She stalked my two dogs this morning. A friendly little Manx cat wanted to make their acquaintances. The friendship was not to be. Maggie hated all cats, made no distinction between friendship and aggression.
Maggie, upon her arrival, convinced her brother canine, that he would be wise to follow suit. Maggie growled, barked; disrupted the normally quiet neighborhood. The little cat didn’t give up and followed our entourage for about a block.
An unplanned trip to the dentist lies ahead this morning. All attempts to divert my attention, are welcomed. Unfortunately, tooth pain has failed to squelch my appetite. It’s made morning coffee less enjoyable–that’s unacceptable.
Do you remember, girls snipping loops from the backs of boy’s ivy league shirts; collecting them like trophies? They called them “fruit loops.” That could have been featured on a “Laverne and Shirley” episode? Boys that wore shirt collars turned up were thought of as “hoods.” Of course that went along with greasy hair, “ducktail” haircuts, and “pegged” jeans. I guess that was the predecessor of “gangsta” culture.
“Water! Captain, I need water!”
“Higgins, get this man some water.”
“There’s your water. Now, get back to rowing. You’d be wise to do what you’re told and not complain about it.”
He’d learn a lesson right quick, if I tossed him down in the hold, the Captain thought.
The ship’s rigging strained and creaked. Sea water made the decks slippery.
“Higgins, see what the prisoners are hollerin’ about. Be quick about it–unless you’re desiring to be down there with ’em.”
It had been a tough pathway from prisoner to deckhand.
Scattered about the ocean floor were the bones of those that dared break the chains of command.
A favorite little bistro right on the beach. The weather was perfect–a little cool, but not bad for January.
In summer, the place would be packed out. It was nice to sit and watch gentle waves. Yellow warning flags were out, which meant there could be dangerous conditions for swimmers.
Two guys at the table behind us kibitzed with the waitress. They may have been winter visitors from Iowa. There were more cars with Iowa license plates, than from any other state.
“Would you like some banana puddin’?” She asked.
“I like the way you said that,” Guy, #1 replied with a laugh.
“I said it that way, so you’d buy some banana pudding,” The waitress had them wrapped around her little finger.
As the waitress brought the check to guy #2, he paid and answered–“Thanks Puddin.”
A sat down at the table in front of us. Another waitress brought menus and took their drink order. She was obviously cold. Temperatures were in the low sixties. It felt cooler in the shade, warmer where the sun shone in. Iowa folks were a sturdy lot.
It was such a peaceful setting–not far from home. Why didn’t we come here more often?
Brick-paved section of Rt. 66, near Auburn, Illinois. Exploring by-ways, old links to the past are a passions of mine.
North Broad Street, became Rt. 66, as it left the city limits. The pavement was narrow–one car had to drop off on the shoulder to pass. A highway designed for the Model T Ford era. Cars got bigger, faster, motorists demanded better highways.
The 1926–1930 alignment of the Mother Road wound through the central part of the county where I grew up. Parts of it were narrow–seemed to follow property lines. Two boys–who shall remain nameless, enjoyed driving to Springfield around the ninety degree corners in their fifties-era, Corvette sports car. They weren’t the Rt. 66 television show guys–but tried to act like it.
Hope I’m alive and in good health in 2026 to enjoy the Rt. 66 centennial celebration. There’s pending legislation to fund the celebration–“The Route 66 Centennial Commission Act”–HR 66, sponsored by Rodney Davis, Rep. from Illinois. The purpose is to preserve what’s left of the old highway. The expressway, and later alignments bypassed most of the county–except for a little bit of the southeast corner.
–Image, Jim Grey, https://www.hemmings.com/newsletter/–
Get there. Get back. Too much of that has gone on in 2016. I’ve felt like over-the-road truck drivers must feel.
I appreciate the convenience afforded by technology, but don’t trust it as much as some folks do. There’s no substitute for self-reliance. This is leading up to a rant about GPS routing.
Every trip to St. Louis and my GPS suggests going through Mississippi, Tennessee, and Kentucky. In miles, it is a shorter distance. The Monday before Christmas, beaten down by GPS for a number of years–we gave in.
Elapsed time was about the same. Carefree interstate cruising it was not. Too many towns, stop lights, winding two-lane highways, for my tastes. One sudden stop in a nameless Mississippi town, sent the cargo sliding forward, and the cargo barrier landed on top of our two mutts. It took an extra stop to calm the dogs–who were ready to bail out.
My second tech rant is about my laptop computer. Due to a glitch, I had no internet when I was out-of-town. My laptop, for whatever reason, decided it no longer wished to link up to Wi-Fi. One of my tech-savvy relatives got it back on-line the last day.
An observation–it seemed the state of Texas was overrepresented on the highways yesterday. South Carolina and Georgia deserved honorable mentions. There was plenty of time to take an unofficial poll, while caught in a 30 mile traffic jam. Not that I wished to cast any of those states in a negative light.
Sunday morning breakfast has been a tradition for as long as we’ve been a couple.
Not that chain restaurants aren’t good in their own rights. When the same entrees become old and tired, it’s time to find something new.
Last Sunday, we drove by two local, diner-type restaurants–they were both closed. Back to good old Cracker Barrel for usual fare.
Today, an old favorite, known for comfort food, let me down. Formerly, they had breakfast buffets on weekends. They were open, and we were the only, early morning diners.
It seems in the last nine years, due to the economy, the Sunday breakfast buffet was no more. They still were open with a lunch buffet on weekdays.
The quest continues for a mom-and-pop local breakfast restaurant–within a 20 mile radius. Food, prepared with love–because love conquers all.
I only had one hand free, this morning, when the mayhem began. The other hand, held a plastic bag full of doggy doo-doo.
When myself, and the two mutts walked around the brick parapet at the entrance of the subdivision, all heck broke loose.
One of the neighborhood “crazy cat lady’s” cats walked, stalked, or whatever cats do, in front of my dogs–who were leashed together.
The leash was out of my hand in an instant, and the chase was on. Through the first neighbor’s yard, around their boat, parked in the driveway, into the second neighbor’s yard.
Max was baying like a hunting dog, until heard him yelp. Oh well, they’ve caught up to the cat, I thought. None of the three seemed any worse off from the experience. Like is usually the case, no neighbors heard the ruckus.