My aunts have always been very important to me. My mother was the oldest of seven children, six girls and one boy. My aunts Ruth, Carol and Myrna died too young as did my Uncle Gary. But, my mother, Aunt Helen and Aunt Marge were constants in my young adult life.
Aunt Marge only lived an hour away when we I was a child so we visited her more regularly.
In fact, when my daughter was born, it was Marge, and my cousins Lois and Stan that delivered me to the hospital. My labor pains kept getting closer and closer and my cousin Stan drove faster and faster. I was afraid of going to the hospital too soon and being sent home as “a false alarm” so I almost waited too long to go. For eleven miles, I bemoaned increasingly closer and harder pains while everyone assured me it would probably be all night before she was born.
Not so! Less than one and a half hours after arriving at the hospital, my daughter and first child graced us with her arrival. By the time I was checked in and assigned a room, I was sure it was time. The nurses fussed at me, telling me to be calm, but Marge asked them to check me anyway.
When the nurses realized my daughter was actually attempting to exit on her own, they slapped a gas mask on me and we rushed to delivery. She was born just as we passed through the doors even though the doctor and nurses weren’t quite ready. By the way my daughter is still going full force and showing no signs of slowing. The interesting thing is she was born on August 2nd at around 8:30 pm, just 3 ½ hours before my Aunt Marge’s birthday, August 3rd. In spite of my Aunt’s insistence that I should wait until after midnight, my daughter had other ideas.
But back to my Aunt Marge. Whenever we visited, she would always cook our favorite foods. When I was younger, I loved her hotcakes and hot cocoa. The pancakes were the size of a dinner plate and the hot cocoa was chocolatey, buttery yumminess! When my children were born they each developed their own favorites. My daughter loved her chili beans and my son loved her fried potatoes. She would always make chili beans and fried potatoes when we visited. No matter how I made those dishes, they just never seemed to be as good as my Aunt’s.
I love the memories of playing Wahoo with my cousins while listening to our Mom’s laugh and giggle as only sisters can. I cherish those memories of sitting in the floor, listening to the sound of the dice skitter across the wooden board surrounded by the warmth of family.
When my Dad called to say he wanted to come for a visit, we decided to rent a cabin for a couple of nights at the lake. Knowing the cabins would fill quickly over the 4th of July, we made reservations months ago. My dad loves to fish, which is obvious from his nickname “Fishhook”. We made sure to get a waterfront cabin so he could fish as much as he wanted. I’m not a fan of water and I don’t have the heart to go fishing, but Dad loves it!
In anticipation of our time together, we postponed our Father’s Day celebration. We decided to celebrate Father’s day and my birthday together. (my birthday falls on the 6th of July).
My daughter, Kat planned to swing by and pick up the boys, (my grandson’s) and my Dad. They all live about six hours away and although Dad is perfectly capable of driving here himself, at 82 I hate for him to be on the road.
We reserved the cabin for Thursday night and Friday night. We planned to drive to Corpus to see my older sister Saturday morning. She and I share a birthday even though we are three years apart. My Dad wanted to visit both of us on our birthday. Rarely do she and I have an opportunity to spend time together and it’s been years since Dad was able to join us on our birthday.
As often happens, our plans went awry. The boys had rehearsals for their community theater production and couldn’t get away. Dad lost his critter sitter and didn’t want to leave his dogs. He was also feeling a bit under the weather.
We thought about cancelling the trip and just gathering at home, but decided against it. The cabin was only 20 minutes or so from our house, but tucked away among the trees and nestled on the bank of the lake made it feel worlds apart.
We left for the cabin on Thursday, picking up my goddaughter, Dez and my son, Rich on the way. Dez, loves to fish and had eagerly anticipated fishing with my Dad. Rich on the other hand has never really enjoyed fishing as much as his sister does. My daughter was bringing her fishing gear and planned to arrive Thursday evening. She and Dez would be our fisherwomen for the weekend.
The cabin was very basic. It had five beds, an air conditioner and a trail leading to a shared shower and restroom facility. It also had a beautiful view of the lake, fresh air, an outdoor grill and a picnic table.
During the weekend we played games, rented a canoe, ate too much food and created unbelievable memories. My son discovered an enjoyment of fishing (much to his surprise), my daughter discovered a slug in her tennis shoe and a June bug in her swimsuit cover-up and my granddaughter, Jilly discovered a beetle in her nightshirt.
I discovered the delight of sitting in the middle of a canoe, lightly rowing and watching my Kat and Dez cast their lines. We laughed so hard trying to launch the canoe we almost didn’t get in the water. Even when the wind picked up and the rain fell, we laughed and fished and rowed.
Father’s Day was celebrated on Thursday night. We celebrated my birthday on Friday night, with Kat and Jilly surprised me with a cake and everyone sang happy birthday.
Saturday morning we were supposed to leave by noon but no one was ready to leave. Anticipating failure, but deciding to try anyway, my husband went to see if we could stay another night. Our cabin was already booked but the one next door was available. Rather than make us move, they switched the other guests next door. After a wonderful breakfast and lunch, my husband and I went to pick up a fresh bundle of firewood from the front office. When we arrived, they let us know the family that was originally booked in our cabin was insisting that we move and give them our cabin.
Since our reservation had been impromptu and it seemed to be important to the other family, we willing agreed to move. I rushed into the cabin to interrupt the current game in process and let everyone know we were moving. We had 5 beds stripped, suitcases moved, dishes and food transitioned and all our outdoor gear moved in about 15 minutes. By the time the new guests arrived we were already seated in our chairs next door planning our dinner meal.
I decided that if we ever have to go on the run or leave in a hurry, we definitely have the skills! Slightly sunburned, a few pounds heavier and a heart full of sunshine, we went our separate ways. It was a wonderfully fulfilling weekend with many stories left to tell…. Like the raccoon and the hotdogs and the snake in the reeds…. All stories for another day.
It might be an aroma or a quick glimpse of something that triggers a memory snippet. For me, it is often a smell. Fresh bread baking immediately finds me standing in the school cafeteria with a tray in my hand waiting for a delicious hot yeast roll to land beside my mashed potatoes.
Last night, I was in the kitchen putting away groceries, when my husband placed a bag on the counter. It was a bag of fresh Fredericksburg peaches. They had been picked three days earlier. Without moving closer to the bag I began to smell the peaches. Not the ones on the counter, but the fresh ripe peaches hanging from the limbs of the two peach trees which grew in my childhood backyard.
The smell of those peaches brought a kaleidoscope of memories. In the heat of the day, my mother would send me out to pick a few peaches. She sliced the warm peach in half, removed the pit and poured cold evaporated milk over the peach before sprinkling it liberally with granulated sugar. I think she invented sweetened condensed milk long before Eagle Brand marketed it!
I can’t even remember how it tasted, but I remember the anticipation and the contrast of the warm peach against the cold milk. Yum! I haven’t thought of eating those cream soaked peaches in years. My husband has brought in peaches countless times and laid them on the counter. I’m not sure why yesterday triggered the memory, but I’m glad it did.
It made me think of my Mom and smile. A momentary sadness tugged at my heart as I miss those days with my mother but it was soon replaced by happy memories.
My thoughts followed the path to other memories of time spent around and under the peach tree. My friends from next door would stop by and we would sit under those two trees. We invented fairy tale worlds and planned our future. You know important stuff, like who would we sit by next year in school and how would we fill our days next week.
I also thought about my mother telling me to behave or she would switch my legs with a peach tree limb. Now those trees had thin pliable limbs that could sting like fire. Not that I would know! The threat of having to go cut a peach tree limb and bring it back to my mom was enough to keep me on the straight and narrow. I’m pretty sure I was never spanked with one, but I remember the dread well.
After dinner last night, I pulled a peach from the bag on the counter. I rinsed the peach and bit into the crisp fruit. As juice dribbled down my chin, I closed my eyes. For the moment I was ten years old, sitting beneath the peach tree, playing make believe with my siblings.
I have always loved reading. When I was very young, I remember going to the public library over the summer. I’d get lost in the books and spend hours selecting which I wanted to read. The Edwards Public Library in Henrietta, Texas was approximately 10-12 blocks from my house. A few times my mother allowed me to walk to the library if my older sister was willing to accompany me. Most of the time, my mother drove us to the library because she loved books and reading as much as we did. I signed up for the book worm reading club each summer. Reading one hundred books over the summer would earn us a small orange striped pin in the shape of a worm. I pinned that worm proudly to my t-shirt when the librarian handed it to me. I doubt if I ever wore it again but I was so proud of earning it. Reading one hundred books was not a chore for me and I would have easily read them over the summer without any incentive.

One book I remember checking out from the library was The Bully of Barkham Street by Mary Stolz. I don’t remember much about the context of the book although I remember I enjoyed it when I read it. I vividly remember the book because it was one of those hundred books I read that summer when I was eight years old and because of the letter that came in the mail afterward.
I finished my reading list and received my coveted book pin. About a week later my mother received a letter in the mail.  The librarian said I had never returned The Bully of Barkham Street. I was devastated! I treasured books then as I do now. I couldn’t imagine being so careless. I assured my mother they had made a mistake, but she still had to pay for the book. I had never owned a book before and I hated to pay for one I didn’t get to keep. With five children and a one income family it wasn’t in the budget for my parents to pay for the book. However, my mother paid for the book and never made me feel bad about it.
A few months later I went out to my favorite reading hide out. My grandfather had built a handmade camper shell to fit in the back of his 1950ish pickup. When it was off the truck, I monopolized it for reading. It was private, comfy and quiet. I stretched out on the cushions that served as one of the beds and felt a lump under the cushion. Yep! The Bully of Barkham Street was wedged under the cushions. It was a bit warped. It had been sat on and moisture in the air had made it’s way into the camper shell damaging the pages.
I debated throwing it away without telling my mother, but I just couldn’t do it. I carried it in and showed my mom. She just shook her head and sighed as she handed it back to me saying, “Well, it’s your’s now.” Dejected, I carried it to my room. I’m not sure what happened to that book, but I’m pretty sure I never returned a library book late again.
The first new book I ever owned was a Bobbsey Twins hardcover. I have no idea which one, because I eventually read them all. I was in the hospital for about a week and my Aunt Carol came to visit. She brought me a pair of pajamas with orange fish on them and two Bobbsey Twin books. My dad bought me a pair of pajamas with Cowboys and Indians on them trimmed in red rick rack. Yes, those are very vivid memories for me even years later.
Being the middle child of five, I felt spoiled and very special! My brother and sisters stood outside my window and we both cried. We had never been separated before.
I think the two incidents above cemented my love of reading and book ownership. I have a hard time giving up a book once I purchase it. At last count my book collection was well over 1500 and growing. I routinely decide to downsize my collection and cull a few books, but before I know it, they are replaced and more are added.
When I retire, I’ll stick to my plan to downsize but for now…. I think I’ll go read a good book.
Cooking dinner with my children is a favorite pastime. I enjoy preparing meals more than sitting and eating together. Kitchens are less formal and more relaxing than most dining areas.
Both my children are wonderful cooks. I taught them to cook and let them experiment when they were younger, but their culinary skills have far surpassed mine. Now I normally watch them cook instead of cooking myself.
Recently my son was chopping lettuce as I leaned against the kitchen counter. He remarked, “As soon as I wash this knife, I use it again!” His knife is not special nor expensive, but he has an emotional attachment. As I listened to him, I smiled.
I was reminded of a knife I purchased for my mother years ago. I was a newlywed and found myself browsing through a department store happily perusing the kitchen section. I pawed through everything from small appliances to cloth napkins.
I spied a wooden handled knife with a sharp point and narrow blade. The knife appeared sturdy and capable of handling my cutting needs. The name on the packaging read ‘Granny’s Boning Knife’. The price was reasonable, so I bought one for myself and on impulse grabbed a second for my mother.
Excited, I dropped by my mother’s house to give her the knife. My mother refused to take the knife unless I accepted payment. She didn’t mind me buying her a gift, but she was a strong believer in superstitions.
She explained, “If you give someone a knife it will sever your relationship.” I smiled as I took a dime and happily gave her the knife. We loved those knives and often discussed the many ways we used them.
After several years, the wonder wore off, but I still loved the knife. I moved to another state and didn’t get to visit with my mother often. During a long awaited visit, my mother reached into the kitchen drawer for the knife only to come up empty handed. She frowned and commented, “My knife isn’t here!”
Mom’s sister who lived down the street had borrowed the knife and apparently not returned it. I suggested Mom call her and ask if she still had it. When Mom called her sister, she asked, “Do you still have my Granny’s Boning Knife.”
I saw Mom’s face break into a grin and heard a giggle. She laughed into the phone and I wondered what might have set her off. As she began to talk again I understood.
“No,” she said. “It’s not our Granny’s knife. It’s a Granny’s Boning Knife. That’s the name.” She explained I bought it for her. I listened and laughed as well. My aunt thought since Mom had the knife for years, she should share. She explained to my mother she didn’t have any mementoes from their granny and it was a great knife.
I have to say that knife is still my favorite and I always think of Mom and Jeanette when I use it.
Today, Sunday June 7th, 2015; I have been given the gift of relaxation. I’ve decided not to work at my day job this weekend. We are in the process of a major software implementation. I am woefully behind and next week promises to be jam packed with tasks. But I need some recovery time. This is the last weekend before training begins for our fall marathons and soon we will begin summer hours at work. 10 hour days, four days a week.
Yesterday I cleaned house. I mean actually cleaned! I scrubbed, mopped, dusted organized and polished. This morning, I made pancakes, hash browns and scrambled eggs for breakfast. With the help of my family, the leftovers are put away, the dishwasher loaded and I find myself sitting at the computer with a full day to write.
I fiddled through my email, opened my current novel in progress, and reviewed and edited some short stories. I recently rescued the stories from an old computer I am going to retire. Making a mental list of writing tasks on my plate, I contemplated what I should do first.
I decided to move outside to the deck to write. Moving outside required digging up an extension cord for the laptop and my phone charger. Check, I’m hooked up to power and ready to work.
It’s already hot outside, but the deck is still shaded by the overhead oak and pine trees surrounding it. Just as I’m thinking how cool it is, I realize I should be preemptive and put up the umbrella before the sun shifts and I start to sweat. Now if I could just remember where I stored it last summer. Maybe it is in the front hall closet. I pull coats and bags aside to search and I am not having much luck. Pushing the door closed, I couldn’t think where else to look, so I give it one more try. I found it! It was tucked in the back corner, shorter than I remembered, so it had been overlooked on my first try.
Now, I’m golden. The breeze is cool, I have power and a wonderfully cold bottle of water. I’m watching the cats play while my husband is digging weeds and adding another raised bed. Our garden rarely produces much, but we are quite successful at feeding the deer and the rabbits.
I think I should go help him for a while. We need to decide what to put into the new garden space. Perhaps today is a day to enjoy small victories and random tasks. Maybe I’ll catch up with writing later….. I’m off to the garden center.
What a crazy May we have had. At least the last part of May has been crazy hectic by my standards. On Saturday, May 23rd, we left Austin, TX for Tulsa, OK to celebrate my granddaughter’s birthday. The rain began as we arrived and increased in intensity quickly.
We checked into a hotel. My daughter was due to fly in to Tulsa around 10:00 PM and our plan was to touch base on Sunday morning. The heavy rain quickly turned into a dangerous situation, flooding a few areas around town and many of the outlying towns.
Local television stations ceased regular programming and provided constant updates of the flooding situation, including water rescues. I was also monitoring the flooding situation in Wichita Falls, TX. I have family in the area and was concerned with their situations.
By 9:00 PM, my daughter had telephoned to say she had been diverted to Wichita, Kansas due to weather conditions in Tulsa. The main concern was the danger of wind shears.
Around the same time, my phone rang. My sister was calling to say she was also in Tulsa. She had come to visit a friend and contacted my daughter to let her know she was in town. What an oddity to find ourselves miles from our homes, and both in Tulsa in the midst of storms and flooding.
My daughter finally made it in around midnight; my sister and I were safe in our hotels and the rain continued. On Sunday, a little tired but excited to be together, we had a wonderful birthday celebration for my granddaughter which turned into a slumber party. My sister and I stayed Sunday night with my daughter and had a wonderful time playing games, laughing and just having fun. Early Monday morning we left Tulsa for Austin. The weather cooperated until we neared Waco, TX. I received a weather alert and text about the same time. Apparently there was rotation 15 miles ahead and coming our direction. My friend’s text basically said if you are in Waco take cover unless you’re at Twin Peaks, then keep driving!
With the radio warning we should seek cover immediately, we ducked into a Hastings. Of course I would find a book store to take refuge! When the rain lessened and the warning changed from a tornado warning to a severe thunderstorm warning, we decided to try to head home. When we headed for Interstate 35, we discovered the access roads were underwater and raging. Trying to avoid the flood waters, we turned away from the interstate and headed through a neighborhood, driving through a downpour and hoping we were moving uphill. My son pulled out his phone and switched his maps to a topographic map to guide us to higher ground.
We made it safely back on the interstate a few miles down the road. All the way home we were watching emergency vehicles working accidents, closing roads and rescuing underwater vehicles.
When we finally made it home, we were relieved to find our roads passable although there was water running across the roads and the ditches were rushing with muddy water. We pulled into the drive, opened the front door and discovered we had no power. Since it was just before dusk, it wasn’t quite too dark to see.
A call to the electric company provided an update. Electricity should be back on by 6:00 AM tomorrow morning. Absolutely unprepared to return home to no power, we made a quick trip to Wal-Mart for flashlights, batteries, food, etc.
By 6:00 AM the power outage was predicted to last until 6:00 PM. While we waited for the sunshine to rise and peek through the windows, we slept in. We had to conserve our phone usage, live without internet or computers and try to keep our food from spoiling.
We had a forced night of relaxation, the water never made it over the porch and our drive didn’t wash out until three days later, but that’s a story for another day. We were very fortunate. It seemed we were able to avoid floods, tornados and lightning storms. My heart and condolences go out to all the flood victims and I am extremely grateful we were spared.
Keeping my promise to get serious about fitness this week, I attended my first “Power Yoga Class”. What an experience! I haven’t been to a yoga class in five years and my weekly boot camp class ended several years ago. True to the description, this 45 minute class with Vinyasa flow sequencing and the addition of cardio bursts to get your heart pumping and your muscles moving, got everything moving! Sweat ran in rivulets down my back, face arms, well, everywhere.
Not so much the next day. Nothing was moving very fast! I know it was good for me, but my muscles were grumbling.
Tuesday I scheduled a run to give my sore arms a break. 4.25 miles at 5:30 PM in Austin, TX meant lots of heat. At 86 degrees even the ancient oak trees lining the streets couldn’t block the sun’s rays. At least my arms felt less sore!
Wednesday found me back in class for a Yoga/Pilates fusion class. One thing I didn’t learn from Monday night’s class was when to arrive. I always try to be punctual and strive to arrive 15 minutes ahead of schedule to allow for unforeseen traffic, etc. That put me front and center, directly facing the instructor. Next time I will arrive on time and move to the back row! This class focused on core strengthening to make my yoga practice stronger and my tummy trimmer. The intent was to tone, refine, and strengthen from deep in your core. The first half hour was core focused and the second half hour Yoga focused. That should have sent me running back out the door, but I blithely tossed my mat on the floor and prepared to tone and refine.
The first 15 minutes of the class went remarkably well. We lay on our backs while we incorporated leg lifts, shoulders off the floor etc. I patted myself (not literally) on the back thinking this isn’t too bad when we kicked into high gear.
I’m not sure which poses we did, but I dripped as I watched the clock and waited to transition to the second half of the class.
I don’t know why but I thought the second half would be a rest. I was definitely mistaken! I dropped into plank position while everyone else smoothly transitioned through plank and back into downward dog.
I valiantly plowed through the rest of the class, slipping into child’s pose as needed for a quick rest. After the class, the instructor seemed concerned as she watched me try to get feeling back in my arms. As I attempted to fold my mat, she asked “Are you okay?”
“Sure”, I lied and tried not to limp as I walked away.
I stepped outside and realized it had started to sprinkle so I pulled on my jacket. My car was parked a few blocks away at the office. As soon as we stepped from under the awning, the rain began to pick up. A few more steps and we were starting to get wet. Suddenly, I felt like a kid playing in the rain. Wearing my sandals and carrying my yoga mat, I started running. Rain soaked and laughing we made it back to the car at a sprint.
If all workouts could only end with this much fun, I would work out every day!
Now I just have to keep the momentum going. Wish me luck!
Saturday morning I was up at 6:00 am and on a mission. I was determined to find a recipe for the perfect soap. I was planning to make the soap as a gift for someone special.
I decided to take a few days off from training and running this weekend. I will get serious next week (I promise :p). So, I joined a studio this week, which offers yoga classes, Pilates, boot camps and more. Next week, I am going to take a few classes and increase my mileage. Hopefully, I can get myself ready for a half marathon in November.
But Saturday was a day for creativity. I began by catching up on some writing projects. I spent a few minutes on Pinterest and found some perfect recipes. One for the soap and also one for some lotion I thought might be fun to try. I checked the ingredients and found I needed rosemary essential oil.
No problem. There is a small rosemary plant out in my garden. I love my little garden…… and it is little. I have two tomato plants and a couple of pepper plants along with my herbs. I clipped some fresh rosemary from my garden to blend my essential oil.
I researched and found two different methods for infusing essential oil. One method required drying the rosemary for a few days, dropping it into a bottle and covering with oil to infuse over time. The second method called for warming fresh rosemary and oil in a crock pot for about 6 hours to infuse. I chose the latter for several reasons. The main reason? I wanted to enjoy the aroma of the oil while it infused.
Mixing the oils together for the lotion was relatively easy, but I was disappointed in the consistency of the lotion. Nonetheless, I now have a lovely jar of rosemary essential oil in my cabinet. It has already been used to sauté a handful of mushrooms which were tossed into a skillet of quinoa for a delicious meal.
But now it is dinner time, and I think I will go out and pick some fresh tomatoes for my salad.
My husband has been in search of a classic older pickup for years. Recently he has become a bit more serious in his search. His criteria is a bit loose. Somewhere in the 1963 to 1972 range, preferably a Chevrolet, but he would consider a Ford.
We had an appointment in San Antonio on Saturday afternoon and while we were there we planned to look at a 1971 lilac pickup. Yes, it was painted lilac, but it was the right price range and the right year model. Then he discovered a 1969 blue Chevy in Waco. The ad for the Waco pickup said, runs good and well it wasn’t purple. So even though Waco is about 100 miles north and slightly East of Austin and San Antonio is approximately 80 miles south and slightly west of Austin, we decided we had time to see both vehicles.
We arrived at the dealer in a small town just outside of Waco a few minutes before it opened. We wandered over to a Walgreens to kill time. As we were passing the dealer we were glancing at the cars on the lot, when my son said, “Hey that Jeep has a bench seat on it.” Literally, someone had welded an actual bench on the back of a Jeep. Hmm, you don’t see that every day.
In Walgreen’s we roamed over to the clearance aisle, past the “as seen on TV aisle” and on to the toy and candy sections. I took a minute to check out all the pens and pencils. I love shopping for new pens and pencils but I managed to resist purchasing anything except an extra-large bag of M&M’s and some birthday and graduation cards!
Back at the car lot, we parked. While my son and husband got out to look at the truck, I waited in the car. I watched a pretty blond “girl” inside the building. She was wearing cut off shorts, a black tank topped with an unbuttoned white shirt. She stepped up to a mirror, gave her boobs an upward push while pulling downward on her tank top. Smiling I watched her fluff her hair and saunter out to the pickup. I’m sure she is very good at her job and knows a lot about cars, but she couldn’t quite get the hood to open and it wouldn’t start…… She wasn’t able to open the passenger door but she did have a beautiful smile. After a few minutes, one of her male associates came to assist but still the pickup didn’t start.
About 30 minutes and more patience than I would have had, my husband and son finally said thank you and stepped away. I asked if they were sure the vehicle had gas and was informed that yes, the plastic tank sitting in the bed of the pickup had plenty of gas. Uh, oh my! We left that pickup behind.
Bluebonnets in Bloom
To get to San Antonio we took Highway 190 over to 281 which is a lined with beautiful Texas wild flowers and is much less congested than Interstate 35. Along the route there is sign after sign proclaiming numerous ranches. We briefly debated what is required to call your home a ranch. Just outside of Kempner, TX a sign proclaimed miniature donkeys for sale. When I commented, “Look, we don’t have one of those!” My husband and son said in unison, “No! And we don’t need one!”
As we passed through Burnet, TX we spotted a sign for a farmer’s market. It was a small market with probably ten vendors, but it looked like it might be worth stopping in. We started browsing the stalls when we noticed the wind was picking up. Just as we stepped in front of the Texas Herb Company and Crafty Threads, a huge gust of wind lifted the canopy and flipped it upside down behind the tables. Handmade soaps and other craft items were scattered all over the ground. Everyone rushed up to help. No one was injured and the table was righted with crafts stacked atop. I was amazed no one was injured by all the flying products and was heartened how quickly everyone rushed to help. Still willing to try shopping, we wandered to the Sage Creek Farms booth where we bought a lovely mahogany rolling pin. It turned out to be a successful stop after all.
When we got to Marble Falls we started searching for somewhere to eat. I spotted a food trailer that looked promising. Lee’s Food Trailer sported ads for a philly sandwich, gyros, catfish dinners and more. It seemed as if I wouldn’t have any trouble finding a non-meat food option.
I had the Falafel gyro, my husband had the beef and lamb gyro. My son had a classic philly sandwich. Lee’s did not disappoint. Everything was delicious! As we drove away completely satiated, my husband proclaimed, you know if you ever wanted to double back there to eat, I would go! High praise indeed.
Somewhere along the backroads of Texas, I discussed my funeral plans. All my nephews should be prepared. I requested they all show up with 1980’s shorts, tanks and sweatbands as I am laid to rest in my running clothes. Seemed fitting to me! I also learned that if you are going to honk at someone, you should always use the Chicago honk or just don’t bother. You should hold the horn down for at least 2 minutes.
We arrived in San Antonio finally, laughing and talking. After our appointment, we checked in on the lilac truck only to find out it was not on the market anymore.
So we have to start over on the pickup search but since it was mother’s day weekend, I was treated to a buffet at India Taj Palace where they have tasty dishes and serve warm from the grill naan bread made after you arrive and carried immediately to your table.
It was a wonderful day of meandering! I look forward to many more days just like it.
Nana's Apron Strings 
