How the Pandemic Saved Me From Axe Muderers

 How the Pandemic Probably Saved Me from Potential Axe Murderers

I am a very social person. Most of my friends would attest to this fact. Pre-Branson, I put on and/or attended weekly dinner parties—some planned/some impromptu. I had girlfriends over for afternoon wine and movies. I met friends for lunch or dinner out. I arranged cooking parties where everybody participated. I belonged to a supper club-Texas Hold’em Poker group.  And, I hosted many weiner roasts at a special place in the desert hills that was called Split Rock. Plus, The Pageturners bookclub—oh how I love that group of ladies and our wonderful discussions!

Fast forward to the past three years spent here in Branson. Concerned about leaving friends and social activities behind, I was assured by everybody, “Oh, don’t worry!  You will make LOTS of friends!”  Hmmm. . . .  What I now know for sure:  Making new friends at the age of 73 (my age when I moved to Branson) is not easy. I have tried. Bob (who came to Branson a year ahead of me) had joined a Meetup group (you find this organization in almost every town). The one in Branson is for single people 50 and older. They get together frequently for eating out. Also, they go to the various music shows and other activities around Branson. So I joined, too. Was also invited to join a group of ladies who went to different restaurants every Friday for breakfast. Tried, unsuccessfully, to find a bookclub.  But no real friendships seemed to click. Then, in my desperation to resume my life of entertaining, I took a step on the wild side!  Bob and I had gone to a local restaurant for dinner. We had to wait for a table, so we decided to have a glass of wine in the bar. While Bob struck up a conversation with the bar tender, I chatted with a young couple seated next to me. They had just arrived in Branson for a visit. If I remember correctly, they were from Michigan. We shared conversation and laughter—something I was craving. Too soon, tho, our table was ready; and we parted company. However, the friendly couple were soon seated adjacent to us out in the restaurant. That was when a crazy idea started forming in my socially-deprived head. I could invite this nice, out-of-town couple (who I had just met in a bar and talked to for about 15 minutes) to our house for dinner. I ran the idea by Bob (forgetting that he is far less risk-averse than I) who enthusiastically said, “Go for it!”  I sat there for a moment, then walked over the couple.  I started with, “I know this sounds crazy, but would you guys like to come over to our house for dinner tomorrow?”  I think they were a tad taken aback. I suspect this type of invitation doesn’t happen often. It has certainly never happened to me. But, after some thought, they accepted my invitation. The following evening they came for dinner. We had a lovely meal, and no one was killed in the process.  At the end of the evening, both couples laughingly confessed our relief that the others were not axe murderers. 
Now, the question:  Did I ever do this again?  The answer (so far) is no. But, one reason was the restrictions and cautions brought on by the Pandemic. Very few dinners out. No random chatting with strangers at a bar. No opportunities for impulsive invitations from crazy old women. Even without the virus, I believe that I would think twice before doing this again. Maybe. Who knows?  

In the Time of Corona Virus

April 2020
  
Well, here we are--day 6,894 of social distancing.  At least it feels that way.  What do I miss most?  Probably the ability to move about freely, without fear or guilt.  Guilt, you say?  Yes.  Here is an example:  This is the time of the year when I like to plant my herb garden.  That project involves going to various stores where live plants are sold and picking out my favorite herbs, potting soil, and fertilizer.  But are herbs an essential need?  We have been encouraged strongly to only go to a store to purchase necessary items like groceries and wine.  I did violate that suggestion, however, early in this new normal by going to Walmart to purchase bird seeds and, yes, two new bird feeders (one that promises to deter the devil squirrels).  While there, I also picked up some ant killer.  All, in my opinion, necessary.  I am certain the birds would agree (tho I NEVER hear a word of thanks from them). The ants might not agree, but they did disappear shortly after I put out the killer juice.  But, in the words of my friend, Dianna, I digress.  So, back to the herbs.  To avoid those nasty looks that I may or may not have gotten from other customers (and their pack of rugrats) who, I am sure, were there strictly for necessary items, I ordered all my herbs on-line.  Well, almost all--there was not one live Italian (flat leaf) parsley plant to be found on-line.  I ordered basil, sage, oregano, mint, thyme, and tarragon.  Oops!  Forgot potting soil.  Do I dare make a Home Depot run for that necessary item?

Now, on to my next gripe/question:  What makes a man think that it is perfectly ok to take a dinner knife out of the utensils drawer and use it as a tool to pry open a window screen he is trying to repair?  A man, I might add, who has a wide array of appropriate tools in the garage.  Said man has now been counseled regarding the inadvisability of such action occurring in the future.  

How about this weather?  Yesterday we had a high temperature of 90 degrees!  Couple that with the hot flashes that I now have several times daily due to the anti-hormone pill I take because my breast cancer was hormone related--a recipe for pure misery.  Today, however, the high temp is 67 degrees--much more tolerable.  And, cooler yet tomorrow with a high of only 60 degrees.  Lows down into the 30's.  BUT WAIT!!  I need warm weather to plant my herbs.  I will be begging for the cool weather in another month or so.  And, as long as I am on the subject, have I mentioned how much I dislike humidity!

Moving on to food.  Are y'all cooking much?  Some of you are because I see your food photos on FaceBook.  I am only going to whisper this little fact:  My passion for cooking these days in waning a tiny bit.  Not completely, mind you.  And, I think the problem is knowing that I have to do it every single day (well, sometimes I make a huge batch of soup; and we eat it every meal until it is gone).  Pre-Corona, we would intersperse meals at restaurants into the weekly routine.  We do try to order takeout food at least a couple of times a week now.  We want to support those unfortunate food service workers and the restaurant owners.  I have to wonder how many restaurants will go under, never to open again, by the time we are told that we are "free to move about the cabin" once again.  Also, I worry ever so slightly about the safety of the food in those carryouts.  I hate how paranoid this virus situation in making me!

Face masks--are you wearing one when you go out?  I wore one for the first time when I went to the grocery store earlier this week.  I was among the 50% of those wearing a mask.  Many people did not, including the mom and dad and three rowdy kids (who were touching everything).  Also, none of the store employees were wearing a mask.  I found that to be a tad disturbing.  I also found my mask to be extremely uncomfortable!  Bob found two face masks in the garage the other day.  He said he bought them several years ago to use during a painting project.  They are really good ones--like the medical workers use.  But let me say this--they are extremely uncomfortable--a metal strip over the nose, tight fit, hot, and sort of make me feel like I can't breathe.  However, small price to pay considering the alternative.  

Reading much?  I have finished several books but that is not unusual for me--a dedicated reader always.  My current book is by David Sedaris called When You Are Engulfed in Flames--a series of extremely funny essays.  Favorite book so far this year:  American Dirt by Jeanine Cummins.  Melissa and I share books on our Kindles.  Because she reads far more than I do, I will never run out of books to read.

Well, dear readers (making the assumption that anyone has read this blog), I will bring my written thoughts to a close for now.  Until we meet again, stay safe and alive!!!        

Good Health Is Everything!

Sooooo, I will now attempt the impossible--to write a funny blog about my current health situation.  For those of you who live on Mars (or are not on Facebook), here is my current status.  I am in my 7th week of recovery, after having cracked my pelvis (in TWO places).  My best advice to those of you who have not been on this adventure--TRY TO AVOID IT AT ALL COST!  I had a followup ortho appointment a couple of weeks ago and was surprised to learn that my pelvic bone was halfway healed--turns out, that healing process takes about 3 to 6 months.  However, as of this past week, I have pretty much been able to walk on my own without the aid of the walker.  Granted, tho, I walk with a limp and very slowly at this point.  But, it feels like great progress.

 But, as one who is always seeking new adventures (some of you are laughing--those who know the previous statement to be a lie), recovering from the broken pelvis just wasn't quite enough misery.  The week before my pelvis accident, I had a mammogram for the first time in about 9 years.  I know, I know--don't even say it.  I am well aware of the importance of regular mammograms.  I have absolutely no good excuse for not following this very sound medical advice.  The very day following the pelvis incident, I got a voicemail from the Women's Imaging Center where I had the mammogram, asking me to call and make a follow-up appointment as the radiologist saw a suspicious spot on my left breast (I apologize to anyone reading who is embarrassed by the use of proper anatomical terms--get over it or stop reading).  A phone call that no woman wants to receive.  After a day or two of procrastination (and I do have a good excuse for that--I was in total misery with my pelvis), I finally called back and explained why I would not be able to come in for a while.  I have to tell you--the very idea at that point in time of having to stand (even had I been able to stand) in front of that torture device and have my boob squished as flat as a flitter was not the top item on my list of things I was dying to do!  Some women have told me that they have no pain when they get a mammogram (not the vast majority, mind you).  One was my own mother who probably wore an A cup size bra).  That has NEVER been the case for me.

Fast forward now to six weeks later, and I finally muster the guts to call back to the imaging center and make that followup appointment.  I learn that the followup will consist of an ultrasound-guided needle biopsy of the pea-sized lump in my breast.  Let me just say something here about needles.  I don't mind needles.  I have used them for many things in my life--sewing on buttons, cross-stitch projects, pricking a pimple.  But, when it comes to needles being inserted deep into my body--especially my boob, suddenly I am feeling very needle-averse!  But, I manned up, make the appointment, and show up on time this past Thursday.

 I had calmed down considerably since I first heard about the biopsy (had a few crying sessions initially).  By the way, are you laughing yet?  If not, I am not accomplishing what I set out to do here.  The ultrasound tech took me back to the room where the procedure would be performed.  Her job was to get me ready for the doctor--so as to not waste a minute of his time.  She did not actually say that, but it was obvious.  Finally, after several sweeps of the ultrasound device over my boob, she declared us ready and called the doctor.  He arrived fairly quickly and explained what he was going to do.  Essentially, deaden the tissue leading down to where the lump was located in prep for sticking the larger (I assume longer) needle that would actually remove the necessary sample from the lump.  And, just like that, the procedure began.  I had talked to several people who had also experienced a needle biopsy  Most assured me that it was a piece of cake.  I don't think they were needle averse like me.  In goes the needle, and I felt an immediate extreme stinging sensation.  That sensation continued for several minutes (maybe seconds--who knows--I was pretty keyed up at this point).  And, then the doctor announced that he was removing tissue and whatever from the lump!  WAIT!  I thought he was still administering the deadening agent.  Zowie!  That was such a relief!  And, then it was over.  The doctor told me that the tiny lump was located right next to my chest wall.  However, he said that the lump moved away from the wall when he touched it which means it was not attached to the wall.  He said that was a very good thing.  He also told me that, if the pathology results show that the lump is, in fact, cancer, it is for sure at Stage 1.

So, I am writing this blog on Sunday (St. Paddy's Day).  With luck, I will have the results by Tuesday.  Hoping for good news.  But mentally girding myself for bad news.  Final words for this blog:  PROTECT YOUR PELVIS AND LADIES, GET YOUR REGULAR MAMMOGRAMS!  Stay tuned for more.

Anatomy Lessons

Oh, what a wonderful education I am getting these days.  Mainly regarding my anatomy  Started on January 24th when I first realized I have a pelvis.  I mean, I always knew, intellectually, that a pelvis was a part of my bone structure.  But, I never really gave it any thought.  Nor did I appreciate that sweet, pain-free bone structure!  Stop whatever you are doing right now (well, I guess you are reading my blog right now) and think about your pelvis--give it some love--appreciate it for its service--promise it that you will never break it!  Too late for me but maybe I can save you!  On a good note, mine continues to heal (pain = healing).  Fewer jabbing pains in my nether regions these days.  And, no more pain pills.  Which means no prune juice necessary (pain pills = constipation).  

OK, enough about my pelvis--let's move on to another part of my anatomy which made itself known last week.  How many of you are familiar with your rhomboid muscle (Becky Bechtel--I am sure you know this muscle)?  For those who don't know--it is located in your upper back, just below your shoulder blade.  For the most part, this muscle sits there quietly, day in and day out, doing its job without much fuss.  That is, until you make it angry!  Last week I made one of mine very angry!  Furious, actually.  And, oh boy, have I paid the price for doing so!  So, how did I anger this typically benign muscle, you must be asking.  To tell the truth, not entirely certain.  But, I have a feeling that the improper height of the walker I had been using for over a week, making me walk somewhat like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, had something to do with the temper tantrum that muscle threw!  I just know that one morning I awoke with horrific jabbing pain on the left side of my upper back.  Prompting me to ask myself (to quote Dorothy Parker--the queen of quotes), "What fresh hell is this?" Then for two nights in a row, that muscle decided to spasm.  It felt like someone was jabbing me with a cattle prod!  At least, what I imagine that might feel like--never having been actually jabbed with a cattle prod previously (and I hope never will be).  One of the worst pains of my life--up to and including child birth!  The good news was that this new misery shifted my attention away from my pelvis.  Bob, after a couple of days of watching my deteriorating condition, happened to notice how my shoulders were hunching up with each step I took with the walker.  SLOW PAINFUL STEPS, accompanied by moaning and other expressions of pain.  Being the engineer, he quickly determined that the walker was too tall for me (which makes sense in retrospect seeing as how he was the last one to use this walker).  He made a downward adjustment and immediately I could tell the difference.  Much easier to hoist myself upward with each step in order put as little pressure as possible on the side of the broken pelvis.  Plus, I used the new back condition to justify having a masseuse come to my house with her massage chair and give me a 90-minute massage.  Paid handsomely for that one in more ways than one.  First, her fee.  Then, the next morning, with every muscle in my back, neck, and arms screaming with the pain of soreness!  She was pretty aggressive with that massage.  A week later now, I am considering having her come back.  Will ask her to go a little more gently this go-around.

As of yesterday, tho, I am feeling like perhaps I have turned a corner.  The back pain has all but subsided--just the shadow of the pain now.  Walking is easier--Getting up and down is easier.  Getting out of bed a tad better.  I am looking forward to not using the walker--I can't sneak up on Bob anymore. . .step, clatter clatter; step, clatter clatter!  Need to buy a cane.

Let's talk about cooking.  Bob can't cook.  Not just won't--CAN'T!  I learned this early on when he said he was making his specialty for dinner one night--something he had invented before I became his chief cook and bottle washer.  This dish (which I have since dubbed "Hobo Goulash) consists of a pound of hamburger, one chopped onion, one chopped green pepper, a jar of sliced mushrooms, drained,  a packet of dry gravy mix, some water, salt and pepper.  All of which he puts in a pot at the same time.  I suggested (in an effort to introduce some flavor into this awful-sounding concoction) that he add a chopped jalapeño pepper.  Which he did and later said it ruined the dish.  At his son's, (Tim, the real chef) suggestion, he ate this glop over mashed potatoes.  Needless to say, I did not partake of this culinary delight.  He has not offered to make it again.  So, for better or worse where my healing is concerned, I am able to put together some meals for us.  Very basic but a tad tastier than Hobo Goulash.  I yearn for the day when I can just stroll into the kitchen and cook whatever my heart desires!  Once in a while, we supplement with takeout.  The $100 worth of coupons for the Cheeky Monkey Bar and Grill (just down the road) that Melissa gave us for Christmas have helped a lot!  That place has an outdoor smoker that runs almost 24/7 and produces, among other things, the very best pulled pork sandwich ever.  So, the truth is--we are in no way starving.  The scales, which I occasionally use, prove that fact!

Several people have asked me just what do I do all day.  Nothing really productive (other than the meals), that's for sure.  I have read four books--started my 5th last night.  I color occasionally--a very relaxing activity.  To torture myself, I look at cookbooks and cooking magazines.  Facebook can be very entertaining, as well as Words With Friends.  Phone calls are always good.  To tell the truth, I am going stir crazy!!  Luckily, the weather has been pretty awful since this all started so the desire to go outside is tempered somewhat.     

So. this, my dear readers, ends another exciting chapter in the account of Nancy's Broken Pelvis.  Not as much fun as a travel blog--for me or you.  But thank you for joining the journey with me.  Take care of yourselves--stay strong and active!  Love you all!  

Not Moving Much Right Now

Sooooooo, here I am--back at the keyboard.  The MacBook keyboard that drives me crazy.  I erase and retype constantly.  However, since I have yet to find my desk computer and keyboard to which I am accustomed, MacBook it will be. Cannot believe how many unopened boxes are still out in the garage. A topic for another day, perhaps.  So, let's talk about the topic at hand--the PELVIS!  More specifically, MY PELVIS.

How often do you think about your pelvis?  NEVER, right?  Me either. That is up until a week ago yesterday.  Now I think about it pretty much 24/7.  Most of y'all know exactly why I am pelvis-obsessed these days.  But just in case there is one person out there in the world who has not heard, let me give a little recap.

Last Thursday, January 24th, I made a serious mistake.  Having just gotten out of the shower, and forgetting that I am a 73-year old woman, I, in a very cavalier manner, slung my left leg up onto the bathroom counter and proceeded to clip a toenail.  Have done that many times over the years.  The process was proceeding in a normal manner until I attempted to reach into a lower drawer to retrieve a nail file.  At that point, as best I can recall, my center of gravity shifted, at which point, I took a couple of big hops with my right foot in a failed attempt to gain control.  Next thing I knew, my body was headed for the hard tile floor while my left leg was stuck up on the counter.  In the process of falling, I think I performed an unanticipated split before the left leg was dragged off the counter.  I hit that tile floor HARD!  On my right side.  I remember screaming in pain--initially thought I had broken my right hip.  Bob came running.  There I was--sprawled on the floor in my bra and underwear, wet hair, crying my eyeballs out.  His immediate and completely sane thought was to call 911.  I, on  the other hand, who must have been in shock city, said, "No! Help me put on my shirt!"  He obliged but continued to urge me to let him call 911.  I continued to refuse.  For some reason, all I wanted to do was talk to my daughter.  Bob called her at work and told her what had happened.  She asked him, having the completely sane thought also, if he had called 911.  He told her that I was resisting that plan of action.  She asked him to give the phone to me.  She asked me why I would not let Bob call 911.  Through gulping tears, I said, "I DON'T KNOW!"  I finally did come to my senses and told Bob to call 911.  Then I called my neighbor across the street (a retired nurse) and asked her to come over, which she did immediately.  She even managed to get my hair dried before the 911 guys arrived.  Temp outside at the time was in the twenties!  Those who know me well, know that one of my main concerns at that moment in time was the fact that my hair was not "done," I had no makeup on, my teeth were not brushed, and I was undressed from the waist down!!  Call me vain.  I don't care--I have my standards, broken pelvis or not.

Summarizing now, another not-so-exciting ambulance ride ( don't get me wrong--I do not want an exciting ride) to the hospital (last one being as a result of my crushed shoulder for which I still blame the Blue Angels); x-rays showing not one but two fractures on the right side of my pelvis; ER doctor confirming x-ray results and telling me to contact an orthopedic doc as soon as I could; and released to go home.  WHAT?  I cannot even walk!!  They bring in a walker and nurse comes in to accompany me to the exit.  I explained my inability to walk so she gets a wheelchair, and I somehow manage to get off the bed and into the chair.  When we get to Janie's car (she drove Bob to the hospital and stayed with us), the process of me getting out of the wheel chair and onto the front passenger seat of her car must have been something to observe--me gasping in pain and crying like a baby.  The nurse standing calmly by. Did she think I was faking it?  Finally made it home, after a stop at the medical equipment store to purchase (for $131) a porta-potty (might be the best $131 I ever spent--wish I had not sent the one I had in the Ridgecrest garage to Salvation Army with the thought, "I probably won't need this again."  Now, we are in the driveway--how do we get Nancy into the house?  Us old people can be quite inventive when we need to be!  With a major painful effort, Bob, Janie, and her husband, Steve, helped me out of the car and onto one of our rolling desk chairs.  They then rolled me to the front door and into the house.  This involved a major weight-lifting maneuver when Janie and Steve (Bob is still on lifting restrictions from his last surgery) had to hoist me up from the sidewalk level to the porch--not sure how they managed that--they probably are still nursing pulled muscles in their backs!

Fast forward to today.  One week down, five (maybe seven) to go before I can put weight on the right leg.  My major excitement occurs when I try to hotfoot it on the walker from the recliner in the living room back to the bathroom in hopes of making it in time (sometimes yes, sometimes no).  I ordered a big box of womern's diapers from Amazon.  Had been using Bob's men's diapers (he is having colorectal surgery recovery issues and that's all I am going to say about that), but did you know that diapers are different for women and men?  Those of you who used them with babies know this--when Melissa was a baby, disposable diapers (at least like we have today) did not exist.  I am certainly better today than I was a week ago.  I suspect I will be able to say the same thing next week and the week after that and so on.  

In closing (for chapter one, that is), stay safe my friends.  There are only one or two people on which I would wish this condition.  JUST KIDDING!  More to come.  Hope I haven't bored my readers (a giant assumption that anyone other than my daughter will have read this).  Bob still has not read those wonderful travel blogs from our last RV trip in the summer of 2016.  

Your accident-prone, idiot friend  

July 2, 2017

Well, since Glamgirl isn't traveling this summer, and she wants to blog, here goes.  I have decided to try my hand at writing a cooking blog.  Now, when I say "cooking" blog, be warned that this title might encompass a variety of subjects, not all related to cooking.  But I promise, I will build a little or a lot (as the mood strikes me) of cooking ideas, recipes, menus, technique, helpful hints, etc., into each and every blog.  My goal is to be both helpful and entertaining.  Your comments will help me determine if I meet this goal.

Sooooo, a bit of background on my cooking experience.  I have no formal training (unless I can count the three or so years I spent as Patrice Johnson's sous chef for her wonderful cooking classes--truly fun times there!  And, hard work!!).  Actually, my Mamma taught me how to cook, starting at around the age of 11 in her tiny Georgia kitchen during the hot and humid summers.  My Mamma was a wonderful cook!  She made the very best Southern food known to mankind (and womankind and childrenkind).  She started my education by letting me chop the various vegetable components for her version of spaghetti sauce.  The unusual ingredient in her creation is chile powder.  Wait--I know that sounds weird, but you must try it sometime.  I will try to paste her recipe (I may have restructured it a bit from her original recipe) at this end of this blog.  I cooked like my Mamma until I left home at the age of 18.  Well, I continued to make many of her dishes; however, I then began to experience different styles of cooking.  Were it not for my mother-in-law, Anna Hladik Cleland, I would have never have learned to make tuna casserole with a potato chip topping!  ha ha  That was a standard dish in my household all the time Melissa was growing up.  She hated it, BTW.  Speaking of which, she hated most everything I cooked back then.  I did not really blossom as a cook until after she graduated from college and left home.  And, let me make clear--I am a COOK; not a CHEF!  Big distinction in my mind--I use cookbooks.  I rarely create my own recipe.  Once in a great while, I will slightly alter a recipe.  But usually not until I have made it the way the original recipe directs.  Speaking of cookbooks--I have them everywhere in my house.  On a designated shelving unit in my kitchen, in cabinets, in drawers and closets, in the garage and attic, displayed on other shelving in my living room; some big, beautiful coffee table cookbooks meant mostly for looking at the photos (most recipes in those book are beyond my ability {or desire} to try).  Some of the ones I like best are written by Ina Garten--The Barefoot Contessa.  I think I own all but one of the books she has written.  The only one I do not have is Cooking in Paris.  Oh, wait--I also do not have her Back To Basics Book.  

Soooooo, I am not sure how often I will publish a new blog--will write them when the mood strikes.  Right now I need to go have lunch.  What am I having, you ask?  Hmmmm. . . .a ham and cheese sandwich on dark rye bread, with salt and vinegar potato chips on the side--my favorite.  Maybe I will watch something on Netflix while I eat.  Until next time, Glamgirl signing out.       

Mamma’s Spaghetti Sauce

(Glenna Palmer)

3 T. olive oil

1 large onion, diced

2 large carrots, chopped finely

2 stalks of celery, chopped finely

2 green bell peppers, chopped finely

3 cloves garlic, minced

1 lb. lean ground beef

1-1/2 t. salt

1 t. freshly ground pepper

1 t. Italian Seasoning

2-3 T. chile powder (or more to taste)

1 (32-oz) can petite diced tomatoes w/juice

1 (15 oz) can tomato sauce

1 (8 oz) can tomato paste

1/2 to 1-C. red wine (optional)

V-8 juice 

Heat olive oil.  Add chopped onion, carrots, celery, and bellpeppers and saute til onions are translucent in appearance.  Add garlic and continue cooking one minute longer.  Add one pound of ground beef with salt, pepper, Italian seasoning, and (Mamma's secret) chile powder. That is the key ingredient! 

Once the beef has browned (and if it looks too greasy at this point, you might want to drain before continuing), add tomatoes w/juice, tomato sauce, and tomato paste.  If using, the red wine can be added now (my idea--Mamma didn’t ever have red wine on hand).  Bring to a boil and let simmer for 3 hours.  When sauce seems to be getting a little too thick, add V-8 or tomato juice, a little at a time, during the cooking.

Serve with cooked spaghetti and grated Parmesan cheese.  YUM!

Coming Home

Thanksgiving Day, November 24, 2016

Here we are in Flagstaff, AZ.  Continuing to head due west.  Yippee!!  Am I homesick?  You betcha!  

So, where have we been since I last wrote from Branson, MO?  All the way to the Atlantic Ocean, that's where!  So much has happened; we have seen so much!  Where to start?

We left Georgia on November 16th.  Spent first night in Meridian, Mississippi.  Second night in Canton, Texas--not much there to write home about.  From there we drove to Oklahoma City.  Spent three nights there--Oz's back needed some rest from driving.  Plus, we needed that time to recover from the stress of driving through Dallas, TX, on Friday!  Can you spell T R A F F I C???  I was using my iPad Mini and the Google Maps app to guide us through the twisting and turning horror of the freeway changes.  At one point she (the female voice on the Google Maps app) announced that, due to an accident ahead and a major slowdown of traffic, she was re-routing us around it.  Instant PANIC on my part!  I don't enjoy being re-routed!  But, we followed her instructions and changed routes.  However, even tho there was no accident on the new route, due to road construction, we were thrust into a different type of slowdown.  Took us forever to reach the north side of the big D.  We were soooooo happy to finally see Dallas in our rear view mirror!

Dallas Skyline

See what I mean about the Dallas freeway system!

The Rockwell RV park where we stayed in OK City

 invited all the RV'ers to a Thanksgiving dinner.  They served turkey and ham and all the fixins.  Since we were spending 3 nights in OK City, we had a chance to look around.  The most moving experience was visiting the memorial site of the former Murrah Building.  It is diffiult to believe that this horrific event occurred 21 years ago.  Here is how the building looked right after the bombing.

And, part of the memorial that now stands on the site.

The reflection pool

Part of the 90-year old American Elm Tree now known as the "Survivor Tree."  This tree was in a parking lot across the street from the Murrah Building.  At the point of the explosion, a burning car hood was propelled into the upper branches of this tree.  It was badly scorched.  Also, shrapnel and broken glass were embedded in the trunk of this tree.  Initially, the tree was tagged for removal.  

However, two OK City men championed its cause and saved the tree.  It stands beautiful (I took this photo yesterday) to this day.  I had a short conversation with the tree, touched its trunk, and thanked it for standing strong.

We drove to Amarillo, TX from Oklahoma City.  Then on to Albuquerque for two nights.  And, now in Flagstaff, AZ.  Thanksgiving Dinner tonight at The Horseman Inn here in Flag.  They are having a buffet with turkey, ham, and prime rib.  My mouth is salivating as I type this info.  Been reading on Facebook all day about everybody's TG dinners.

So, Georgia.  What a grand time we had there!!!  We were able to escape the confines of the RV for several weeks and stay with my brother and his wife--Stephen and Betty Sue Palmer--in their beautiful home. Lots of room to move about.  Wonderful meals--both prepared by my family and those we ate at all my favorite local restaurants!  (Um, I finally weighed myself yesterday morning on the scale that Bob keeps in the RV bathroom.  6 pounds worth of Southern eating!!)  Shortly after we arrived in my hometown of Thomson, Georgia, a huge welcoming party was thrown for us at the local boat club.  The chief honchos of this event were my sister, Ginger Blalock, and my cousins, Judy and Jack Garrison.   I can never thank them enough for all the work and planning that went into making this wonderful event happen! We had a fabulous time and saw tons of people--some of whom I had not seen for years.  It was probably a bit overwhelming for poor Oz.  But I had warned him ahead of time.  He took it all in good grace.

Another highlight of the trip to the South was our week spent at Edisto Beach--despite Hurricane Matthew's attempts to derail that visit!  Long before Matthew reared its ugly head, Bob had booked a two bedroom condo with his Wyndham timeshare points at the Edisto Island facility.  Then Matthew did its nasty work on my beloved island.  Things looked good at first, tho, despite reports of some major damage to the island, including 4-5 feet of beach sand washed onto the main road on the beach side.  However, about a week before our departure date, the dreaded call came--Wyndham was not going to reopen in time for our arrival.  Heartbreak!!  But, we put on our big girl panties (well, maybe not Oz) and found a house of sorts right on the beach with a great price--$500 for the week!!  We booked it and off we went.  OK, maybe the place was not up to our usual island-living standards.  But it was ON THE BEACH--FOR $500!!!  FOR A WEEK!!

Bear in mind, we only have a small portion of this large house.  It is divided into three apartments.

What a fabulous time we had.  And, as usual, the week just FLEW  by!!  But, we filled it with lots of activities.  On the very first morning after we arrived, Ginger and I headed out to the deck you see above to see the sunrise.  Our routine every time we visit Edisto.  We were not disappointed!  As usual, spectacular!  Here are a couple of my shots (with my new iPhone 7 camera/phone).

 Then, there was the shark's tooth hunting.  My favorite activity when we visit in the summer.  I could not find a single one this time.  However, my sister, Ginger, found two of them--just laying there on the beach!  Younger eyes!  Here was the best one:

  

A little data about these sharks teeth (I have literally hundreds of these fossils that I have found over the years):

Sharks can shed many thousands of teeth throughout their lifetime. In order for these teeth to fossilize, they must sink to the seafloor and be quickly covered by sediment. Rapid burial is important for fossilization for a number of reasons. First, the sediment acts to protect the teeth from the weathering, abrasion, and scavenging that could occur if they were exposed to open water and currents. Secondly, burial also limits exposure to oxygen and bacteria which are responsible for decay. The process of fossilization is a slow one that usually takes thousands of years. In the case of shark's teeth, they are preserved through a process known as permineralization. Which occurs as water seeps down through the sediments and over the teeth. This water carries different minerals in it that are deposited into open pore spaces in the teeth. The most common minerals are silica and calcite but other local minerals are deposited as well. Depending on which minerals are present teeth can be found in a wide variety of different colors, ranging from blue/grey to black to orange/red to white to green.


Soooo, enough about sharks teeth--moving on.  Another favorite activity is early morning beach combing.  Oh, the treasures we found!  More photos:

 I call this one "old man of the sea."

 Ginger--the master sharks tooth finder!

 Our take--yes, Mary Kay Bornfleth--some of them are coming your way!

I should have put something next to this one so you could see how small it is--the most perfect shell of its type that I have ever found!

Regarding the damage that Matthew wreaked on my beloved Edisto--sadly, many houses on the beach were condemned--perhaps to be habitable again when repairs are made.  But, at least 5 of them had the dreaded red tag--meaning they were damaged beyond repair and will have to be torn down.  Approaching Atlantic hurricanes are always one of my greatest fears for Edisto.  Since Hugo in 1989, good fortune has, for the most part, smiled on Edisto.   But not this time.  However, lots of cleaning and rebuilding going on.  They will be back!

One day, while at Edisto, Bob, Ginger and I drove to Charleston.  What a good time we had!  Visited the Waterfront.

Swings overlooking the waterfront

The Pineapple Fountain on the Waterfront is a famous Charleston landmark.

Lunch at Poogan's Porch

And, lastly we visited the Charleston City Market.  Here is a little data:

The City Market, or Centre Market, is a historic market complex in downtown Charleston, South Carolina. Established in the 1790s, the market stretches for four city blocks from the architecturally-significant Market Hall, which faces Meeting Street, through a continuous series of one-story market sheds, the last of which terminates at East Bay Street. The Market Hall has been described as a building of the "highest architectural design quality."^[1] The entire complex was listed on the National Register of Historic Places as Market Hall and Sheds and was further designated a National Historic Landmark.^[1][4]

Initially known as the Centre Market, Charleston's City Market was developed as a replacement for the city's Beef Market building (on the site of Charleston's City Hall, 100 Broad Street), which burned in 1796. Market Hall, designed by Charleston architect Edward B. White, was added in the early 1840s. Throughout the 19th century, the market provided a convenient place for area farms and plantations to sell beef and produce, and also acted as a place for locals to gather and socialize.^[5] Today, the City Market's vendors sell souvenirs and other items ranging from jewelry to Gullah sweetgrass baskets.

Needless to say a bit of shopping took place within the blocks and blocks of the Market!  Bob gave out first and told us he would meet us at at a bar across the street when we finished.  Ginger and I only quit because our feet were killing us.  But, some neat stuff we found there just might show up under the Christmas tree.

One last comment about Charleston--leaving and returning to Edisto Island, we took our usual favorite shortcut--

Now, Savanna, Georgia.  I cannot begin to tell you what a difference it makes to visit that lovely city in November versus middle of the summer.  I have done both--November is better!!  So, the highlights of this trip.  First of all, Savannah is chock-full of fabulous restaurants.  I have been to a few over the years. Had a couple in mind for where I wanted to eat on this trip.  Oz had other ideas.  He is a barbecue  aficionado from way back.  On this trip alone, we have probably eaten in at least 7 or 8 b/q joints, some more than once.  At some point before we headed to Savannah, he had read in a POPULAR SCIENCE magazine--yes, I said Popular Science--about a "fabulous" b/q place called Mr. B's in Savannah.  Reluctantly acknowledging that this is his trip also, and trying to gracefully ignore his dismissal of my obviously superior knowledge regarding where to eat in Savannah, Ginger and I agreed to give "his" choice a try.  Well,to start with, it WAS NOT in Savannah.  It was in a dang strip mall at least  15 miles beyond the outskirts of Savannah.  We read in the menu that the original Mr. B's had burned to the ground a year ago.  Then we got the food. . . . .  Just not good.  B/q meat not up to par.  And, I don't know where Mr. B got his recipe for hash--but SWEET hash???  Ain't no way!!  (Only mostly my Southern friends will have a clue as to what I am talking about.)  Anyway, even Oz admitted that meal was a mistake!  The highlight of Savannah was the tour we took.  Our tour guide, while not the best historian, was hilarious.  Some photos we took:

One of the beautiful homes in the historic district

St. John's Cathedral--seen during the opening credits of the movie, Forrest Gump

  

We took more photos of Savannah but my photo transferring process is not cooperating with me this afternoon.

One more highlight (there were sooooo many but I need to bring this part of the blog to a close) of the Edisto trip--our two visits to the Edisto Book Store and my favorite long-term resident there, Miss Emily Grace--she was rescued from the parking lot several years back and lives in the store.

One of the sweetest kitty cats I have ever met!

So, just a few more photos to close the Georgia chapter:

 A beautiful tree frog that Bob found one morning on the door knob of Stephen and Betty Sue's house 

 The lovely home of Bonnie and Charles Johnson--where we had a delicious lunch and tour one day

 One of many Fall/Halloween decorations on Main Street in Thomson

Taken of Bob during a private tour of McCorkles Nursery

We celebrated Bob's birthday in Georgia at Bob's Bait and Tackle and restaurant!

My good-looking nephew, John Blalock.  He is single, ladies--we need to find him a girlfriend!!

Soooo, I will bring this tome to a close.  Tomorrow we drive to Las Vegas and stay one night.  Then Saturday we head to Ridgecrest.  Cannot wait to see my house, drive my car, use my stove, and see all my friends.  Adios, amigos!  Til next time!  You never know.  And a huge THANK YOU to all of you who have read these blogs and made comments.  All 8 of them have been works of love.

Glamgirl and Oz