Deadbeats

My intention when I started this blog was to write about my cross country journey and then last night, I took a left turn when I shouldn't and ended up in an entirely different place. Tonight I once again was going to take a different road, one that turned and twisted into a darker place. I was going to opine (no, I don't watch too much Bill O'Rielly, but I do kind of like his wry sense of humor) on a whole cast of characters called deadbeats. You know, the con-artists, politicians, some divorced fathers, etc. I got the whole blog written and when I re-read it, it sounded like a tired, disheartened old woman whining (too harsh a word? perhaps complaining is better) about all who had "done her wrong," I thought "Oh no, I'm turning into my mom." Now don't get me wrong, I loved my mother, but as she aged she became blind and once she made her bed and did the vacuuming, she had nothing to do but think conspiracy theory. Hmmmm - maybe I'm not turning into her, vacuuming and making my bed are two things I rarely do. By the way my granddaughter came in the other day and exclaimed, "Granma, I slept til nine this morning and when I saw what time it was, I thought (at this point she did the Macaulay Caulkin hands on each cheek shtick) 'Oh No! I'm turning into granma' ". By the way, I do tend to stay up late and rise late in the morning. I have received several lectures from my omniscient nine year old granddaughter on the advantages of rising early. I don't buy any of it. I've been a late night person from my early teens. Give me the great quiet of the late night and I'm as happy as, well you get it. Consequently, I'm starting all over.
Hmmm.....What to write now? I guess I will, in a way, write about my journey.

I LOVE PEOPLE, all kinds of people. People I never thought I'd meet and certainly never thought I'd like. From the ornery ticket agent in the tube in London, who when I asked for my change informed me that I hadn't given him enough for the ticket let alone change and then went on a diatribe about stupid Yanks - I told him I wasn't a Yank, I was a Phillies fan and a cowgirl from the wild west of Montana to boot. Both of those statements were fibs, but you should have seen the look of astonishment on his face - wish I'd had my camera out - to the homeless black man who guided me to the hole in the wall restaurant I was looking for in Memphis. Great restaurant by the way, good ribs and the best slaw I've had in the USA. I enjoyed his chatter so much, I tipped him. When I got to Jason's house I got a lecture about not talking to strangers, especially street people. Something bad could have happened. Hmmmm - maybe Jason is turning into my mom.

The greatest thing about the USA is the people. The monuments are impressive, but the people are more so. In that ribs cafe in Memphis, I met one of the prettiest little girls I have ever seen. She was about 3 and had her hair sectioned off in little short braids. I asked her mom if I could talk to her and she said yes. I told her how beautiful she was with that hairdo and how pretty she looked in her spotless white outfit. I got the usual reaction from a 3 year old, she hid her face in her mom's side. I made it a habit to stop in every state welcome center and get a map and register. This gave me time to talk to the people and if it were around lunch or dinner time get the name of a good restaurant that served the speciality of the area. I had lots of good food and met lots of great people. In one center, the two girls at the desk and I compared my nail polish to their toe nail polish. It was fun. In another a lady in her seventies thought I was really brave to go on a trip by myself. But after our conversation, she decided that if her husband had died as early as mine, just maybe she was daring enough also! Funny - me daring. I can be outspoken, dingy, even dumb, but daring? Nah - just looking for fun in all the right places. At a motel, I met an elderly gentleman and his wife. They were from Pigeon Fork. It has close to 200 outlet stores. Where on earth was Pigeon Fork? Why by Dollywood, of course. I made it a point to go through Pigeon Fork. The great thing about that little side trip was I got lost trying to find a less congested route back to the freeway and went over the mountain on a twisty, curvy little road. I found some great pottery places, a stain glass maker, a shop with a conglomerate of artists with a clerk so new that I had to show her how to ring up my purchase and the next one after. But best of all, I found a troll maker. I always thought my great grandma and grandpa were Swedish but just recently found out they were Norwegian. This troll maker was second generation Norse and made trolls by hand from sisal and interesting things he found in the forest. He has written a quaint little booklet about troll behavior and how to keep your troll in hand. I was the only customer in his store and had an unimaginably fun visit. I had a dream of eating in Paula Dean's restaurant in Charleston, but when I got there, the line of people circled the block and then some. After I got off the trolley, I found out that the line was just for reservations for the next day. Sorry Paula, didn't get to see you. Maybe next time. But, what I did get to do was go on the haunted jail tour. It was a hoot.

Well, I'm going to sign off for now, after all, I'm trying to comply with Bre's advice and it is 12:30 am.

Love all of you out there,

Me

P.S. If anyone out there is reading my blog, and have any comments (I hope only nice ones) or questions please let me know. Let's not ruin my self esteem, because after 50 years I finally got all esteemed up. If you think I'm not very good or just plain boring, you can opt to not read me unless you are a friend or a relative. You guys have to read me so that someone will.