Our kids never knew their grandfathers – both gone too soon – but Uncle Walt played that role perfectly. He rode with us for most of our one week grand tour of Texas colleges in Bret’s junior year, and was the only non-parent at Stephanie’s first ballet performance. He showed up one Christmas with a […]
Despite our best efforts to go where the weather suits our clothes, an unexpected heat wave drove us out of Salida. We rolled north 40 miles to Buena Vista, population 2,617. Kat found a VFW Post offering water and 30 amps for $10 a night, open to the public. The juice would let us run our A/C when needed, and while camped in a white water Mecca we hoped to raft the Arkansas River.
Two summers ago we enjoyed several weeks in Arizona, the land of blue skies, no rain, and few clouds. While pulling near Tucson we witnessed a dozen or more tandem parachute jumps. Kat became inflamed with the idea of trying this. It is immoral to encourage lunacy, yet that crazy streak is one of the things I love about her. We agreed that she should do a tandem jump when the time is right. Now in northwest Arkansas, waiting for warmer weather in Santa Fe and Colorado, the time feels right.
“I am John Palmsley of the IRS Audit Department. You must call me today to explain certain criminal allegations. If you do not call now, I do not think I can stop local authorities from arresting you. “
Brave is the man who first ate an oyster, and were he alive today, he’d regret advertising their flavor. Once common and cheap, they’re now getting a bit pricey. Oysters can be fried, put in all kinds of soups, baked with a creamy mushroom or crab sauces, or prepared a hundred other ways. But none are better than a just-opened salty oyster with a little horseradish and lemon red sauce.
Today, while at Wally World prospecting for dinner (I found a deal on spinach and ricotta ravioli!) the muzak broke into the Christmas mode. They played The Beachboys doing “Little Saint Nick”, as cheerful a carol as one can imagine. I’ve always enjoyed that song and I know the lyrics. So I began to sing along. This is one of Mike Love’s leads, and although in younger days I could also cover Brian Wilson’s high falsetto, today I’m a middle and lower register singer. And unlike my Kat, I feel no compunction about making as ass of myself in public, especially where nobody knows me. So I sang out, mezzo-forte, and in my ear, right on key:
I have struggled to understand Trump’s appeal. I see no evidence on his campaign website of any real plan to govern, nor even one new idea. This morning a rationale for his poll ratings came to me in a flashback to the climactic scene of Network. Howard Beale, an aging night-time network anchor about to lose his job concluded his show with a spluttering rant.
We had to cross highways twice each way, both giving the engineer an opportunity to play his blues music on the steam whistle. Every engineer tries to invent a signature riff, as whistles are capable of varied tones, attacks, and slurs.
Two days ago a big, polished RV rolled in and parked across the road from us at Shenandoah’s Big Meadows campground. The kernel of news here is that it was navigated by a reader and frequent commenter. The Mayor was talking camp telecommunications with some pop-up people two sites down when she noticed a young lady looking at the Red Sled and Kat’s Cradle with marked curiosity. When Pink and I emerged from the ‘Stream for walkies, this gal strolled over with a big smile (yo dog, that don’t happen every day) asking “Jackson?” “Yes! How did you know?
It turned out that Clark and Deb reside in Hilton Head Sun City, a huge development populated by the retired and the long since retired. Del Webb built this and many similar new home subdivisions for seniors all over the warm states. Many were named Sun City;
Thursday we bought fifty live Little Neck clams from Bulls Bay Seafood for $3 a dozen. I went to a fair degree of trouble creating a classic Clam Linguine, shells and all, right there atop the pasta. I used bits and pieces of recipes to accommodate missing ingredients, but it turned out more than good enough to serve Salvatore Tessio, may he rest in peace.
Don’t buy your tickets on-line: there’s a $5 per ducat “service charge” and you can’t tell which seats are shaded and which are in lethal full sun. No, buy them at the box office after you have noticed which foul line already has shade.
The Army made me an infantryman, and motivated me to the point I was slavering to kill old Victor Charles and use his blood as war paint. That motivation evaporated once I got there and noticed that so many of us were going to replace KIAs, or worse.
Onions, peppers and sausages are necessary for gumbo, but the real test of one’s manhood is the chicken chase. 500 plates of gumbo requires maybe 30 chickens to make a hearty one, but if a dozen is all you have that will have to fly.
We’re enjoying another slow week in Campbellsville, and I have decided to read or re-read some classics. It is possible to experience too many of the great books too soon in life. I suspect that I did. … I say this because forty or so years ago Gatsby did not impress me.
“You think you blocked enough *!@#%^! driveway with that *!@#%^! trailer”? I am a chicken at heart, but his words blew up my adrenaline: “I don’t think I heard you right.” He repeated his sentence word for word, which might mean he wasn’t drunk, but his words steamed me even more.
Bryce is one of our smaller National Parks, but the shuttle system is excellent and there’s plenty to do and see. We will leave Monday after a five day stay at Bryce’s North Campground ($7.50 per night with your America the Beautiful pass). We took in the views from all the major overlooks, made […]
If anybody reads us hoping to encounter interesting literature without paying for a subscription to either The New Yorker or Mad Magazine, this post and nearly all of our others will disappoint you. This one is meant for the handful of frequent RV’ers in our audience, to each of whom we feel a duty to help on that rare occasion when we think we can. We owe so much to the RV blogs Watson’s Wander, Aluminarium, and Wheeling It: it feels good to be able to give something back.
Besides not having a street address, my other concern with boondocking is dirt roads. Your rig gets absolutely filthy and every dirt byway contains sections of road with enough washboard to loosen your fillings. If it rains exiting can become a real horrorshow.