rest area (rare on a two-lane road) and pulled off to take a break from riding and to grab a snack.

Barbara had brought along several shelf-stable Jenny Craig meals, thinking these would provide a nice portion-controlled lunch as opposed to what we might find in fast-food restaurants on our trip. She had both ready-to-eat tuna salad and ready-to-eat chicken salad. I don’t like either one, but, when I’m hungry, I can eat the chicken salad and the wheat crackers and applesauce (naturally sweet) that are included in the kit. So, we found a vacant picnic table, grabbed a couple of bottles of water from our cooler, and enjoyed a healthy lunch along the trail.

In the early afternoon, we arrived in Shingletown, one of the places we made time to visit on our Out West trip. I had phoned Karyn Lamb earlier in the day to let her know we were in California. Karyn once owned Ridge Rider News, the local paper in Shingletown, but is now a realtor. Because, my newsletter in 1996 had the same name, I phoned her when I put mine on the web in ’98 to make sure I wasn’t violating a trademark or copyright. We became friends and shared our respective publications with each other for about ten years until she sold the newspaper and I stopped writing my newsletter. Karyn had a prior commitment on Friday afternoon, but offered to meet us Saturday morning.

Several years ago, Barbara met a woman from Redding, California, who was affiliated with Habitat for Humanity. She has since become CEO for the Medical Clinic in Shingletown. So, we dropped in to see Carolyn Hopkins, who was delighted to see us and invited us to dine with her and her husband in Redding that evening.

Carolyn’s husband of a couple of years is a biker, and with shaved head and goatee, he certainly looks the part. He’s a delightful individual with a heart of gold. It didn’t take Lou and me long to realize we are kindred spirits with regard to politics, and both of us are anchored in the Rock of our salvation.

Lou and Carolyn have their eye on a piece of property in Montana, and I won’t be surprised if they land there one day. Barbara and I didn’t venture into Montana on this road trip, but maybe we’ll have opportunity to do so one day in the not too distant future.

Pics and comments at http://rrnews.org/Day5/

Out West ~ Day 4, Vegas

To say I was ill-prepared for the grandeur that is the Grand Canyon is an understatement. It far exceeded whatever it was I had conceived it to be. It’s one thing to see the Grand Canyon on the pages of a magazine or view it on visual media, and it’s another thing to experience with one’s five senses. I was just thankful that having left the Grand Canyon area, there were roads, highways, and Interstates to take us to other destinations Out West. I surely cannot image how pioneers made their way across the vast stretches of dessert and mountains that we experienced in the comfort of an air-conditioned automobile while traveling hundreds of miles in a matter of hours.

Barbara and I had been to Las Vegas years ago on a SUPERVALU sponsored retailer trip. We had flown there and were bused to various shows on the company’s schedule of things to see and do. I think we each had a leather bag of nickels which were given to us on day one for us to feed into a slot machine, in hopes we’d catch gambling fever and wager lots more of our own money. Unfortunately for the gaming industry, I work hard for my money, and I’ll be darned if I want to throw it away in a casino.

On this trip, we had chosen a different reason to be in Vegas. Actually, it was on the short route we were taking to northern California, but as long as we were passing through, we purposed to visit the Gold and Silver Pawn Shop, the same one featured weekly on the History Channel in the form of “Pawn Stars.”

A retailer friend of mine got me hooked on Pawn Stars last year in its first season. If you aren’t watching it, consider this a warning…you too can be hooked. Barbara and I both enjoy the program, but I have trouble pronouncing the name of the show.

Two months or so ago Barbara had been on an overnight trip to Baton Rouge and was on her way home late the next evening. She phoned me to let me know she had just dropped off a friend in Jackson and advise me of her expected time of arrival. When the phone rang, the ringtone, as well as the caller ID, signaled me it was Barbara.

I spoke my usual greeting to my wife, “Hello, Dear,” upon answering.

True to her typical pattern, Barbara responded, “What ‘cha doing?”

“Oh, I’m sitting on the couch watching Porn Stars,” I calmly replied.

As Barbara’s brain processed my comment, my brain had time to hear what my mouth had just uttered.

There’s no taking back the spoken word, so I just laughed and corrected my mistake, “Pawn Stars…Pawn Stars.”

“Sure,” she retorted, “I leave you home alone for one night and you rent a movie.”

We’ve both had a few good laughs over my faux pas.

With a GPS it was relatively easy to find the Gold and Silver Pawn Shop on Las Vegas Boulevard. It looks exactly like it does on TV. Barbara and I took turns making our picture with the shop’s marque in the background, then we walked toward the entrance where a large crowd awaited entrance. We decided to wait and were glad we did, because in less than ten minutes everyone was counted and allowed to enter.

We scanned the workers at various locations, many already helping customers, but we didn’t see any of the TV stars, The Old Man, Rick, Big Hoss or his best friend, Chumley. But the huge black man that had let us in, we recognized as the Bouncer, and I asked if he minded having his picture made with me. He didn’t mind and Barbara snapped one of us.

My shirt had Ole Miss on the front of it, so I asked, “You know anything about this?” gesturing toward the script.

“Sure, I’m from Memphis!”

What a surprise…two thousand miles from home and I run across a neighbor!
I phoned my retailer friend who had told me about the TV program and asked him to guess where I was. I joked if there was anything I could buy for him that he’d seen on the program…we decided we didn’t have room in the car for a drink machine.

My son asked me to bring him back a card dealer’s visor with Vegas on it, but there were none in the pawn shop. In a newly added part of the shop, we found several items we had seen purchased, including a barber chair and a vintage coke machine, both of which now look like new and were priced in the thousands of dollars.

Having satisfied our curiosity about the pawn shop we walked to the parking lot to leave. Suddenly, a recognizable figure with three others was walking toward the SUV parked nose to nose with our car. Chumley was going to lunch with somebody, and try as we might to get a picture of him (short of walking up and asking for one) we only got the open door as he got in and a view of the side of the truck as it drove off.

We grabbed a bite to eat after leaving the pawn shop and set a course toward Reno, where we would spend the night in Fallon, NV, on our way to California.

Pics/comments can be found at http://rrnews.org/Day4Vegas

Out West ~ Day Three, Grand Canyon

With two GPS devices, a Road Atlas, and advice from a staffer at the Arizona Welcome Center, you’d think getting off the right exit from the I-40 to drive to the Grand Canyon, would be a breeze. Unfortunately, the GPSs could not agree on the route, and I may have misunderstood the staffer, all of which had us looping back to correct our navigational error and with construction delays, added about a half-hour to our travels.

I don’t know where all the visitors to the Grand Canyon were from the day we were there, but few of them spoke English. We heard, Spanish (expected), Italian (not expected), French, and German, along with some languages we could not identify. Apparently, word of the world’s biggest gully has spread far and wide.

We purchased a Golden Passport at the headquarters/ visitor’s center of the Grand Canyon National Park and received parking instructions. I’m glad Barbara was along to help me navigate to the right parking area and to figure out the color-coded shuttles that would transport us to specific points of interest. She reads brochures better than I do, and what’s often Greek to me she grasps clearly.

The more scenic and grandiose views of the canyon’s South Rim were closed to automobile traffic and accessible only by walking or by shuttle. I doubt I would have enjoyed these to any greater extent than the one at Hermit’s Rest, for even there I could not get within twelve feet of the railing that protects the foolhardy from falling. Believe me; I could see plenty from a much safer vantage point.

Were Barbara and I to have ridden a shuttle to see other sights along the South Rim, we would have waited one or two hours in a line that backed up against the rail for sight sighters, the same rail I could not get close to for fear of falling into the Grand Canyon. Thus, my sweet wife said it was okay with her to go back to the visitor’s center and watch the National Geographic version of the Grand Canyon in the Imax Theater.

Luckily, we made it in time for the 4:30 showing. The man selling tickets stated our total was $27.30, so I gave him thirty dollars. We made small talk about Barbara and I being from Mississippi.

As he was about to tell me the amount of change I would receive, I asked, “Has anyone ever told you to keep the change?”

“No, they haven’t!” he smiled.

“Okay then, keep the change.”

He looked dumbfounded as I reassured him of my intent, but he managed to say he’d use the extra money to help someone else.

I would later tell Barbara, I should have given him one of my “Bodock Post” cards so if someone asked him who that “unmasked man” was, he’d have a ready answer.

I’ve seen a couple of Imax shows before, so I knew I wouldn’t fare much better in a theater versus the real thing. Thank goodness, the film had a lot of historical information about the discovery of the Grand Canyon by explorers and settlers . The filmed reenactment of Powell’s successful navigation of the deadly rapids of the Colorado River that runs along the canyon’s floor added a sense of danger in a new form. Still, the sensation of drifting in a glider over canyon rims was sufficient to make me close my eyes or to look at the nearest wall, rather than endure the stress I feel when exposed to great heights.

Leaving the Grand Canyon we saw a small herd of elk that others were stopping to photograph, and as we crept along we took a few pictures, too.

Each day we had a fairly good idea where we would spend the night based on the amount of distance we planned to cover on a given day. We typically lodged in mid-priced Choice Motels, of which Comfort Inn, Quality Inn, and Econo Lodge are members. Each stay is worth so many points toward a free night’s stay or some sort of gift card that can be redeemed whenever a qualifying level of points is reached.

On Wednesday night we found ourselves at the most unusual Quality Inn in Williams, Arizona, which in every aspect but the sign looked like a dude ranch and did seem to function as such. We dined in a plush restaurant on the premises where the food exceeded our expectations.

We were quite tired from the rigors of the day, but with only three days of travel behind us, we still had a long way to go.

Pics/comments can be found at http://www.rrnews.org/Day_3/

Out West ~ Day Two, Albuquerque

After having had a great time meeting and dining with Arni and Nina Anderson in Oklahoma City, OK, Barbara and I started out early the next morning, Tuesday, on our way to spend the night in Albuquerque, NM, with plans to see the Grand Canyon the following day.

We have a friend, who lived in Pontotoc a few years ago and later relocated to Claude, Texas, which would not have been very far off our planned route, but unfortunately Linda Maddox could not be reached by phone, so we stopped in Amarillo, TX for lunch at a Cracker Barrel restaurant and then continued our leisurely drive across the northern Texas Panhandle and were into New Mexico by early afternoon. We enjoyed seeing the changing landscapes from state to state and photographing items of interest along the way.

The mountains on the west side of Albuquerque are truly beautiful. I was not intimidated by their height, probably because the road into Albuquerque was cut along their lower ridges.

After checking into our motel, I phoned my cousin, Ken Gaillard, whom I had spoken with earlier about getting together for dinner. Generally, I stay away from Mexican restaurants, but at Cousin Ken’s suggestion I decided the adage “when in Rome, do as the Romans do” should apply. After all, he and his wife Pat stated the best food in town could be found at Sadie’s restaurant, where authentic Mexican cuisine was the daily fare.

As there was a Sadie’s adjacent to our motel, I thought we would simply meet them there, but Ken said the original Sadie’s was a few miles away, and they’d pick us up at our motel.

“Pat says the food is better at the original one,” Ken explained.

Ken was driving Pat’s relatively new PT Cruiser. I was impressed with its pep, as Ken accelerated into Interstate traffic, and the ride was comfortable, at least from my perspective on the passenger side.

Though the restaurant was crowded, we were soon seated and Ken and Pat advised us concerning what to order, especially with regard to the “red or green” question. The red chili sauce has less heat, but the green is more flavorful. I chose the green to go with my burrito. I think it came with a pound and a half of ground beef inside as it had enough meat to have feed tacos to Barbara, Jason, and me (family at home) with meat to spare.

The inside of the restaurant had the “southwest” look, and there were native American and Mexican blankets hung from the ceiling, of which Ken explained.

“The original owner, Sadie, two generations removed, would take product in exchange for food, so she accumulated a number of woven items through the years. Some of those blankets you see are quite valuable on today’s market, fetching $10,000 or more.”

I’m pleased to say I suffered no gastronomic issues following the Mexican meal and on our way back to the motel, Ken suggested a trip to Old Town, Albuquerque. Old Town sprang up around the first Roman Catholic Mission built there in 1793, a structure that remains a prominent feature even today. Old Town is best enjoyed afoot, so we parked and strolled the streets and window-shopped for a half-hour or so.

As darkness began to settle over us, Ken asked if we’d like to see the lights of the city from the nearby Sandia Mountains. Sandia means watermelon in Spanish, and the mountains do have a reddish hue about them at sunset. In explaining the name associated with the mountain range, some historians suggest Spanish explorers mistook local gourds for watermelons, but of the two schools of thought, I like the sunset reasoning the better.

Soon, we were high above the city of Albuquerque enjoying the expanse of lights below and toward the west. Ken offered to take us even higher up into the mountains, where suddenly the roads became more like paved trails…more precisely, narrow trails. I felt a growing sense of unease as Ken zipped through the darkness with only automobile headlamps to lighten our pathway. And, it didn’t help that Ken shared how one of Pat’s nephews had plunged his small pickup a short distance down a steep slope when the road he though was there, wasn’t.

Ken found the lookout he was looking for and we parked momentarily for an even better view of the lights of Albuquerque. I took a couple of pictures, but without a tripod, the best of the two was but a blur of lights, unworthy of being reproduced.
As we descended, I was glad Ken knew where we were and how we got there, and in no time at all we were back on a real road heading to our motel.

Apart from family funerals, I seldom see my Albuquerque relative, so I was glad we had the opportunity to visit on his turf. If he doesn’t move east, one day, perhaps we’ll return there for another visit when we can stay longer, and I can arrange to have Ken take me on one of his famous fly-fishing adventures.

Pics and comments at http://rrnews.org/Day2

Out West ~ Day One

Sometime last year, Carl Wayne, sent me an article about bodocks that he’d read online. It came from a blog by Terry Thornton of Fulton, MS. Terry’s blog had an unusual name “Hill Country H.O.G.S. Webpress.” The “H.O.G.S.” part stands for History, Observations, Genealogy, and Stories. I contacted Terry about sending one or more of his writings to be shared in The Bodock Post, and he indicated he would. Sadly, Terry, passed away while Barbara and I were on our Out West trip, recently.

Terry was passionate about Monroe County, Mississippi and would frequently share something of interest about this area of Northeast Mississippi. Earlier this year, he mentioned the work of an artist and included a picture of an old home the artist had painted in Aberdeen, MS, where beautiful old homes abound.

I followed the link Terry provided to the artist’s blog and discovered the world of art through the eyes of Arni Anderson. Arni was in the middle of a year-long project to paint one picture each day of the year in 2010. What fabulous pictures he had, including great portrayals of landscapes, houses, barns, many from Mississippi. The great part about Arni’s blog is that he explains the color medium used, the type of paper or canvas it’s on, and something about where the subject is located.

At some point, I left an appreciative comment on Arni’s blog, and soon he had asked me to be one of his many Facebook friends. One day I read that he would be in the Aberdeen, and he invited his Facebook friends near Aberdeen to join him at a popular eatery one Friday night. I had a Class of ’60 dinner that particular evening and felt obligated to attend it rather than make the trip to Aberdeen. Yet, when I began to look at the route Barbara and I would take for our Out West trip, I realized we would spend our first night in Oklahoma City, near Arni. I contacted him, and he seemed delighted.

Arnie suggested he and his wife meet us at Cattleman’s restaurant in OKC. According to Arni, Cattleman’s is about the best place to eat for miles around. The food was excellent, but the opportunity to meet Arni and Nina was better, still. She’s an Aberdeen “girl” whom Arni had met in college and determined to marry, so determined in fact, that he moved to Aberdeen and worked there until he could talk her into marriage. (I saw on Facebook today, 8/27/10, that he and Nina are celebrating their 45th wedding anniversary.)

I was amazed at the many different jobs Arni has done throughout his life to support his family. He’s currently an art teacher in Edmond, OK, and has a few, hand selected private students, too.
Arni and Nina were the first of several folks we would encounter along our route to tour the West by automobile. I feel our friendship is now stronger than ever with our having met face to face. Arni tells me he’s planning an art showing in Northeast Mississippi next year. I hope to see Nina and him, then. Meanwhile, I’ll be keeping a close tab on his blog, www.arnisart.blogspot.com, and following his posts on Facebook.

Additional pics and comments at http://rrnews.org/Out_West

Favorite Sandwich

One of the conversation starters I often use when dining with groups of volunteers on hand to help Habitat for Humanity, Pontotoc, and who are visiting Pontotoc for the first time, is to ask each one at my table what they consider their favorite, made-at-home sandwich. After each has described his or her favorite, I’m usually asked about my favorite sandwich.

I also watch a lot of shows on the Food Network, and one of the programs I enjoy is “The Best Thing I Ever Ate.” Various chefs and stars on the Food Network are asked to describe the “Best Thing I Ever Ate” with respect to a given food item or category. For example, one program might be devoted to desserts; another to an entrée, and one I saw fell into the category, “between two slices of bread.”

I’m not a star, but if I’m invited to be on the show, I’ll have to say my favorite thing to eat in the sandwich category is a BLT (bacon, lettuce and tomato). Of course, the sandwich is much better when home-grown tomatoes are in season and are of any variety which has plenty of acid. I also prefer honey-wheat bread, thick-sliced bacon, iceberg lettuce, and a generous slathering of mayonnaise, as components. And, given a choice of where to consume it, I’ll pick my house as long as my wife makes the sandwich. For some reason, the sandwich she makes tastes better than mine. I’ve watched her put them together and have tried to replicate her actions, but mine just don’t look or taste as good as hers.

My second favorite is even simpler. If the tomatoes are unusually acidic, I like a BMT, bread, mayo and tomato.

Rivaling my love for BLTs and BMTs is the peanut butter sandwich. I grew up eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches which Mom made for me. Mom always stirred the jelly, most often grape, into the peanut butter before spreading the concoction onto white bread. Toss in a glass of cold milk to wash it down, and it made a great after-school snack. I also enjoy peanut butter and banana, and while I will eat one with the bananas mashed into the peanut butter, I prefer my bananas sliced over the peanut butter.

A number of years ago someone introduced me to what is now my favorite way to consume a peanut butter sandwich and that is a PBMC, peanut butter marshmallow creme. No mixing, please; just spread peanut butter (smooth kind) on one slice of bread, spread marshmallow cream on the other slice of bread and press the sandwich faces together. I like to cut the sandwich along a diagonal, prior to eating, as it keeps me from getting marshmallow crème in my ears when taking big bites. And, if you’re brand conscious, I use Jif peanut butter and Kraft marshmallow crème.

If there’s a better sandwich than one of the three named herein, it’s yet to touch my lips. However, I’m open to suggestions.

Super Bowl Crazy

It was with mixed emotions that I watched part of this year’s Super Bowl. Yes, I was proud for the New Orleans Saints, but I was a Baltimore Colts fan long before their owner moved the Colts to Indianapolis.

I have great respect for the accomplishments of the Saints this season and was particularly impressed by Drew Brees throughout the year. Still, we Archie Manning era, Ole Miss fans think of his son, Peyton, as one of our own, and it’s hard for most of us to root for any opponent of Peyton, unless there’s a direct family member link with the opposing team. I really thought Baltimore had the best team in pro football this year, but as the race does not always go to the swift, neither does the best team always win the Super Bowl.

I confess to growing tired of all the pre-game buildup about how the Saints had given New Orleans residents hope, something allegedly lost when Hurricane Katrina submerged much of the Crescent City in aught five. How this renewed hope will translate into a rebuilding initiative or bring back the many who left New Orleans after the hurricane, never to return, wasn’t made clear. New Orleans will require much more than winning football team to elevate it to its former glory, though I use the term glory for the South’s Sin City loosely.

Yes, there was an element of craziness about it all; the hype, the game, the celebrations, and it wasn’t all bad. Anything that gets folks’ minds off their miserable existence, if but for a few hours, has its own merits. In some respects the Saints are for New Orleans what Obama is for America, an agent of hope and change. But, if the changes wrought for New Orleans are no better than the ones Obama has brought America, hope is all the Crescent City has left.

On a lighter side, it was a little crazy at my house on Super Bowl Sunday. I was expecting Rayanne’s family to be on hand to watch the game and eat, and I’ve learned to buy more and prepare more than we might possibly need simply to cover the unexpected.

Kickoff for the game coincided with grill time and prep time for all the food, so I missed seeing most of the first half of the Super Bowl. I enjoyed preparing and cooking some of the meats, and I must credit my wife and daughter for much of the other work that went into the various dishes comprising our dinner. To please everyone, simple one meat and two vegetable dinners won’t suffice for most occasions, and since this occasion was special, I didn’t mind overdoing the smorgasbord a bit.

There was enough food to feed our normal Christmas crowd and then some, but we ended up with only five adults and two children for our Super Bowl party. Sarah’s on a diet, and neither of her children were on hand for the soirée. Granddaughter Anna ate lunch with us but went back to Ole Miss to watch the game with her ‘feller.’ Suffice it to say, we had a lot of leftovers, leftovers that will spoil before we can eat them.

Next year, it may be even crazier at my house, but there’s no way to know a year in advance. I do know that I won’t go quite as crazy with the menu. What do y’all think? Pizza?