Ever know a kid who looks like an angel but occasionally walks on the wild side? Here's one.
We're back.
Well, we have been back for a week.
From our trip to Knoxville and points north.
Allow me to elaborate.
The reason for our four-day excursion was twofold: to see our new grandson in Tennessee and to attend the memorial service of our brother-in-law in Ohio.
Since the route from Columbia, South Carolina, to Toledo, Ohio, takes one right through Knoxville (well; it can ... there is an I-77 route but we don't take that one, preferring I-26 West to I-40 West to I-75 North), it's handy to break the journey at the home of our son, Andrew, and his wife, Brittany.
And now in addition to their daughter Ember, who will turn four in December, there is Baby Guy, who was two weeks old the first time we saw him.
We stopped at the new Buc-ee's at Exit 407
We left on Thursday and made a few stops on the way so as to coordinate our time of arrival with the time Ember had been fetched from preschool and everyone was at home.
Our main detour was at Buc-ee's, which has a brand-new outlet at Exit 407, Sevierville.
We stayed thirty minutes and spent eighty dollars.
Mostly that was for presents for the girls and their families back at home (because they care for our pets in our absence) but I must say, Buc-ee's is good at separating people from their money, no matter what your intention.
Don't go there unless you are prepared to part with some cash.
Back on the road, we arrived at Andrew and Brittany's at about two thirty in the afternoon.
Ember with her brand-new pirate crab squishmallow ... home run, Mari
Almost the first thing they told us when we walked in the door, was that they had just received a package from my precious friend Mari, whom they have never met in person.
In true Mari fashion, she had sent outfits for Guy and a pirate crab squishmallow toy for Ember.
Ember was holding on tight to that squishy pirate crab. I tried to get it away from her and was unsuccessful.
Isn't that the kind of sweet friend story you like to hear? It's my favorite kind of story.
Then I got to know Baby Guy -- that was easy -- and in due time Andrew threw some chicken and corn on the cob onto the grill and I made my semi-famous semi-homemade baked macaroni and cheese, and we had a nice meal.
The next morning we were not in a big hurry to leave, because I was still busy holding Baby Guy, but by noon we were on the road to Ohio.
Baby Guy and I settled into a routine within moments of my arrival
We were checking into our hotel room by about eight thirty that evening.
Therein lies a tale. I guess if you travel at all, you know that hotels feel no need to service your room at all during your stay -- unless, in the case of Hilton hotels, you stay for at least four days.
That means that your bed will go unmade and the trash cans will overflow and the towels will be damp for four entire days. Floor vacuumed? Bathroom cleaned and restocked? Haaaaahahahahaa. Ha.
Unless you say something. Which I did, at the front desk of what is actually a beautiful Hilton property in Perrysburg, Ohio.
I was told that we could be put "on the board" if we wanted any attention paid to our room, but that in the absence of an actual request, nothing would be done to see to our comfort during a two-night stay.
We asked to be put "on the board" and when we returned to our room after a long day at the memorial service and visiting with family, the bed had been made and the trash cans had been emptied, and we had each been given one fresh towel.
TG and his brother, Ron, comparing their tall, slim, trim frames
By the time I got back home a few days later, the Hilton property in question was badgering me to complete an online survey.
And so I did, and I said how I felt about the way they do things now. As in: I don't like it. We are being conditioned in all areas of life to pay more and expect less.
Let me rephrase: I vehemently dislike it. Some resentment may enter into it as well.
A day later, I received an email from the nicest lady named Maria, who is in management at that property. The email was followed by a call.
We had a nice chat, during which Maria told me that it wasn't that the people managing the property don't want to service the rooms.
It's that they simply don't have the housekeeping staff to do it.
I placed the official MLB Seattle Mariners baseball on the table beside Johnny's cremains and his effects
Maria apologized, saying that she realized it was not up to any recognized Hilton standard anyone may have in the past been used to enjoying.
She gave us ten thousand Hilton Honors points and we parted as friends.
Folks, things are never going back to the way they used to be. In acceptance lies peace.
At the memorial, we saw TG's only sister and only brother, as well as several nephews and nieces and great-nephews and great-nieces.
Everyone was holding up pretty well, but there were moments. Ultimately the reason for our meeting there at that place at that time, was accomplished.
Since my unofficial motto is "Never go empty handed," TG and I took along an official MLB baseball stamped with the Seattle Mariners logo. Johnny was a huge baseball fan and the Mariners were his favorite team.
TG and me with my sisters-in-law Ruth and Marcia, and my brother-in-law Ron
I placed the baseball on a table next to Johnny's hat and a wooden box containing his ashes.
Throughout the memorial, but especially afterwards, I and others made sure that we took plenty of pictures, for posterity.
The church provided a meal catered from Chick-fil-A and that was stellar in every way -- have you had their macaroni and cheese? It puts mine to shame -- and after the meal, we went to the new home of TG's sister, the newly widowed Ruth.
You may recall that in May of last year, Ruth's house burned. It was a total loss.
The house was the one built by TG's late parents in 1957, when TG was five years old, and in which TG and his siblings grew up.
So it was strange to see a new house sitting exactly where the old one had been, oriented the same way on the corner double lot, surrounded by the same neighboring houses that have sat in the vicinity for sixty-five years.
Same place but different house
The entrance of the driveway in the foreground of the picture above is unchanged from when the old house stood there, but it used to lead straight ahead to the side of the house.
The new house projects out farther on the right, making the rest of the driveway curved where it once was straight.
Where there once stood an old but treasured house full of memories, there is now a fresh, modern house that, despite having no history, will be cozy for our Ruthie as long as her life lasts.
We rejoiced about that and congratulated Ruthie and tried not to think too much about a loss that still hurts. We talked and visited with relatives to our hearts' content, before heading back to our hotel and a night of rest.
The next morning, we got up and got organized and drove the seven-or-so hours back to Knoxville. We arrived in the late afternoon and went out to dinner with Andrew and Brittany and Ember and Baby Guy.
Baby Guy is the sweetest, most content baby I have seen in a long time. He's pretty special. He slept throughout the meal and never made a peep.
This is Baby Guy's preferred mode of daily life. Photo courtesy Brittany Weber.
The next morning was Nine Eleven and we drank coffee and watched several episodes of a documentary about that sad event, on its twenty-second anniversary. Still dumbstruck by what transpired, even after all these years.
About one o'clock we headed for home. I contacted the girls en route and asked if they wanted to come over that night for supper (even on the road, I had a plan).
They readily agreed, and so that night we congregated to share stories about our trip and to give them their gifts.
We got the tee shirts for the kids at Buc-ee's. When I saw NEARLY FERAL I about died because although our Rhett looks like a cherub, he can be quite fierce.
Dagny got NO GUTS NO GLORY with a hapless skeleton because I have a ridiculous weakness for funny skeleton stuff.
Good times.
My beloved sister keeps on keeping on
A few days later my brave and remarkable sister, Kay, sent me a picture of herself with her husband and two of her daughters, holding aloft her Bachelor of Perseverance degree.
She -- who already survived another cancer eight years ago -- has completed her radiation treatments, which followed three chemo treatments, for gastric lymphoma.
We are waiting now for a good report. Your continued prayers for her are appreciated.
Later in the week I'll show you my fall decorations. The process has begun in earnest but must be ramped up before any kind of decent reveal.
I am equal to the task.
What am I reading? Well I am glad you asked because I have put down two other books to read The Bootlegger's Other Daughter by Mary Cimarolli.
An excellent memoir
In recent days, through this blog, I have made a new dear friend with whom I have a connection that goes back many decades. She is a lifelong Texan who lives near Dallas.
It's a long story but the takeaway is that she and I have enjoyed some fine fellowship via text, touching on the many things we have in common.
One thing that my new friend told me is that over the past year or so she had the opportunity to spend many Saturdays sitting with an elderly lady who is an accomplished author.
She told me the author's name and the title of her memoir, and I wasted no time in securing a copy.
I found it online at Thriftbooks, where I get most of my books. So far I'm enjoying this simple story of an American girl a great deal and can recommend it unreservedly.
Oh have you had Aldi Specially Selected Super Premium Ice Cream? Audrey told us about it. We are not among those who shop regularly at Aldi but my girls tend to be.
It's real ice cream in flavors you can get behind
This ice cream is not a half-gallon carton (that's among those things that are never going back to the way they used to be) and it costs six dollars per, but it is REAL ice cream.
Not a lame "frozen dairy dessert" with thirty-five unpronounceable additives.
There are five ingredients in this ice cream. And yes, you can taste the difference.
Chocolate and Vanilla seem to be the only varieties that meet this stiff criteria, but that's okay. I like those flavors. TG and I picked up one of each yesterday, after church.
That night after evening services, we had a houseguest. I served up the real ice cream into three generous-sized bowls, and all three of us augmented our scoops of Choc-Van with sliced almonds, Hershey's chocolate syrup, whipped cream, and maraschino cherries.
It was a bit of all right.
No Guts No Glory :: Dagny and Rhett
Before I go, one other thing I want to show you is my new Keurig.
OK here's what you need to know: One, I am fussy about my coffee; and Two, I am usually the last woman in the Western Hemisphere to latch on to a new trend.
I don't follow the crowd and jumping onto the cleverly marketed Keurig bandwagon was no exception.
Besides, until a few days ago, the only exposure I had had to coffee made in a Keurig was in a hotel room, where the Keurig made a weak, tepid swill so unlike actual coffee, that I laughed out loud.
I've said it before and I'll say it again: I drink one cup of coffee per day and it must be hot, fresh, strong, and laced with heavy cream frothed with my frother.
As a result, I travel with my own French press, my coffee, my favorite mug, my heavy cream, and my frother. I heat the water in the microwave with a large Pyrex measuring cup that I also bring along.
Papaw wanted a picture with Baby Guy, who did not bother to wake up
That way, I can make my coffee in the hotel room and it will taste as much like what I get at home, as possible. The only difference is the water. Yes; I use tap water to make my coffee.
But on our first layover at Andrew's house this trip, I noticed that they had a clever slender Keurig on the counter.
Their counter space is limited. This was a K-Slim machine -- less than five inches wide. But with multistream technology.
Which means that what punctures the K-cup is not a single needle through which the hot water flows, but five needles. An important feature because it affects the strength of the finished cup.
No one was up yet that first morning and although I had all of my own coffee gear with me, I decided to make a cup in the Keurig and see what happened.
If worse came to worst and the coffee was awful (as I fully expected), I could always pour it down the sink and no one would be the wiser.
But I suspected that at the very least, the coffee would be drinkable. Because Andrew would not tolerate weak, tepid swill passing for coffee.
Keurig K-Slim with Donut Shop K-Cup in a Krispy Kreme mug
I made the cup. I heated my cream first and frothed it, then put the cup on the machine and grabbed a Donut Shop medium roast K-cup. I pressed the 10-ounce button and then the big K button.
A few minutes later, I stood amazed.
It was delicious. That cup of coffee was strong and hot and just the way I like it. It passed muster.
That very night, in the hotel room, I ordered a machine just like Andrew's, and a supply of Donut Shop medium roast K-cups.
It's exciting. I'm sure the lustre will subside but as it stands now, I can hardly wait to get up in the morning, to make my coffee.
I got some refillable K-cups too, so that instead of pre-filled pods I can use my own brand of coffee, i.e. Cafe La Llave or Folgers Black Silk.
So far, it's going real well.
If you're a coffee drinker you probably already have a Keurig or have had one and don't use it anymore, or whatever.
Ember, zeroed in on a rock beside the cacti, moments before we left Knoxville on Nine Eleven
I stand beside you pleasantly surprised -- and more than a little awed. Two thumbs up.
OK enough product reviews. That should hold you for a while.
What is next on the horizon? Cherica's new baby is due to arrive within the next two weeks.
We are organized and energized and more than ready for that event.
Tell me what you think about that, or about anything else I've said.
I want to know.
And that is all for now.
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Happy Monday :: Happy Week
